Halo (Gulf Waters Regional #2)

Leah

Prologue

Three Years Ago

Rivulets of blood slope down my thighs as warmth pools beneath me. Darkness teases at my periphery, my vision blurring with flickers of light. I am cold. My dress hugs my clammy skin, my cheeks wet from hours of tears and terror.

I don't move—I can’t. The slightest movement instantly flares the pain, lancing through my core without warning, and stealing the breath from my lungs.

The physical agony is nothing compared to the wounds that have left my heart bruised, the ones hidden by good intentions and empty promises, the ones that are supposed to be kissed and loved away. Those wounds remain.

They always remain.

“Mrs. Harrison?”

I blink once. Twice. A young man in scrubs holds out a blue-hatched hospital gown. “I'm sorry …” I swallow down my misery and force a smile. “I didn't quite hear you.”

He reads me like a book, but reserves his judgment by offering a kind grin. “We need you to change. Do you need some help?”

I stare at the male nurse. Then at the garment. And for whatever reason, I can't make sense of what's happening or what he wants me to do.

“Here.” My husband takes the gown. “Give it to me.” He unfolds it, figuring out the ties and buttons. “Angel, let’s put this on.”

I despise that name.

To anyone listening, it sounds sweet and adoring, but it's his way of keeping me docile, his quiet lamb, the dutiful wife who submits and obeys.

I have no doubt he loves me; he tells me everyday, but I often wonder if he's telling me or if he's reminding himself.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Evening. I’m Dr. Ramsdale.”

My husband lights up, extending his arm to shake the ER physician’s hand. “Good to see you, Jon.”

“Mr. Harrison.” The doctor raises an eyebrow, sharing a curious look with me. “Is this your wife?”

“It is. We have a bit of a … situation.”

I grit through another smile, lifting my hand in a small wave.

The doctor uses his badge to sign into the computer, and with a few keystrokes, he's in my chart. After a brief pause of clicking and reading, he takes a seat on a rolling stool, becoming eye-level with me. “Okay, Mrs. Harrison, what brings you into the emergency room tonight?”

Time worbles, the room tilts on its axis as I focus on the words. Their meaning isn't connecting in my brain. It's like this entire scenario is nothing but a dream—well, more like a nightmare. How did we even get here? “I … I'm sorry. I, um—”

“Leah is bleeding,” my husband says. “A lot. With a lot of pain.”

Dr. Ramsdale studies my husband before offering a compassionate look to me. “Is that right, Mrs. Harrison? Are you in pain?”

The metallic odor of blood assaults my nose, causing my stomach to churn. My attention fixes to the rubber stopper for the door as I swallow thickly and manage a nod.

He hands me an emesis bag. “Are you menstruating right now?”

“She's pretty irregular. She's had—”

The doctor holds up a gentle finger, interrupting my husband. “Mrs. Harrison, are you on your period?”

I shake my head.

“When was your last period—?”

“Listen, Jon, something happened while we were … um—” he clears his throat—“you know, and now she’s in excruciating pain and bleeding. This has nothing to do with her time of the month.”

Dr. Ramsdale stares at my husband for a beat, “Is this your first time together?”

“Oh no.” My husband chuckles. “No, no, no. We’ve been married for eight years. We can barely keep our hands off of each other.”

I close my eyes, cringing at how cavalier he is about our sex life.

The ER physician gives a curt nod, his eyes shifting to the bandage wrapped around my husband’s arm. “What happened here? Did this happen tonight, too?”

“Ah, yeah. Total accident, but I’m fine.”

Dr. Ramsdale stares at us for a beat before pulling out his phone. “Tell you what: let me grab one of our other nurses who specializes in women’s health.”

“Oh, Ramsdale, you don’t have to—”

“No, no. I insist.” He flashes me a kind smile. “This seems to be more of a … delicate problem, and I think your wife might be more comfortable with a female provider. She’s one of the best here and a personal friend of mine.”

Relief trickles through my veins at the mention of bringing a woman into the room. It has nothing to do with the doctor’s capability, but a gentle voice and touch will help me relax.

“I’ll be able to stay here with her, right?”

“For part of it. If she wants.”

“Wait … what are y’all going to do?” My husband’s eyebrows furrow. “She needs me. She can barely speak.”

I slip my hand into his automatically, my wedding band suddenly heavy like shackles. I give him a quick squeeze, his gaze meeting mine with a silent, desperate plea.

“I’ll be fine,” I croak with a whisper, feigning another pleasant grin.

“She’s in good hands,” Dr. Ramsdale reassures. “We’ll take good care of her.”

My husband glances around the room, his jaw ticking.

“Actually …” The ER nurse opens the door. “I need some coffee. Let’s get you one, too, sir.”

Letting go of my hand, my husband follows the nurse out of the room.

Before the door can close, an older, petite woman with short braids peeks into the room. “Dr. Ramsdale? You needed to see me?”

“Mrs. Wanda …” Dr. Ramsdale steps aside to let her into the room before quietly shutting the door. “This is Leah Harrison.”

The new nurse offers me a gentle smile as she crosses the room, a tackle box-like case swinging lightly from one hand. She sets it on the counter before coming to my bedside. “It’s nice to meet you. Would you like for me to call you Mrs. Harrison or—”

“Leah,” I interrupt, my cheeks instantly warming. “I’m sorry, Leah is just fine.”

“Leah,” she says warmly. “Your doctor asked me to come help out a little tonight. I hope that’s okay.”

I nod. “Yes. Of course.”

“He mentioned you were having quite a bit of pain and bleeding after intercourse.” She pauses, carefully choosing her words. “He also mentioned that you’re fairly frightened and there might be a little tension between you and your husband.”

“Oh, I-I’m okay.” I wince, catching my breath. “Things got a little carried away, that’s all. He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

She listens intently, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

I don’t believe my lies either.

“Leah,” Dr. Ramsdale speaks up, “I’d like to give you some pain medication, but we need to do a few things first. For one, we need to do a pregnancy test.”

“No.” I adamantly shake my head. “I’m not pregnant—I-I can’t be.”

They exchange a look, concern slowly etching on their faces.

“Okay, I believe you. But in the slightest chance that you are really early, I need to know. Also, the pain medicine can make you a little drowsy, so I want to make sure we answer any sensitive questions right now.”

Wanda’s hand rests on mine again. “If there is anything you need to tell us—anything at all—this is a safe space. What you say in here will not be repeated.”

“I-I understand.”

Dr. Ramsdale pushes up his glasses, his expression empathic. “Okay, Leah … I’d like to take a look first. I’ll have to touch you, but if at any point you need me to stop, you tell me to stop.”

I anxiously wipe my hands on my gown. Swallowing thickly, I nod.

Wanda patiently helps me reposition on the stretcher, keeping me covered with a warm blanket. The pain is excruciating, like a thousand hot pokers searing into my most intimate area. Tears sting my eyes as she places my legs into stirrups.

The ER doctor pulls on a pair of gloves before taking a seat on the rolling stool at the foot of my bed.

Humiliation settles in my chest as Wanda pulls up my blanket and exposes the bottom half of my body. “Take some deep breaths, baby, and let your knees relax.”

Following her instructions, my eyes flutter closed as my hands begin to tremble.

Please, God … please help me …

An inaudible gasp rolls through the small exam room as dread hangs heavy in the air. Mrs. Wanda and Dr. Ramsdale remain perfectly composed and professional, but there is a subtle shift in the silence as they stare at me.

“Leah, you’re going to feel the back of my hand—just on the outside. Is that okay?”

“Th-that’s fine,” I choke out as he gently touches my inner thigh.

Then he stops.

He pulls off his gloves before carefully covering my legs with the blanket.

His jaw ticks, but he refuses to make eye contact with me.

Motioning for the nurse, he lowers his voice.

“This … this needs to be repaired. Let’s give her 50 of Demerol, 12.

5 of Phenergan. And then I’m gonna need some lidocaine and Vycril on a small needle. Oh, and Mrs. Wanda?”

“Sir?” The nurse listens intently.

“Do not let that man back in this room while I’m in here.”

My stomach drops as my body begins to tremble.

What’s happening? What’s going on?

Wanda adjusts her scrub top before taking a seat next to me. She takes a deep, thoughtful breath before cradling my hand. She smiles, but the sorrow in her eyes says it all.

“Baby … what did he do to you?”