Chapter 19
JOKER
“Daisy?” I grab her shoulder. “Stay with me, baby.”
I jerk my head to the paramedic. “What’s going on?”
“Starting IV.” The paramedic rips open a package, swabs Daisy’s arm with alcohol, then inserts the needle and attaches a bag of fluid. “Pushing fluids wide open.”
The other paramedic wraps our little girl in a sterile blanket and hands her to me. “She’s breathing on her own, but they’ll do a full examination at the hospital.”
I cuddle the baby to me, but my eyes are fixed on Daisy. “What’s wrong with her?”
The paramedic rips open more gauze packets while the other one clamps an oxygen mask over Daisy’s face. They wrap Daisy in another blanket, then lift her onto the stretcher along with the IV drip. Their actions are precise but urgent, and it’s scaring the shit out outta me.
“You gotta help her,” I beg.
“You can ride with us. We’re taking her to Henderson Hospital,” the paramedic throws over his shoulder.
“Dad?” Derek searches my face for answers I don’t have .
“I’m going with your mother. Stay here with Deana. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Cobra catches my arm. “Take it easy; they’ve got her.”
I gaze down at my baby girl. “This can’t be happening again, right?”
Cobra nods toward Derek and Deana. “We’ll stay here till we hear from you.”
I jerk my chin toward the front hall where they put the Nomad. “Keep him alive.” I lock eyes with Cobra, and my meaning is clear.
We tap fists. “Go take care of your wife and baby.”
They lock the stretcher into the ambulance, then take seats on either side of Daisy while I sit at her feet, helplessly willing her eyes to open. Another IV is started, and the driver takes off, sirens blaring as they radio the hospital.
“This is Ambulance 2. We are currently en route to Henderson Hospital. We have a lights and siren emergency. Unconscious female, age thirty-two, with hypovolemic shock brought on by postpartum hemorrhage after a vaginal delivery. BP 90/60 and dropping. ETA ten minutes.”
Then they spit out more words and phrases I don’t understand as the ambulance speeds toward the hospital. I long to hold her hand and let her know I’m here with her, but right now she needs the medical professionals more than me.
The short ride to the hospital is filled with promises, pleading and outright bargaining, anything to make Daisy wake up, but nothing helps. Her skin is the color of the sheet covering her, and the fear comes flooding back.
No matter how hard I try to resist, my brain triggers all the bad in my life, then plays it out like a slow-motion horror show.
Losing Desiree, Daisy’s kidnapping, then her months of depression.
I thought we put all the bad shit behind us, but life has a way of twisting you up and spitting you out when you least expect it .
I’d always been able to pull myself up and move forward, but if things go wrong this time, I’m afraid I won’t have any fight left in me.
How many times can a person be beat down until they just stay down?
How much guilt can one person bear before it breaks them?
The fear of not being the man Daisy wants or the father the kids need hits me hard.
I push my palms against my jean-covered thighs to calm the shakes vibrating through my body.
We pull up to the emergency room, the doors bang open, and the paramedics spit out numbers and phrases to the hospital staff as they lift the stretcher out of the ambulance and wheel Daisy’s unconscious body into the first bay.
One nurse takes her vitals while another one calls for the OB/GYN on staff.
Then they hit me with a barrage of questions. “What is your relationship to this woman and the baby?”
“She’s my wife, and this is my child.”
The question pisses me off, and I can’t help thinking it was asked because of my cut and overall appearance.
“Does your wife have any allergies? Is she diabetic? Is she on any medications? Any history of high blood pressure or heart disease? Does she smoke or do drugs? Her age and overall health.”
After answering all their questions, I add, “My wife doesn’t smoke or do drugs. She’s in perfect health.”
Except for strapping herself down with an outlaw biker who wasn’t even there when she needed me most.
One of the nurses eases the baby out of my arms. “I’m from pediatrics. We just need to examine her.” They carry my little girl out of the cubicle, and I’m torn. Not wanting to let her go, but not wanting to leave Daisy either.
“I’m Dr. Jonas.” A middle-aged woman in blue scrubs and a no-nonsense expression introduces herself. “I’m going to ask you to step out while I examine your wife.”
She slides down the glasses perched on the top of her short gray hair and gives me an obvious once-over from my scuffed boots and frayed jeans, up to my scarred face. It’s quick but thorough, and for the only time in my life, I wish I were in a three-piece suit.
I step on the other side of the curtain, and my mind spins with questions that have no answers. Once again, Daisy was on her own when she needed me. Once again, I let her down. Then the what-ifs.
What if this causes her to slip into another depression like after Deana’s birth?
What if she blames me and never forgives me?
And worst of all—What if she never wakes up?
I push the unbearable thought out of my head, hating it could be a possibility.
A few agonizing minutes later, Dr. Jonas draws back the curtain, and I snap to attention.
“I examined your wife, and everything concerning the delivery seems fine. The afterbirth was delivered intact, and there are no signs of infection, but?—”
I grip the back of the plastic chair at the end of Daisy’s bed.
“She’s lost a considerable amount of blood. Had she been in the hospital, we would’ve been able to control it.” She shifts her feet. “Did your wife sustain a fall right before she went into labor?”
“I wasn’t home when she went into labor.”
‘Cause I was hunting down a dirtbag who was stalking my family.
“She didn’t mention falling sometime during the day, or right before she went into labor?” The doctor’s eyes pierce through me, or maybe my guilt is jacking me up.
“No.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Of course, she fell trying to defend herself against one of my enemies.
“Because of the postpartum hemorrhage, her blood count is very low. We’re pushing fluids and typing her blood for a transfusion.”
“A blood transfusion?”
“Yes, we feel at this point it’s necessary to sustain her recovery. She was also dehydrated, and this can all lead to the body shutting down.”
“Shutting down? What the fuck does that mean?”
“From the information we received from the paramedics, your wife was already in the last stages of labor when they arrived. They also reported there were signs of a struggle of some kind. Any physical exertion or extreme stress can cause premature delivery, especially after subsequent births.”
“I don’t know where you’re goin’ with this, Doc, but I don’t knock my wife around.”
Her gaze lands on my one-percent patch. “I’m not here to judge, but we can’t deny the facts that some form of trauma caused her to go into an early labor.
” Her thin lips set in a firm line. “Either way, a social worker will interview your wife when she regains consciousness.” She hangs the clipboard on the end of Daisy’s bed.
“She should be moved up to maternity shortly, and after your baby is examined, she’ll be placed in the nursery on the same floor. ”
Dr. Jonas leaves, and all the questions I couldn’t bring myself to ask her haunt me.
How long before she wakes up?
Will she be all right when she wakes up?
Will she wake up?
I move to the side of Daisy’s bed and gently stroke her hand. “I’m so sorry, baby.” I lean in and kiss her hair. “I wanted everything to be perfect this time.”
I blink back the tears because crying is a useless emotion.
DAISY
My eyes flutter open a few times before I can focus on my surroundings. I’m in bed, but not our bedroom at the condo. This bed has bars .
I blink furiously until I see windows line one wall, and a curtain hangs on the other side of the bed.
The room is semi-dark with blue lights flashing from a machine next to my bed, and there’s a persistent beeping over my head.
I rotate my head in the other direction, and Joker is sprawled out in a chair two sizes too small for him.
I force my brain to make sense, and slowly I remember.
The heavy hand covering my mouth in the kitchen.
Fighting back, then the pain of my fall, followed by the searing pain and overwhelming urgency of my body taking over to deliver our baby girl.
I raise my head and search the room. No bassinet, no trace of my baby. I smooth my hand over my somewhat flat stomach.
“Joker,” I choke out. I clear my throat. “My baby?” The hoarse rasp screams out of me like a wounded animal.
Joker startles, then grips the arms of the chair, two seconds from ending up on the floor. He pushes himself up and lunges for the bed. “Are you in pain?”
“Where’s the baby? Where’s our baby?”
He strokes my face, and my heart pounds harder. “Try to relax. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be fine.”
“Tell me.” Why is he keeping the truth from me? “Where’s our baby?”
“She’s fine. She’s in the nursery.”
I grip his forearm. “You’re not lying to me.”
He covers my hand with his. “The baby’s fine, and so are you.” He leans in and hugs me to him. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
When he straightens, his cheeks are damp, and I realize mine are too.
“What happened? The last thing I remember was being in our kitchen.”
“It’s all good.” He cups my cheek. “You’re back with me, and that’s all that matters.”
“I want to see my baby.”
Nothing will feel right until I hold my baby girl in my arms.