Chapter 4 Georgie
Georgie
Arhythmic beeping interrupts my restful slumber. This is the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had in months. I feel safe here, wherever here is. My lower back isn’t killing me, and those swells of pain I felt earlier have disappeared, too.
I just feel… good. So nice, like I’m floating on a cloud, hazy yet comfortable.
I sigh contentedly and roll onto my side, snuggling into the blankets.
A masculine voice whispers my name. It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He’s got a Southern twang that flows from his mouth like honey, silky smooth with a slow drawl. The sexy kind of voice that could charm a virgin out of her panties in under ten seconds.
I must be dreaming.
And if I am, I might as well make it a good one. I’m no virgin, but from the sound of him, he’s welcome to my panties.
“Georgie, you need to wake up,” my dream whispers. When that doesn’t work, his low voice grows more insistent. Stern. Commanding, even. “Georgie, wake up. Now.”
My brows knit together. Why is my dream being so pushy? I don’t want to wake up. I want to sleep. Sleep is my haven, my escape. Sleep is my friend. The only friend I have left.
This time my dream squeezes my hand.
That’s weird. I’ve never had a dream manifest itself physically before.
It’s the feeling of warmth and the comfort of his hand squeezing mine that has my consciousness swimming up, breaking through the murky surface, forcing me to return to the harsh realities of awareness.
My eyelids are heavy, but they flick open for half a second before I slam them shut again. The lights are blindingly bright, causing a stabbing pain to blossom from behind my eye sockets.
“The doctor says you need to wake up, and the baby wants to meet his mama.”
Baby? Mama?
Oh, my god!
My eyelids part immediately as I sit up in bed, panic surging through me. My hand flies to my chest, but the motion is halted by something pulling at my skin. There’s an IV taped to the top of my left hand, the line pulling taut as I move.
With care, I lift my hand, sliding it down my body from my chest to my abdomen. It’s still distended, but it feels different. What once was hard, feels softer.
Empty.
My womb feels empty.
The machines’ beeping grows louder and more incessant, a discordant cacophony that only serves to ramp up my anxiety.
“You need to calm down,” the voice from my dream orders. “The baby is in the NICU, but the doctors said he’s doing well. He’s stable.”
There’s something familiar about that voice and that phrase. You need to calm down.
Blinking, my blurry eyesight slowly comes into focus as I take in my surroundings. The dull light gray walls. The buzzing fluorescent overhead lights. The strong antiseptic scent. The chirping machines.
I’m in a hospital.
The grumpy guy from the car accident is standing next to my hospital bed holding my other hand. He repeats himself when I stare at him, wide-eyed and confused. “The baby is fine, Georgie. The doctors said he’s doing well. He’s stable.”
I take a breath, inhaling and exhaling. My baby is safe. Then it hits me what the man said.
“He?” I blink back tears. “It’s a boy?” I ask, lifting my eyes to meet the man’s gaze.
“Yeah, it’s a boy,” he nods. “For being born early, the doc said he’s strong, but they want to keep him in the NICU for a bit to give his lungs more time to develop.”
My head is still foggy and sluggish, but I’m swamped with relief.
The terror that slammed through me when my water broke was unparalleled. In all the years of my rather shitty life, nothing scared me more than the moment I felt the sudden wetness seeping out from between my legs as I drove down the road.
“So, he’s going to be okay?”
“Yes, he’ll be just fine, Georgie.”
I lean back against the pillows, trying to sort things out in my mind.
But all I’m left with is a vague series of random memories.
My pain from the contractions. The car crash.
Feeling dizzy and unsteady, like I might faint.
Seeing this man sitting in the ambulance with me.
From that point forward… it’s just blank. I can’t remember anything else.
“What… what happened?” I whisper. “I remember the wreck, and then… not much else.” My eyes flit to the stranger. “Are you okay? I crashed into you. I’m so sorry.”
When I first saw him after the wreck, it didn’t register how handsome he was, shock eclipsing everything but the pain and the fear. But now, his attractiveness is impossible to miss.
He has dark blond hair, stubble gracing his chiseled jaw, and a hard expression on his face, like he doesn’t smile much.
Yet, he has the softest brown eyes, eyes that remind me of a pool of melted milk chocolate.
You can always tell a person’s true nature through their eyes.
His speak of protection and safety. Two things that I have experienced little of in my twenty-four years.
He smells of automobile grease and leather. I wonder if that scent is a result of the accident or if he always smells like that. But God, he smells good.
He towers over me, standing at my bedside, tall and solid, but there’s nothing threatening about him. My gaze drifts to his tanned forearms, corded with muscle as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
It’s easier to study his arms than risk drowning in those hypnotic eyes again.
Because if I do, I might never find my way back out.
“I’m fine, just a little banged up. Nothing serious. But the doctors think you have a concussion.”
“Is that… why I don’t remember giving birth?”
“That’s probably part of it, but you had an emergency C-section under anesthesia.”
For the umpteenth time today, tears gather in my eyes.
“Hey, hey. Please don’t cry,” the man replies, his voice low and cajoling, as he hands me a tissue.
I take the tissue and pat my face dry.
“I tried calling your mom. She didn’t answer, so I left a message.”
I wish he hadn’t done that.
“Oh, um, okay. Thanks.”
He probably assumes my mom will drop everything and rush to my side, but I know the truth. More than likely, she’ll delete the message and pretend she never received it. That’s how she likes to live her life now, pretending I don’t exist.
Calling upon my mom for help was my last resort, but it was never an actual option. I just convinced myself it was, so I wouldn’t have to face the truth that I’m on my own in life.
When I say nothing more, the man says, “Now that you’re awake, you can use my phone to call your husband.” He withdraws his iPhone from the front pocket of his jeans and holds it out for me to take. “I didn’t know his number since it wasn’t in your phone.”
I stare at the phone in his outstretched hand as if it’s a loaded gun. Husband?
I chew the inside corner of my lip and shake my head. “Not necessary. Thanks though.”
Concern flits across his features. “Are you… are you safe?”
“Safe?” I ask, crinkling my nose in confusion. “I’m in a hospital. I can’t get much safer than that.”
“Safe from your husband, I mean. Are you…” He falters. “Are you escaping an abusive situation?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Well, something like that, but not exactly. “I just… don’t have a husband.”
“But you were wearing a wedding ring.”
Understanding dawns on me, and I explain, “It was my grandmother’s wedding ring, and she gave it to me before she died. I wear it as a way to keep her memory close.”
“So, no husband?” he clarifies.
I shake my head.
“And no boyfriend?”
I shake my head again. “The boyfriend dipped as soon as the second line appeared on the pregnancy test. Now, it’s just me… and the baby.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence before the man pulls my jewelry out of the front pocket of his jeans. Handing the jewelry to me, he adds, “The hospital staff gave them to me to hold before the C-section.”
The precious metal, heated from the stranger’s touch, drops into my hand.
My fingers close around the jewelry, grateful to have it back in my possession, even if I had yet to notice they were missing.
Besides the simple gold ring, there is also a heart-shaped locket that my Nana gave me when I went to live with her.
These are the only two pieces of nice jewelry I own, and they mean the world to me because they’re my last tangible connections to the only woman who ever loved me.
I slip the ring on my finger, but I have trouble fastening the necklace.
The man steps forward. “May I?” He gestures to the locket. When I nod, he loops the necklace around my neck and secures the clasp. When he pulls my hair out from under the chain, his gentle touch sends a zing of awareness down my spine. I haven’t been this close to a man in a long time.
And for good reason. Men suck, I remind myself, and I’ve sworn off dating.
“Well, that’ll make things a little easier, I guess.”
I look up in confusion. “Things?”
The man fidgets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking a little sheepish.
“Uh, see… you were wearing a wedding ring, and I knew your name and that you were in labor and I was with you at the crash site and… the EMTs just assumed I was your husband.” He gives me a simple shrug as if what he just told me was no big deal.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone, especially since you told me you were scared. So, I just… rolled with it.”
My eyebrows jump to meet my hairline. “Rolled with it? You… everyone thinks you’re my husband?” I whisper, dumbfounded.
He bobs his head.
“But I don’t—I don’t even know your name.” I’m not sure why that is my biggest cause for concern, but it’s the first thought that pops into my mind.
My second thought is that I wouldn’t mind consummating our marriage. But then I remind myself—again—that men suck.
The situation is ludicrous. I must still be high from the potent cocktail of anesthesia and a traumatic brain injury because a smile lights up my face. I smash my lips together to keep from laughing, but a giggle breaks through.
It’s simply absurd.
“Kinda crazy, right? Anyway, I’m James. James Harper.”
“So, I guess that makes me Georgie Harper, then?”
“Guess so.”
But something about his name niggles at the back of my brain. James Harper. It sounds familiar, like I should recognize it from somewhere. Looking at him, he’s obviously older than I am, so it isn’t like we went to high school or college together.
Yet, I know I know him from somewhere. But the knowledge is elusive in my brain, slipping out of my grasp just as I think I’ll latch onto it. I rub my forehead with a frown.
“How’s your head? Since your truck didn’t have airbags, the doctors think you hit your head on the steering wheel or the window.” His finger traces a line along my temple. “You have a cut and a bruise here.”
My head doesn’t hurt too much, but I shiver at his touch. His fingers are gentle and warm, sparking something within me. There’s something about his presence that is inherently soothing. He’s stoic and gruff, but he makes me feel safe, and, if I’m honest with myself, less lonely.
An irrational thought flashes across my mind. I don’t want him to leave.
Which brings me to the fact that he is not my husband. He has no tie to me, and does, in fact, need to leave, I’m sure.
“So, um, a simple thank you doesn’t seem sufficient,” I wince, “but that’s all I’ve got, James.
So… thank you for staying with me, and I’m sorry again about your car.
I’m… between car insurance companies right now, but once I get out of the hospital, I can start paying you back for what I owe you for repairs.
” I chuckle, but the sound is mirthless. “I hope you take payment plans.”
God, my head didn’t hurt much a minute ago, but it’s pounding now as the weight of life’s responsibilities comes crashing down on me. I’m homeless with a premature newborn. I have no job, no money, a wrecked truck, and mounting debts. How are we going to survive?
How am I going to pay our hospital bills? With my son in the NICU, they’ll be astronomical.
My son. I have a son.
My thoughts fall to my baby boy, and I vow to do whatever it takes to keep him safe, protected, and cared for. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I will. I refuse to fail my son as my mother failed me.
“Don’t worry about my car. It’s fine.” James waves his hand through the air, like he’s erasing my debt. I wish it were that simple. “But… you got somewhere to stay after you get out of here?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, hoping my voice sounds steady, as if I’m telling the truth rather than lying through my teeth.
“You sure about that?”
My body jolts when he presses me. “What—what do you mean?”
He pulls the chair over so that it’s positioned right next to the bed and drops his muscular frame onto it.
James leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.
“I went through your purse earlier because I was trying to find your husband’s contact information…
and what I found didn’t tell the story of a mama who had a stable living situation. ”
Embarrassment and shame coil together as my cheeks burn. My gaze drops as my shoulders round, wrapping my arms around my torso.
I don’t know how to reply. It’s hard to refute the truth.
Taking my silence as an acknowledgement he’s on the right track, James elaborates, “So, here’s what I’m thinking. Let’s just keep up the ruse until you get back on your feet. I’ve got plenty of space at my house, and my work hours are sporadic, so I’ll be around to help you with the baby.”
My head springs up. “Keep up the ruse?”
“The ruse that we’re married. Everyone at the hospital already thinks we are, so what’s the harm in continuing?”
My eyes narrow in suspicion. My emotional guard, which had lowered earlier, is now locked firmly back into place.
My past has taught me that no one offers kindness without conditions.
Especially not an offer this monumental.
He isn’t offering to let me go in front of him at the grocery store checkout line.
He’s offering to pretend to be my husband and let us move into his house.
That is absolutely insane.
Seeking comfort, and probably guidance too, my fingers find my locket, and I rub it between my thumb and forefinger.
What if he’s a pedophile? What if he has a wife and they want children, but can’t have them, so he wants to kidnap my baby and kill me? What if—
“I realize you know nothing about me, and my solution to your problems sounds—”
“Insane,” I supply.
The left corner of his mouth turns up, the first semi-smile I’ve seen from him.
And, by God, it makes him even hotter.
“Insane. I was going to go with unusual, but insane works too.”
“Why?” I say, pushing for answers. “What’s in it for you?”