44. Chapter 44
forty-four
Diesel
Ipaced while Sadie’s contractions slammed closer and closer together, my boots eating up the linoleum like I could outwalk the panic clawing at my chest. They had me filling out goddamn forms—like, ten minutes of signing here, initialing there.
Couldn’t they see she was about to push a whole human out of her body? Paperwork? Seriously?
I was watching her breathe through another contraction when I noticed it—her face went pale, drained of all color. In slow motion, her lashes fluttered, her eyes rolled back—
And she slumped.
“Sadie?” My voice cracked. “Sadie! NURSE!” I bolted into the hall, lungs burning. “NURSE! HELP! SOMEBODY GET IN HERE!”
I ran back to her side, heart hammering, my hands shaking so hard I could barely grip hers. Cold. Clammy. Her fingers slipped against mine like I couldn’t hold on tight enough.
“Stay with me, sunshine. Stay with me, please. God, don’t do this. Don’t you leave me like this.” My throat was raw, begging. I would’ve gotten on my knees if it meant keeping her here.
The door burst open, and suddenly there were hands, voices, a flurry of movement. Machines beeping, nurses calling codes, I couldn’t understand. All I knew was her chest wasn’t rising the way it should, her body limp against the bed.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The world narrowed to her stillness.
“Don’t take her from me,” I whispered, forehead pressed to her hand. “I’ll give up everything—everything—just let me keep her.”
“BP dropping. Sixty over forty. Let’s get fluids in—stabilize her,” one nurse called.
They strapped a mask over her face. I heard something about oxygen, but I felt like I needed one too—my lungs refused to work, my head spinning. “Sadie, baby, please…”
A hand shoved me into the chair next to the bed. “We need to focus on Momma right now. Can’t have you passing out on us, too.”
Her smile should’ve been reassuring, but it grated like nails on a chalkboard.
I watched them roll her onto her side. Every second stretched, every breath rattled. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out, leaving nothing but panic and the desperate hope that she’d fight her way back to me.
I sat in the chair like it was a goddamn throne of panic, watching hands and voices and machines take over the room.
My chest heaved so hard I thought I’d burst. Every beep, every click, every whispered instruction slammed into me like a hammer.
I couldn’t breathe around it. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.
They were pumping fluids into her. An oxygen mask pressed against her face, and I could see the rise and fall of her chest—barely. Too slow. Too shallow. My fingers twitched, itching to reach through all the chaos and yank her back, make her fight.
“BP’s stabilizing… just keep talking to her,” one nurse said.
Talk to her. I swallowed a scream and leaned closer, pressing my forehead to her arm. “You hear me, sunshine? Stay with me. Fight. Please. God, fight.”
Her skin was still too cold under my hands, but the faint pulse in her wrist said she wasn’t gone yet.
I clutched her hand like I was afraid the universe would snatch it away if I let go.
Every labored breath she took stabbed me in the chest. I felt her fear, her exhaustion, her sheer will to get through this, and it tore me up inside.
The room smelled like antiseptic, sweat, and fear. I could feel the tension vibrating through the floor into my boots. Machines beeped, alarms hummed low in my skull, and I couldn’t shut them out. My throat was raw from screaming her name, from begging, from praying that she’d stay.
“She’s responding. Keep talking,” the nurse said.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just whispered to her over and over, fingers tangled with hers, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re not leaving me, baby. You’re not leaving me…”
Every second stretched into eternity. Every contraction she rode through was a knife twisting in both our guts. And still, she fought. Still, she clung to life like a goddamn warrior, and I would’ve ripped the world apart to make sure she made it.
The monitor’s shrill alarms drilled into my skull, each one a countdown I couldn’t stop. Beep. Beep. Beep. Too slow. Too weak. I wanted to rip the wires off, carry her out of here, fix her myself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do a goddamn thing.
“Pressure’s still low.”
“Push fluids.”
“Hang the unit—now.”
Their voices blurred, a jumble of commands and clipped responses. My ears rang. My chest tightened until every inhale was a fight. The edges of my vision went dark.
She was too still.
God, she was too still.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest like I could hold my heart in, stop it from tearing itself apart. My throat locked up, and a sound ripped out of me—half sob, half growl—ugly and raw. I didn’t care. Let them hear. Let the whole goddamn hospital hear.
“Don’t you leave me, Sadie! Don’t you fucking leave me like this!” My voice cracked, my hands fisting against the sheets. “I swear to God, sunshine, I’ll burn this world down if you go.”
And then, like a miracle—
“BP’s climbing. Seventy over forty-eight. Keep it going.”
The flat, empty terror inside me cracked, just a hair. The beeps steadied. Her chest lifted, shaky but real. My whole body sagged, my forehead dropping against the cold plaster behind me, and I sucked in a breath that felt like knives.
Not safe yet. But not gone.
Not gone.