Page 113 of Remember Me
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-hotrage. 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 yanksout 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.