SWNOVELS Pucking Sweet: Chapter 83
They take Cole away from me through a pair of big double doors, and I’m left pacing in this goddamn waiting room like a tiger in a cage. How many minutes has it been? Five? Ten? An hour? I have no clue. Time has no meaning. I just pace. When he went through those doors, he was still alive. His pulse was thready, his heart rate was erratic, but he was still breathing. He better be fucking breathing when they’re done with him too.
I drag both hands through my hair, trying to get air in my lungs as I groan. God, this is so completely fucked! I’m standing here with no fucking shoes on. One love of my life is in active heart failure, while the other is in labor with our baby.
Where is Poppy? Why did I leave her? Who fucking does that?
My phone rings in my pocket, and I scramble for it. It’s Jake. I tap the green button. “What?”
“We have Poppy,” he assures me.
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief, sinking down onto the nearest empty chair. “Oh, thank fucking god. Where?”
“We’re here in the hospital. Third floor. They took her right up to labor and delivery to get her checked out. Her water broke, but she’s got some time.”
I nod, my head sinking as I drop it between my knees, trying to get air.
“We won’t leave her side, man. Claribel’s here too. We have her, okay? You deal with Cole. Any update?”
I lean back, head against the wall as I hold back my tears. “No. Nothing.”
“No news is good news,” he assures me. “It means they’re still working. I’ll text you any updates from here as I get them.”
“Can you put her on the phone?” I need her. I have to hear her voice. She’ll tell me it will all be okay.
“Nah, they’re doing a pelvic exam now. Figured you’d appreciate me stepping out of the room for that one.”
Before I can say another word, a nurse comes through the doors, looking around. She’s the same nurse who first took Cole. Seeing me, she waves me over.
“Oh fuck, I gotta go.” I don’t even wait for Jake’s response before I’m out of my chair and walking over to her.
“You came in with Mr. Morrow, correct?”
“I did,” I reply with a nod.
“He says you’re family?”
Oh god, he said something. He spoke. I heave a deep breath. “Fuck—Yeah, I’m family. We’re—he’s mine. We’re partners. He’s my best fucking friend, please—”
“Okay,” she assures me. “We have a few minutes while they prep the OR, and he asked if you can come back. Would you like to come this way?”
I nod, following after her in my socked feet.
“This is the ICU, so I’m gonna ask that you put on this protective gear.” She hands me a mess of shoes covers and a paper robe and a mask and gloves, before she’s leading me into exam room three.
Cole is lying there on the bed, shirtless, oxygen mask on, tubes coming out of both arms. Machines are beeping. Nurses monitor everything, adjusting the equipment. He’s still breathing. I can see the cresting of his heart beeping on the machine.
“We only have minutes,” the nurse urges. “Please be quick.”
I nod, moving over to his bedside. I take his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze. “Coley?”
He blinks his eyes open, looking up at me. “They can’t—stop—the dysrhythmia,” he says on each exhale. “I’m not—responding—to meds.”
“Okay.” I sink down on the side of his bed, putting his hand in my lap.
“They’re putting in—a pacemaker.”
I nod again. “Well, we thought that might happen eventually. We were ready for it, yeah?”
He holds my gaze, tears in his eyes. “My career. It’s over.”
Tears burn hot and heavy as I give his hand another squeeze. “Hey, you know, that’s okay, bud. You weren’t that good anyway. Really, it’s not much of a loss.”
He just smiles, leaning back against the pillows.
I bend over, kissing his hand. “I fucking love you so much.”
“I love you,” he says. “Poppy?”
Fuck, I have to tell him. “Yeah, she’s here too.”
He searches the room for her, seeking out the warmth of her light.
“No, she’s here in the hospital.”
He looks to me, confused.
Fuck, just tell him. “Bud, she’s in labor.”
His eyes go wide as his heart rate spikes on the machines.
“No, no, no,” I say as the nurses surge forward to check his leads.
“Sir, just try to breathe.”
“Mr. Morrow?”
I stand and look down at him. “Okay, don’t fucking do that. Calm down, bud. She’s fine.”
“Go to her,” he says on a breath, his eyes turning fierce.
“Your problems are a bit more pressing—”
“Fuck that. You go—be with Poppy.”
“I’ll go,” I assure him. “I’m going right after this. You two are gonna drive me fucking crazy, I swear.”
“It’s too early,” he says, squeezing my hand tight.
“She’s thirty-seven weeks. That’s good, right?” I glance around at the nurses. “Is that good? Our girl is in labor at thirty-seven weeks.”
“Thirty-seven weeks is good,” one of them quickly assures us.
“Yeah, that’s practically full term,” says another.
“If I die—you have to stay,” he says at me.
My stomach flips as I glare down at him. “What did you fucking say?”
“You’ll be such—a good father. I want you to promise me.”
“Cole—”
“Use my ring. It’s in—my sock drawer.”
“Stop,” I growl. “You’re just getting a pacemaker implanted. That’s a goddamn outpatient procedure.”
He shakes his head. “You take care of them. Sign the papers. If he’s mine, adopt him—”
“Stop,” I say again, my tears falling. “Cole, please…”
“Don’t make him play hockey—if he doesn’t want to.”
I cup his face, careful not to jostle the oxygen mask. “You are not dying, do you understand me? I am not done loving you, Cole. Poppy’s sure as shit not done. And our son hasn’t even fucking started. You live, do you hear me?”
“Don’t let her name him—after a plant—or a fruit,” he says on another labored breath. “No Lime. No Oak or Twig.”
“Yeah, and no flower names. I got it.”
“Okay, we need to go,” the nurse calls out. “They’re ready for us in the OR.”
I kiss his brow. “Name him now. Cole, name our son. Before they take you back.”
He looks to me, tears in his eyes as they start rattling up the rails of his bed, readying him for transport.
I brush a gloved hand over his hair. “Cole, baby, please. Name our son.”
He pulls the oxygen mask away from his mouth. Licking his lips, he says our son’s name. Then they take him away from me, bringing him to a place I can’t follow.