Running to her.
To my Tatum.
Just as I get close enough to see the car, two of my fellow crew members who happen to be the same size as me, step into my path. “Let us work, my man. You need to stand down,” one of them tells me. I can see in his eyes that it’s bad.
I feel the pain slice through my heart at the thought of her in any pain, at the mere thought of losing her.
“Tatum,” I scream her name. “I’m here, baby,” I croak out. My vision blurs and the tightness in my chest makes it hard to breathe. I can hear my name being called, but all I can do is stand there, my arms restrained by my crew as I watch the jaws-of-life prepare to remove my heart from the jumbled mess that is Tatum’s car.
I drop to my knees as I hear the first sound of grinding metal. I feel a hand on my shoulder, then a voice, it’s Asher. “Blaise, you have to stay strong for her. She needs you to fight. She needs you, brother,” he says as he drops to his knees beside me. I feel his arm go around my shoulders and he squeezes. I don’t even try to hide the tears that are coursing down my cheeks.
I feel a presence beside me, but I don’t take my eyes from the car. I need to see her. I need to make sure she’s okay. A hand lands on my shoulder, a firm grip. Dad.
I hear him say Mom is calling Brent so he can notify Leah. I should be the one to handle that call, but I can’t. I can’t move from this spot without seeing if she’s okay.
I can’t breathe without her.
After what seems like hours, when in reality it’s not more than a couple of minutes, the paramedics are ready to extract Tatum from the car. I jump to my feet. I need to see her as soon as she’s out. From the angle I’m standing, all I can see is what a totaled mess her car is.
I watch as they carefully lift her limp body from the car and place her on the stretcher. I take a step and feel my arms being pulled back from both sides.
“Please, let me go to her,” I beg my father and Asher.
“Son, let them take care of her. They need to asses her injuries,” Dad says calmly.
I know he’s right, but I don’t like it. I stand on the side of the road watching as they work on her. Her face is covered in blood and I feel my knees weaken at the sight. Oh, God, please save her. Please don’t take her way from me, I plead.
Finally, they start wheeling the stretcher toward the ambulance. I twist out of the hold they have on me and I’m beside her in no time. I reach for her hand, but stop myself before I touch her. Her body is limp; she looks so small and frail.
“Sir, you need to step back.” This from the ambulance driver. He’s from the next town over. Our crew is working on the drunk driver.
“She’s my fiancée,” I tell him.
He nods his head in understanding. “You can ride as long as you stay out of the way. I won’t hesitate to stop this rig and kick your ass to the curb,” he tells me.
At this point, I would agree to anything just to be with her. I nod my head in agreement and climb in the back of the squad. I sit next to the stretcher and reach for her hand.
“Sorry, sir, but you can’t touch her. Not yet. We don’t know the extent of her injuries.”
I slowly pull my hand away. I can actually feel my heart breaking at the sight of her. My girl, battered and broken. I close my eyes and send another prayer to keep her safe, to help her pull through this.
Once we arrive at the hospital, she is whisked away and I’m told to stop at the registration desk to give them all of her information. As I approach the desk, I hear my name. I look up to see Leah, Brent, Ember, Jackson, Asher, Grace, and my parents. I choke back the sob that threatens to break free.
“How is she?” Leah asks me.
I shake my head no. “She’s still unconscious. They said I have to register her first,” I say.
“I’ll go with you,” she says as she links her arm through mine and we walk the remaining short distance to the registration desk.
We go through the process of registration and are told to go back to the waiting room and someone will be out to update us as soon as they know more.
Waiting, I f*cking suck at waiting.
We reach the waiting room. Leah takes a seat by Brent while I pace back and forth. I can’t sit. I need to know how she is. I continue to pace. They all try to get me to sit, but I can’t. I have to keep moving. This goes on for an hour before we hear the door open and a man in dark blue scrubs enters the room.
“Are you the family of Tatum Thompson?” he asks.
“Yes,” we all say. I stop pacing and turn to face him.
“I need immediate family,” he says, unsure.
“She has no immediate family. She’s my best friend and this is her fiancé,” Leah says without missing a beat. I’m glad to see she and I are on the same page.
“No immediate family?” the doctor repeats her words.
Brent opens his mouth to intervene, but I beat him to it. “I am her immediate family. That girl you have in there, she f*cking owns me, heart and soul. I need for you to take me to her. She needs to know I’m here,” I say, my voice hard.
“Dr. Jones is it?” Brent asks. He holds his hand out. “Dr. Brent Wethington. I have privileges here as well. I know this is against policy, but as a fellow physician, I can verify what he says is true. In fact, my wife has power of attorney over Tatum should an event like this occur,” he tells him.
Leah’s face pales; she apparently forgot, not that I blame her with all that has gone on tonight. “That’s right, it’s on file here at the hospital. I give full permission for her fiancé, Blaise Richards, to have full access to her and her care.” She looks around the room. “Everyone in this room is her family now,” she says quietly. “We all love her. Can you please just tell us what you know?” she pleads.
Releasing a deep breath, Dr. Jones proceeds to tell us that Tatum has suffered a severe concussion. She has a gash on her head about two inches long and she lost a lot of blood. Her right ankle is broken, but does not require surgery. They are in the process of setting her up for casting now; then she will be moved into a private room.
“Is she awake? When can I see her?” I ask him.
Shaking his head no, he says, “She has not yet regained consciousness. Her scans are all normal; this is just her body’s way of dealing with the stress of her injuries. I expect her to make a full recovery. Once we have her cast in place, she will be moved to a private room, no more than two visitors at a time.” He looks down at the iPad in his hands. “As soon as we have her settled in her room, I’ll request a consult with Dr. Michaels who is the obstetrician on call tonight,” he says.
Obstetrician, wait…what? My confusion must have shown as well as the others’ because Dr. Jones begins to explain his previous statement.
“Our blood test shows that Ms. Thompson is pregnant. I’m sorry, I assumed as her fiancé that you knew,” he says.
I drop to my knees and run my fingers through my hair. Pregnant? A baby? I’m going to be a father. “I need to see her,” I say, my voice pleading.
“She doesn’t know. She would have told me. She doesn’t know,” Leah says as she quietly cries against Brent’s chest.
Dr. Jones, nods his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Richards, I assumed that you knew. I will send someone to alert you once we have her moved,” he says before turning and leaving us alone.