33. Chelsea
CHELSEA
Iwas just about to get in the cab when I heard the sound of a thunderous crash.
At first, I barely register it. There is a lot of construction noise in the area, and so I assume that the loud crashing is all a part of it.
That’s when I look back, hand on the door, and see that the frame scaffolding is no longer in the sky.
My heart squeezes so tightly in my chest that I forget to breathe.
Jake.
Before a thought forms in my mind, I’m running.
My heart pounds, my legs shaking, but somehow I don't trip and fall, despite my foot hitting a pretty large rock.
I barely register the pain swelling in my toes as I tear through the group of men that have already surrounded the pile of debris that was once the scaffolding that held Jake just inside.
“No!” I scream. “Jake!”
My body rushes forward, but someone catches me. I fight them instinctively because I want to get to Jake. Need to get to him and know that he’s okay.
My brain should tell me that it's impossible to lift all that metal and wood on my own, but right now, my brain is doused in the same acid burning my throat. Desperation leaks out of me in garbled cries as I scream his name again and again. "Jake! Oh my God, Jake!"
“You can't go there, ma'am. It's not safe,” the man holding me says, but I shove and fight to get him off of me.
The rest of his words are drowned out in the background. It's probably some sensible explanation I'm not ready to hear right now. Jake is still under there. I have to save him.
I don’t even really know what I’m going to do if they let me go. It's not exactly like I can lift the scaffolding myself, but something in my mind tells me I can. Like a mother with a baby trapped in the car, and I'll be filled with the superhuman strength to get that off of him so that I can–
“Chelsea.”
The familiar voice has me whipping my head back. All the other hands that were holding me melt away as I stare at Adam’s horrified expression. My strength melts away, and I fall against him, pointing a shaking hand at the collapsed compartment. “Jake…he…:
Adam catches me against his body and holds me tight, then he releases me after only a few seconds. He grabs my cheeks and says, “Stay put, alright? I’ll go get him.”
I want to hold onto Adam’s strength for longer, but I want Jake back even more, so I just nod.
Adam runs to the encampment and orders some other men to grab certain parts of the roof while moving the piles at the edges. It looks heavy. His muscles bulge as they lift the bulk of the debris together, enabling me to see a hand in the middle of the collapsed wood.
Jake's hand.
I almost run forward again, then remember Adam's order. I don't want to distract him, so I squeeze my hands into fists and wait while they work.
While still holding the edge of the roof, he orders someone to pull Jake out from under it. The men grasp his hand and start to pull.
"Be careful," I scream because none of them seem to be taking the time to remove obstacles out of the way. But on second thought, I understand that time is of the essence, and they probably can't afford to be too gentle.
The second Jake is free and clear of the scaffolding, I run to him, as Adam lets it fall with a thunderous thud.
Adam gives more orders, or maybe he's scolding them for standing around as they were before. The noise becomes a mere drone in my head. I don’t know what they’re saying, and frankly, I’m not sure I care. All I know is that Jake has to be okay. He just has to be.
"Jake." I cup his face with my hands, eyeing the trail of blood running down his temple. He’s not moving. Why is he not moving? My mind jumps from one horrible possibility to the next, my senses haywire because why the fuck isn't he moving?
He can’t be dead. He can’t be. He needs to be alive.
Hands attempt to draw me back, and I tear away from them. I press my ears against Jake's chest. A steady heartbeat greets me, and I’m flooded with relief, but it’s not done. I’m not yet convinced.
He has to wake up.
“Jakey.” I run my hand over his hair. “Please wake up. Please, please. Please.”
I don’t know if it’s the strength of my fervent pleas that does it, my appeal to the universe. I don’t know if it’s simply the sunlight blaring on his face, or the multiple people yelling at us, or the sound of sirens blaring in the distance.
Or Adam coming to kneel beside me, saying, "Open your eyes, you crazy bastard."
Whatever it is, Jake finally groans, and he painstakingly peels his eyes open. He looks up at us, blinking slowly, and he says, “Damn. You look ugly upside down, Adam.”
A laughing sob rips out of my chest. A tear leaks down my cheeks, pressure builds down my face as I whisper, “Jake?
“Hi, princess." His smile takes over his face as his hand twitches. He weakly tries to cup my cheek, but just that slight movement makes him strain and renders him a little breathless. "Were you worried about me, sweetheart? It takes a little more than that to bring me down."
I don’t care about anything in that moment. Reassurance pounds through my chest so powerfully that it drowns out all sound. Jake’s eyes are open. He’s alive. He’s staring at me now with amusement and a hint of pain that shows on his face. I lean down and fuse our lips.
He laughs into my fervent kiss, and it's glorious, the taste of him so familiar and fresh and alive.
The coffee on his tongue mingles with the saltiness of the tears running down my cheeks. My heart pounds a new rhythm in gratitude, and I send up a prayer for the first time in a long time.
Jake is alive.
Jake doesn’t have any broken bones, shockingly.
He's extremely bruised and suffered a head injury as well as a twisted ankle, but he's otherwise okay, with no internal injuries. The doctor calls it a miracle.
Jake says it's thanks to his lightning-fast reflexes.
He says that when he heard the sound of the collapse, he leaped onto the floor in a split second and positioned himself in such a way to minimize damage as much as possible.
"Any idea what caused the collapse?" I ask.
“The cops are saying it was the excavator," Adam says. “Looks like it rolled forward a few inches and hit the scaffolding which caused it to collapse.”
“How did that happen?”
"Probably a malfunction, thanks to some structural problem,” Jake says. “Stuff like that happens all the time."
"Not on my site it doesn't,” Adam’s face is dark. "I have routine check-ups. It shouldn’t have even been that close to the scaffolding in the first place. I don't know who the fuck was drinking when they set it there, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it, and they're going to get fired."
"Oh, come on,” Jake says. "I don't think we need to go that far."
"You almost died, Jake," Adam says, frowning deeply at him. "I don't think you quite understand how serious this is. Had you reacted a little slower, it would have been a lot worse. Anyone else would have sued us into oblivion. Someone needs to get fired for this."
"It was likely an accident."
"An accident that could have cost you your life. It's not even up to me. The cops are involved now, and they have to ensure that the site is safe for more work, so until then, production is shut down."
"Bummer." Jake doesn't seem to be bothered, but maybe because he's distracted, holding my hand and playing with it,
"I already called Sam. We're going to lose money, but it's probably for the best."
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Much better seeing as how you're here." He winks roguishly despite everything. I roll my eyes, giggling.
"I heard that you tried to run in there and save me," he says, fluttering his lashes. "Look at you being the Superman to my Lois Lane."
"Shut up," I say, and he laughs. But I'm dead sober. The memory of his unmoving body still haunts me. I'll probably have nightmares about it for at least a few weeks.
"When I saw you like that, it terrified me. I would have done anything to get you out of there."
"Including putting yourself in danger," Adam gives me a stern look. "You're lucky Theo caught you because if not, you could have made things worse for both of you."'
"It's still sweet that you tried to save me," Jake says, eyes soft. "You really care about me that much, huh?"
I nod, squeezing his hand. "Yes, I do." My voice is still hoarse from all the screaming and crying I did, and I'm pretty sure my face is a mess. But he sits up and kisses me anyway, sweetly, softly.
"Thank you," he says.
I raise my eyebrow. I don't understand the gratitude. I mean, why would he be surprised that I care about him? Of course, I care about him. Why would I not care about the man I'm sleeping with and the possible father of my child?
A man who makes me smile and laugh more than any other person, soothing my insecurities while hiding his own.
That's what this is about. His mother's careless disregard for him probably made him doubt that anyone could ever love him. Poor baby. I don't want to be angry at a woman who did what she had to do to flee domestic violence. Yet I'm still angry that she took that out on her son, too.
Once Jake is cleared by the hospital and concussion-free, I drive him home while Adam goes to the police station to finish his statement. He really wants to know what caused all this.
I'm more concerned with the recovery.
Jake was already showing signs of being a difficult patient. His ankle had been wrapped up, and he was told to stay off of it for the most part, but when we got home, before I could even help him with his crutches, he opened the door and got out of the car.
"Jake," I say warningly, and he winks, leaning against the car to wait for me.
"I can walk just fine," he says.
"Your ankle is the size of your head. You already made it worse by refusing to be wheeled to the car while we were in the hospital."
"I didn't need it."
"Yes, you do. You're just scared it will threaten your masculinity."
He scoffs, and I roll my eyes.
I finally get his crutches to him, and we get inside the house.
Instead of going to bed like he's supposed to, he decides to go to the kitchen to make something to eat.
"Jake!" I scold.
"What?"
"Bed. Now."
"But I'm hungry."
"I'll make you something, just go."
"Bossy," he grumbles, but his eyes twinkle playfully. He drops a kiss on my cheek as he goes in.
Yeah, he's definitely going to be a handful.
As I start on some chicken soup, the doorbell rings. I assume it's not Adam because he wouldn't ring the doorbell if it were.
When I glance through the peephole, it's Sam standing there, radiating anxious energy.
"Sam." I pull open the door further and say, "Hey. Come in."
He does, and she says, "Adam called and told me what happened. It's all my fault. I should have been there. "
"It's not your fault."
"It is. I just keep screwing up with him. I should have been there, but I was carving and I–"
"Hey," I put my hand on his arm, and he stops, though his eyes still leak with guilt. Something tells me it's about more than just what happened today. There's a tension I've noticed between the two men for a while, even though I never brought it up. Maybe I should do that today.
"Just talk to him," I tell him. "About everything. Even the hard stuff. Trust me when I say he will never hold it against you. He's just not that type of guy."
He holds my gaze for a long time, a poignant sadness in his eyes even as he smiles. "Yeah. I know."