I was used to walking. I was fit and normally had good endurance, but each step my chest seemed to switch from its familiar ache to a discomforting twinge.
I coughed and strode faster, ignoring my pains and focusing entirely on Della’s.
It took too long.
It didn’t take long at all.
She was too light and motionless in my embrace.
The town welcomed us up ahead as we passed road signs stating speed and population. “We’re almost there, Little Ribbon. You’ll be fine soon; you’ll see.”
I coughed again, cursing the breathlessness of panic.
Please let her be fine.
I kept my thoughts on pleas rather than the curses I wanted to shout.
As I stalked down the main highway, the tiny buildings slowly became recognisable landmarks of a church and hall and convenience store.
With every step, I bargained with fate not to take her from me.
I wouldn’t hesitate to kill for her if it came down to it.
If a sacrifice was needed, I would deliver with no hesitation.
I would sell my own soul.
Maybe I’d put this curse upon her by loving her too goddamn much. Maybe I should feel regret for stealing her away and keeping her all to myself. Perhaps I should repent in some way.
If I should, then I would go to church and apologise to God while we were in this town. I wasn’t a religious man, but if it meant Della was cured, I would do fucking anything.
Glancing at Della, I hugged her closer.
Doctor.
Fast.
My legs lengthened again, ignoring my fatigue. I would walk until I was dead if it meant I could save her. Keeping my chaotic thoughts to myself, I didn’t speak as bare farmland gave way to congested streets, hazy in the hard-to-see dusk light. Streetlights suddenly turned on, ready to combat the darkness as I climbed the curb and scanned the shop fronts for a doctor.
Nothing.
Only a row of clothing stores, hairdressers, a florist—which reminded me of the one Della used to work at—and a few other stores with knick-knacks and magazines.
I had no intention of wasting time walking up and down, searching.
More sweat ran down the inside of my jacket as I coughed and spotted help.
“Excuse me.” I stepped into the path of a blonde woman pushing a red stroller. “Where is the nearest doctor?”
She peered up, the fading light behind me blinding her a little. Her lips pursed as she looked at Della in my arms. “She okay?”
“I’m fine.” Della clipped weakly. “He’s just—”
“She’s not fine. That’s why I need a doctor.” This woman had precisely two seconds to tell me what I needed. Otherwise, I was asking someone else who wouldn’t waste my time. My heart palpitated strangely, starving for air and salvation. “Where can I find one?”
“Ren. Manners,” Della hissed.
My back stiffened as I glared at her, then spat out. “Where can I find one, please?”
Della snickered, somehow deleting a little of my horror at her being ill and absolutely helpless to help her.
“I’ll deal with you later,” I said under my breath. “Behave.”
Della blew me a kiss, then winced and clutched her side. “Ow.”
Instantly, any patience she’d granted me flew down the goddamn road. My lungs became blades, puncturing my chest. “Do you know, lady, or are you just wasting my time?”
The woman sniffed as the baby inside her stroller grizzled. She rocked it softly. “I’m thinking. Look, you won’t be able to see a general practitioner. It’s past six p.m., and that’s when they all close around here. But there is an urgent doctor’s and afterhours surgery.”
“Where?”
“Two streets over on Jordan Road.”
“Which way?” Moving out of her path, I waited until she pointed to her right down a road where shopkeepers carried in signs and pushed racks of merchandise back into their stores.
“Down there. Take your second right. It will be on the left side of the street halfway down.”
I remembered to be polite before Della told me off again. “Thank you.” I broke into a jog, following the woman’s directions.
My heart skipped a beat.
I looked down at Della and my entire body churned with sickness. Her skin was a ghostly pallor, her lips thin as she winced again.
Christ.
Please, please let her be okay.
I coughed and ran faster.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
REN
* * * * * *
2019
“MR. WILD?”
“Yes?” I looked up from where I had my face buried in my hands in the waiting room of the afterhours. It had cost a small fortune, countless explanations why we had no I.D, and finally, nasty threats for someone to treat her regardless that we didn’t have the necessary paperwork.
If my threats hadn’t worked, I was prepared to hand over every dollar just to have someone examine her and tell me how to fix this.
“Can you come with me? Mrs Wild asked if you could join us.”
Terror shot down my limbs as I stood and stumbled after him. The long hours spent waiting in the yellow plastic chair had numbed my ass and made me stiff. “Is she okay?” I coughed into my hand. “She’s been away for ages.”
“I know. I’m sorry for the wait.” The doctor had thick black hair and tanned skin, hinting he had Indian blood somewhere in his lineage. “We had to do a small procedure.”
“Wait, what?” I slammed to a halt, dragging the attention of other worried husbands, wives, and parents from their own woe to focus on mine. My blood drained to my toes. “What procedure?”
The doctor narrowed his eyes, looking me over. “Are you quite well yourself, Mr. Wild? You look a bit under the weather.”
“Forget about me. I’m fine.” Stepping into his bubble, I growled. “What about Della? Where is she? Tell me what you did.”
“I think it’s best if we discuss this in private, don’t you?” The doctor smiled encouragingly, waving away my temper as if he was used to husbands losing their shit.
He wasn’t that much older than me, which didn’t help with my trust issues. What the hell would he know? What was his experience?
“Where’s my wife?”
Such a strange but perfect word. A word I had no right to use in the eyes of church and law, but every right in the eyes of our togetherness.
“Just this way, please.” Buzzing his badge against a locked door, he guided me down a white corridor smelling strongly of disinfectant until we reached a room four or five doors down. Pressing the handle, he pushed another door wide, letting me enter first.
I eyed him carefully as I stepped inside, only to break into a jog the moment I saw Della.
She smiled the instant I arrived, holding up her hand for me to grab. “I’m sorry you were stuck out there, Ren. And I’m sorry for making you worry the past few days.”
“Nothing to apologise for.” Brushing aside her hair, my fingers came away hot and clammy from her skin. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
My heart couldn’t figure out what pace it wanted to settle on. Fast and furious, braced for bad news, or slow and sedate, buried beneath hope that all of this was a mistake.
“Please, Mr. Wild. Take a seat.” The doctor motioned at a grey vinyl chair in front of his desk. The ugly wood was wedged against the wall with apparatus and a computer blinking with important scans and who knew what else.
There was no earthly way I could leave Della’s side where she lay on a starched bed hoisted high. “Tell me. Immediately.” I squeezed Della’s fingers, my heart choosing fast and furious as the doctor nodded.
“Mrs Wild has mentioned all her symptoms, and we’ve done a few tests.”
“Tests? What sort of tests?” I glanced back at Della, my vision going wonky with worry. “Ribbon?”
“It’s okay, Ren. Just calm down. I’m fine. Let him e
xplain. Okay?” She brought my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles, somehow injecting me with a much-needed dose of serenity. “You’re all sweaty.”
“Yeah well, you got me worked up.”
“Well, I’m fine so relax, okay?”
My heart leapt on a trampoline instead, double bouncing and triple beating. “I’ll relax when I know what’s going on.”
All I could think about was the nightmare of her being in the hospital with complications from chicken pox when she was younger. I couldn’t do a thing to take away her pain or make her heal faster.
I hated it then, and I despised it now.
Della murmured gently as if I was the one in peril. “I wanted Doctor Strand to tell you because he’ll do a much better job than I could.”
Forcing myself to stay rational, I turned to face the doctor. “You have my word, I won’t interrupt. Tell me. What’s wrong with my wife?”
Doctor Strand cleared his throat, giving Della a gentle smile. “Technically, nothing should be wrong in a couple of days, but we will need to monitor her until that time. Mrs Wild has chosen outpatient therapy, so I expect to see her daily for the next seventy-two hours to ensure things are okay.”
“Fine.” I wouldn’t focus on the complication of such a request or the deeper concern of why we had to stay in town. Obviously, whatever was wrong with Della was worse than I feared. “It’s not stomach flu, is it?” I cringed, not wanting an answer even as I craved one.
“No. I’m afraid it’s not,” Doctor Strand said. “It’s an ectopic pregnancy.”
“What?” My world tilted, sending me stumbling against the bed holding the most beloved thing in my life. “What does that even mean?”
“It means a fertilized egg is growing outside the uterus. The baby can’t survive and it will lead to life-threatening internal bleeding if we don’t stop it.”
I couldn’t focus on the words life-threatening without wanting to be sick.
“How? How did this happen? She’s on the pill.” Frowning at Della, I asked, “You’ve been taking it, right? We had an agreement—”
“I know. And I am.” She squeezed my hand. “But about a fortnight ago—just before the storm—I had an upset tummy. Just once. I didn’t think anything of it, and we didn’t have sex that night. By the time you woke me up in the morning—”
She blushed, flicking a glance at the doctor and saving him the details of just how I’d woken her up by slipping inside her warm, soft body as she moaned, still half asleep.
“Anyway, I didn’t remember that we should probably use alternate protection.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Ren. I know this is my fault.”
“Don’t, Della.” I shook my head. “It takes two to cause this. I’m just as much at fault as you.”
She smiled gently. “Regardless, it was enough for me to get pregnant.” She winced. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” Looking back at the doctor, I commanded, “Why has she been so ill? Women get pregnant all the time. Why is my wife struggling so much?”
“It’s a possibility she has another condition called hyperemesis gravidarum, but those symptoms don’t usually show up until week four or five. And she’s not that far along. We’ll cross that bridge when she next wants to have children, but for now, we need to deal with this. Unfortunately, the pregnancy can’t be permitted to continue.”
My mind didn’t know which word was more important to latch onto, so I let them all go in a stream of incomprehensible gibberish.
Della was pregnant.
But she couldn’t continue to be?
“I-I don’t understand.” I sounded like a fucking idiot.
Doctor Strand clasped his hands. “I don’t want you to concern yourself with her vomiting. Sometimes these things just happen.”
“How can we make it un-happen?”
“By removing what the body is obviously trying to reject.” He gave Della a supportive smile. “The small procedure we’ve done is an injection. I’ve given her methotrexate, also known as trexall. It will stop the cells from growing and allow the body to reabsorb the pregnancy.”
He rushed as I opened my mouth to ask more questions. “I think she’s only nine or so days along, so the medication should be effective. There’s always the risk of it not working, in which case laparoscopic surgery is our next option. However, we prefer to use mexthotrexate to prevent damaging the fallopian tubes, which may cause complications for future conceptions.
“I require Mrs Wild to come in daily to monitor her hCG levels until they’re back to normal. The good news is she isn’t far along, and I have confidence she’ll make a full recovery once the pregnancy is terminated.”
Clearing his throat again, he threw a kind look at Della before focusing on me. “I have already advised Mrs Wild of the side effects, but you should be aware, too. The injection can sometimes cause cramping, some bleeding, nausea, and dizziness. I recommend she take it easy and spend a few days in bed. Think you can keep her there?”
I didn’t know if he was trying to make a joke to cut through the tension or if he was serious. Either way, Della wouldn’t be leaving a bed the moment I found her one.
“Is she free to go?” My mind already leapt ahead, problem solving and planning. Where the hell would we sleep tonight?
“She is. I’ve made an appointment to see her in the morning.”
Della swung her legs over the bed, her feet dangling high off the floor. “I’m fine, Ren. Honestly. We’ll just treat it as a mini-vacation, and then we can go home.”
I smiled and let her believe I accepted that, when in reality, I was already committed to staying close to town for the next few months. Autumn had already arrived. We only had another six to eight weeks of chilly weather before we would’ve been driven into civilisation by the snow anyway.
We were here now.
We would stay until spring.
Pushing me away a little, Della sprang to the floor, wincing and grabbing her stomach.
“Goddammit, let me carry you.” Wrapping my arms around her, I tried to pick her up, but she shoved me back. “I can walk, Ren. Don’t even think about it.”
My jaw locked, but I wouldn’t argue in front of a stranger.
“Thank you, Doctor Strand. I’ll see you in the morning.” Della took my hand, and together, we headed from the strong-smelling room and back to the waiting area.
I settled up, paid yet another small fortune, and accepted a card with a new appointment time for eleven a.m. tomorrow.
By the time we were on the street, thick darkness had fallen and even the restaurants were closed. I doubted we could find a similar cottage like our last one at this time of night. I doubted we could even find something to eat.
Della pointed at a quaint sign up ahead. “Look, it’s a Bed and Breakfast. Let’s crash there and sort out better accommodation tomorrow.”
I froze.
The thought of sleeping in a house with strangers. Of seeing those same people in the morning. Of hearing them through the walls and sharing their showers.
God, no.
I honestly didn’t think I could do it.
My feet actually backed away as everything inside me repelled against the idea.
I would rather sleep on the street. Naked.
But then Della flinched and hissed between her teeth, her face going white and hinting she wasn’t as okay as she pretended.
She was ill.
She was tired.
And it was no longer about me.
It was never about me.
“Okay, Della. Bed and Breakfast it is.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
REN
* * * * * *
2019
I DIDN’T SLEEP.
Of course, I didn’t sleep.
After we’d checked into the last available room in the five-bedroom Bed and Breakfast, I’d paced the small flower-decorated space like a caged rat. Thanks to my idiosyncrasies, I didn’t have a hope in
hell of relaxing in this place.
Just as I feared, the sounds of pipes groaning as another guest had a shower and the flush of a toilet a wall away drove me nuts.
I wasn’t claustrophobic, but living so close to other people was past my very limited tolerance when it came to my fellow human race.
I didn’t know how Della stood it, considering we both preferred trees and silence to buildings and chaos. Then again, she’d spent her childhood in noisy school classrooms and busy malls. Her natural habitat included both, while mine was firmly set in wide open fields with only a tractor and wind for company.
Doing my best to stay calm, I pictured emptiness all around me with no threats to listen to and no people to suspect.
But it didn’t work.
I despised being so close.
I hated that we weren’t free to go where we wanted.
I cursed how, even now, even though almost two decades separated me from Mclary, I still had the occasional panic attack that demanded I run.
The day I’d had my first attack—when John Wilson closed the door at Christmas to give me my first pay packet—I’d wondered if I’d outgrow them.
And I had, to a degree.
But my childhood had made me distrustful, and the loner who had run when he was ten was just as happy on his own with Della now that he was twenty-nine as he had been as a boy.
I was simple.
I needed Della.
That was it.
Nothing else required.
And the thought that she could be taken from me by something as idiotic as this?
It made me fucking rage.
It was exactly what I’d feared happening. It was why I never wanted her pregnant in the first place.
I paced again, checking the bathroom for intruders—as if they could climb through the tiny window—doing anything I could to stop my temper from building and latching onto the one person I shouldn’t be angry at but was suddenly insanely furious with.
By the time I entered the bedroom again, my fists were clenched, my heart beating chaotically, and I itched for a fight—anything to expend the sick-fury and never ending need to keep Della safe.