Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland
Chapter 30
Every fiber in his body, every whisper in his ear, told him to stay. Dustin ignored them, fought them off, and walked to the Uber. This was the only way. Hard, fast and no looking back. Rip that bandage quickly off the wound and it only hurt once. No prolonged torture.
But another side of him couldn’t believe he was leaving. Walking away from Chantelle and the best thing that ever happened to him. He wished he could read the look in her eyes, guess what was going on in her head in those last few minutes before they said goodbye. It was almost as if he could sense a longing.
But that was crap. They had something good, especially over the past week, once he’d thrown the terrible two out on their ears. Chantelle had been so relaxed around him, smiling and joking in a way that he’d never imagined she could. At least Chantelle was no longer the tense, stiff-backed woman he’d first met in the tattoo parlor.
The sex had been great. Tender and sweet one night and fiery the next. But he’d be a fool to read anything into that other than great sex. Chantelle had been very clear about their arrangement, and he’d fulfilled his role. Now it was time to go home.
If only he didn’t feel that he was leaving a huge part of himself behind as he did so.
The Uber slammed on the brake just within the gates, so suddenly that Dustin would have hit the dash if he wasn’t already buckled in. “What the hell?”
“Monsieur!” The driver was looking in his rear-view mirror, back towards the house.
Dustin shifted so he could see in the side mirror just outside his window, and what he saw made his stomach go icy. Chantelle was lying in a crumpled heap outside her door.
Both men threw open their door. But Dustin was several paces ahead of the other when he got to her side. He dropped to his knees, his mind screaming No, no, no, no! and gently turned her over.
She was pale and limp, the flutter of her eyes the only proof that she was alive. And then there was the blood. It strained the crotch of her jeans, and a horrifying knowledge of what had just happened tore into him.
“Chantelle!”
“Dustin? I can’t,” she struggled to convey the full implication of her terrible words, “I can’t see. I can’t feel my legs and I can’t—”
Could she feel that she was bleeding, he wondered. “Hush,” he commanded, lifting her easily into his arms and loping to the car with her. The driver was already in his seat and kicking the car into gear when Dustin slammed the door shut. Hospital, was all he needed to say.
***
Waiting, brooding, hoping, praying, and waiting some more. Dustin sat by her bedside, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. It was hours before she opened her eyes, and when she did, she whimpered and called his name.
He was immediately there. Holding the hand that wasn’t punctured by tubes. “Chantelle?”
She flicked her tongue past her dry lips, and he understood immediately that she was thirsty. He pressed the control to make the bed rise a little, just enough to allow him to press a glass of water to her lips. She sipped it gratefully, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to force it down her parched throat.
“Not lemon flavored,” he joked weakly. “But it’s good, right?”
She flopped backwards onto the pillow, eyes open, staring up at the ceiling.
“Can you see?” he asked. He loomed over her, into what he hoped was her line of sight. “Can you see me?”
She nodded slowly, hesitantly, as if she needed to figure out the correct answer to that question. “Barely.”
“Your sight will return,” he said encouragingly. He slid his hand down past her thighs, to her legs, which were covered by a sheet. “Your legs. Can you move them?”
She gritted her teeth, but under his hand, he could feel nothing. She was perfectly still. What the hell was happening, he wondered in anguish.
Then she asked the one question he’d been dreading, because he knew that the answer to it would destroy her. “Our baby?”
In that question was hope against hope, and dread and longing and fear.
He could have waffled and lied, said something encouraging to tide her over long enough to get her back to sleep again, so she could at least get some rest. But he had too much respect for her, he cared too deeply for her to lie. He answered the simplest way her could. “We should wait for the doctor.”
She stared at him, tilting her head just the tiniest bit, as if that was the only range of motion she had. In the eerie glow of the hospital lights, her eyes looked silver. “Our baby?” she asked again.
He rested his head on her shoulder and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Her screams sliced through the night, the agonized wail of a grieving banshee. It was loud enough to bring hospital staff rushing into her room. They sedated her.
She was in a private room with her own on-call doctor, who appeared as if he had teleported to her bedside. Two nurses also came, positioning themselves at either side of the bed, softly shushing her and patting her hands. Dustin stepped back, allowing them access, but jealously guarding her, telling himself that if any of them hurt her, they’d have to answer to him.
Her cries subsided, first becoming sobs, and then ghosting away into silence. Dustin wondered if her silence wasn’t more painful to hear.
He listened as the doctor spoke to Chantelle, seeming to know he had to speak in English so that her husband could understand. It was the first time he was able to take a medical history from her, apart from what was in the international database connected with her service provider in the US.
He heard the details about her nausea, her vomiting and dizzy spells, appalled that she had never let him know the true extent of the problems she’d experienced during their pregnancy. He felt a passing guilt about the sex they had, wondering if somehow something he’d done had made things worse. Logic and a vague understanding of how things worked told him that was a silly idea.
He listened, biting his tongue, not wanting to interject or interfere. He kept a close watch on the doctor’s face, which, implacable as it had been when he’d first entered, was growing more and more grave. And every now and then, the man’s pale eyes wandered over to Dustin with looks that grew from curious to piercing.