Chapter 68

CHAPTER 68

Finn

T he wheels of the gurney grate in my ears as the rain beats down upon me, the wind still gusting. Clad in a rain parka, I'm close by her side, my heart in my throat, as Skye is transported into the chopper to airlift her to a nearby Marina Del Rey hospital. When she came to in my arms, she was shivering like crazy and in a state of shock. Her pulse frighteningly low, her pupils dilated, her lips blue.

Now inside the helicopter, the EMTs work at breakneck speed to get her out of her soaking wet clothes and then wrap her in a thick blanket before inserting a fluid resuscitation IV into her arm and placing an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. Silently, I sit next to her holding her icy cold hand, never taking my eyes off her. A violent chill of my own runs through me at the thought of how close I came to losing her again.

"I love you, baby," I tell her as we lift off. Weakly, she squeezes my hand as a ghost of a smile appears beneath the plastic mask. That's all I need.

The ride to the hospital takes less than ten minutes. While Skye is rushed into the trauma unit, I'm forced to remain in the waiting room. Eager to talk to her, Billings offers to stay with me, but I tell him to come back in the morning. Anxiousness ticks with each passing minute. And guilt tolls like a death knell at each passing hour. Why the hell did I let her go through with this? What the hell was I thinking? I should have stopped her! Finally, after almost three long hours, a doctor ambles up to me as I stare remorsefully at the floor.

"Mr. Jackson?"

Startled, my head jerks up as he introduces himself. "I'm Doctor Linderman, your wife's attending physician." My weary eyes meet his. They look glazed. Like he's tired and overworked.

"My wife... is she okay?" Apprehension fills every word.

He lifts his horn-rimmed glasses on top of his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. I've watched far too much TV to know this isn't a good sign. My heart thuds in my ears as I brace myself for bad news.

Then, he exhales a breath and twitches a smile. "We've done a full work-up on her—an MRI, a CT scan, and routine blood work—and all her vitals are stable."

I blow out the breath I've been holding as he goes on.

"She was in shock, but her blood pressure and heart rate are back to normal."

"So, she's fine?" I blurt out.

"Yes, except for . . . "

For what?

"A badly sprained ankle. She tore several ligaments and will have to be on crutches for some time."

I heave another breath of relief. I can handle that.

"There's something else you should know."

My pulse speeds up again, anxiety coiling in the pit of my stomach. "What is it?"

"Your wife is pregnant."

It takes several moments for the news to sink in. Not too long after I discovered that Skye was alive, she told me it was unlikely she could have another child due to the internal injuries she sustained from her near-fatal accident. She thought I'd be terribly disappointed, but I told her it didn't matter. I had her and I had Maddie. Everything in the world I needed.

I'm speechless as shock whooshes through my veins. Skye's pregnant. The baby is fine. A burst of elation... then red-hot rage. The hatred I feel for that bastard can't be put into words. Or measured. Greenberg not only almost cost me my wife's life—twice!—but also that of my unborn child. I hope the son-of-a-bitch dies on the operating table. If I could kill him myself, I would.

I take several deep calming breaths, then ask, "Can I see my wife?"

"Yes. She's awake and eager to see you. Follow me."

Five minutes later, I'm in Skye's room. The doctor leaves me alone with a nurse who's setting a pair of crutches against a wall close to Skye's bed. She's now in a hospital gown, propped up against several pillows and covered with a blanket. An IV along with a heart monitor are attached to her. Though she looks exhausted from her ordeal, she's a far cry from the limp, shivering woman I carried to the helicopter. Her wan face brightens when she sees me.

"Finn!"

I jog up to her bedside. "Skye!" Saying her name is like an endorphin. Sitting down next to her, I take her into my arms. Holding her tenderly, I kiss the top of her head, keeping my lips pressed against her scalp for what seems like an eternity. It feels so good to hold her. To feel her heartbeat. To know she's still mine.

Finally, I break the kiss and smooth her matted hair. "Baby, how do you feel?"

"I want to go home."

The buxom nurse interjects. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jackson. You need to stay overnight for observation."

Skye's face tightens, her eyes darkening. I know this look—it's the look of determination. Nothing can sway her.

"No way!" she barks at the nurse.

Before the startled nurse can respond, Skye peels off the heart monitor pad from her chest— Whoosh! —and then yanks out the IV from her wrist. Alarm floods my cells as a fountain of blood pours all over her forearm.

"What are you doing?" shrieks the nurse as Skye bolts upright and wrenches off the covers.

"I'm going home. Plain and simple. You can't keep me here."

If there's anything I've learned in my twelve years of marriage and especially tonight, you can't hold back my headstrong wife. I look at the nurse imploringly. "Please. Can you do something about the bleeding?"

With a look that could kill, the nurse manages to bandage Skye's wrist as she throws her legs over the bed. Her right ankle is taped. Gripping the bed railing, she steps onto her good foot, her balance shaky.

"Let me help you, baby." For the second time tonight, I sweep my wife into my arms. Sinking into me, she wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head against my shoulder.

"Finn, let's get out of here!" Nope, nothing can stop my wife.

"Can you please do me a favor?" I ask the nurse.

Narrowing her eyes, the frizzy-haired woman fires me another disapproving look.

"Can you grab her crutches?"

Ten minutes later we're signed out of the hospital.

***

The storm and fog now out to sea, we Uber to the house in less than an hour. I help her upstairs.

"I need to take a hot bath," she tells me as I transport her to our bedroom. "Cleanse myself of that monster."

That monster! Rage again surges inside me. I would have liked to have been the one to give him that bullet. Billings beat me to it. Too bad it didn't kill him. Gravely injured, he, too, was airlifted to the hospital and immediately taken to surgery. For all I care, the sick fuck can take his last fetid breath and go to hell. Where he belongs.

A few minutes later, we're in my sunken tub. Scented candles lit. The Jacuzzi jets on. Soothing every muscle of our tired bodies. Skye sits between my legs, her back to me, her head against my chest, as I gently sponge her. Running the soft object over her bruised flesh and scattered scars. Relishing every sensuous inch of her body.

Dropping the sponge into the bubbling water, I rub my hand over her belly, knowing there is a life form growing inside her. "Skye, the doctor told me," I whisper against her neck.

Her hand meets mine as the other toys with her gold locket. "We'll need to add a new photo."

I hear the happiness in her voice. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, a smile lifts my lips. Knowing there will be a tomorrow, tonight I will hold her in my arms. Never let her go. About to kiss her, I hum a Springsteen song.

"Don't Look Back."

The future is ours.