Roan was feeling light as a feather as he drove to the local burger place for a milkshake at midnight. Thank God for twenty-four-hour service because if his baby wanted ice cream, he was going to find it for her. It only took a few minutes to get the drinks and head back for home, but it was as he was stopped at a stop sign that his night suddenly took a terrible turn.

He’d barely taken his foot off the brake and pressed the gas when he was slammed from behind, his car spinning across the intersection into a street post on the opposite side. He heard metal crush, glass break, brakes squeal, and someone shouting “Oh Fuck” as everything around him exploded.

A burning pain filled his body, but it was so intense, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. His seat belt was digging into him, and he couldn’t seem to lift his arms to reach for it.

Trying to call out for help, he found he was without a voice as well as movement. Fuck, what if he was paralyzed? His eyes darted around the dark interior; the radio still played an old Merle Haggard song, and he could hear voices somewhere outside the car.

His car door jerked open, and a man appeared. The guy was in his late thirties or early forties and looked horrified when he saw Roan.

“Shit, you’re bleeding really bad. Can you move? Damn, let me slow this bleeding.”

Whoever he was, he disappeared from Roan’s view for a moment before reappearing. He’d taken off his shirt, and he was pressing it against Roan’s throat. Damn that hurt. He must have gotten cut in the accident because whatever injury the man was putting pressure against was killing him.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, more calmly this time.

Roan tried to speak, but still, nothing came out.

“Okay, I’m Bennett, and I used to be an EMT. I’m going to get you help, but you must stay calm, okay? Blink if you understand.” Roan blinked hard, and Bennett seemed to relax. “I’m going to unbuckle you, but I want you to stay put. Don’t try to get out. You could have a head or neck injury, and we need to wait for a backboard and brace. Okay?”

Again, he blinked his understanding. He felt an intense sense of numbness and cold, but the pain was gone. He was probably going into shock. His thoughts were for Bristol at home alone, nine months pregnant and waiting for him. She would have no way of knowing what had happened, and he couldn’t signal anyone to call her.

His vision grayed out suddenly, and Bennett’s voice echoed from far away, telling him to stay awake. If only he could. He was just too tired to do it.

* * *

It had been almost an hour, and Roan wasn’t back from what should have been a fifteen-minute trip. Bristol’s heart was racing, and worry was making her nauseous as she tried his cell phone once again. It rang and rang before going to voicemail. She’d already left multiple messages, so she just hung up this time.

Something wasn’t right. She could feel it in her gut. Actually, wait, that was the baby rolling over. Ugh. Either way, something must have gone wrong or Roan would have been back.

With thoughts of a flat tire or minor engine trouble on her brain, she picked up the phone to call for help. The Storm family was one of the few she knew who still had a landline, and at this moment, she was thanking God.

Micah picked up on the fifth or sixth ring, “This better be good at two in the Goddamn morning.”

“Micah, it’s Bristol—”

“Is it time? For the baby?” Micah asked, excitement clearing the sleep from his voice. “I’ll get the others, and we can—”

“No, the baby is fine, I’m not in labor,” she interjected, huffing with impatience. “It’s Roan, he left over an hour ago to get me a milkshake, and he hasn’t come back.”

Micah paused for a moment, then said, “Why was he getting a milkshake in the middle of the night?”

“Really? Is that important? Your brother could be lying dead on the side of the road, and you want to talk about why he left? He was in my car because he rode home with me. Can one of you guys please go look for him?”

“Did you try calling his cell?”

Bristol got pissed, “Are you fucking kidding? Of course, I tried. A dozen times. It just rings and rings. I can’t go look for him myself because I don’t have a car. Damn it, you’re wasting time.”

“Whoa, slow your roll. I was just asking a question. Give me a few minutes to put pants on, and I’ll take a drive. I’m sure he just had a flat or something,” Micah answered back. “I’ll call you when I find him.”

“Thanks, Micah.” She was trying not to question why Roan wouldn’t have just called if he’d had a flat or engine troubles. Something had to be seriously wrong.

* * *

Micah found the accident, but Roan had already been taken to the hospital. The cops pointed him in the direction of the only witness to the accident, and he approached cautiously. “Mr. D’Ambrio?”

The man looked up, his brown hair mussed and his eyes full of the stressful night. “Yes, I’m Bennett D’Ambrio.”

“Micah Storm, they said you saw the accident my brother was in, but no one will tell me how bad it was. I know he’s at the hospital—”

“You need to get down there as fast as possible, Mr. Storm. It was bad, real bad. I tried to stop the bleeding, but he had a piece of glass in his throat. I couldn’t remove it, or he might have bled out. They got him in the ambo, and he was semi-stable, but I can’t tell you more. It took emergency responders almost ten minutes to get here. I kept pressure on it, but I couldn’t stop the bleeding,” Bennett explained.

Micah’s fingers were tingling, and his head was cold. He felt his body sway slightly, and Bennett reached for him.

“Hey, man, are you okay? Maybe you shouldn’t drive yourself,” Bennett told him.

“I’m okay. I have to go.”

Bennett followed Micah to his car which happened to be parked next to his. As he pulled out his keys, he said, “I think I’ll follow you. I want to know how he’s doing, and I’m not sure you’re steady enough to be behind the wheel.”

Micah didn’t respond. He still had to tell Bristol what was happening. Fuck this was bad.

* * *

Twenty minutes after calling Micah, Bristol heard someone knock on her front door. Racing to it with the thought that it might be Roan sans keys, she felt her heart plummet when it was Asher at the door, looking pale and shaky.

“It’s Roan, there was an accident,” Asher told her.

She didn’t pause, just grabbed her purse from the table, and still wearing her slippers and lounge pants, followed him out to his truck. He had to help her into the front seat, but after that, neither said much between her house and the hospital. She could barely think straight. The word accident kept running through her brain over and over. She wanted to know what had happened, and then again, she didn’t really want to know. All she needed now was Roan to be okay.

The man she was madly in love with might be dying at this very moment, and she couldn’t get there any faster. It was like her own version of hell.

For the next thirty minutes, she felt like she was walking under water. Voices seemed to echo to her from far away, and the nurse who told them to wait in the waiting room felt like she was from another planet.

They found Micah in the waiting room with a stranger. The way Micah paced back and forth wasn’t reassuring.

“What’s happening? They won’t tell us anything,” Asher demanded as they got within earshot.

“There was an accident at the intersection near the restaurant. A guy slammed into him from behind and sent him into a light pole or something. The accident wasn’t so terrible, but he got cut by flying glass. A piece got lodged in his throat, right here,” Micah gestured to his Adam’s apple, and Bristol felt her knees wobble.

“Is he…” she whispered.

“No, he’s alive, they just took him back for surgery to remove the glass and repair the damage,” the stranger said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sorry, I’m Bennett D’Ambrio. I was coming from the other direction and saw the accident. I used to be an EMT, so I stopped to help. The other driver wasn’t hurt, but your Roan was pretty cut up.”

“Did he say anything?” Asher asked. “Was he conscious?”

“He was conscious, to begin with, but he couldn’t speak. I’m sorry, I’m not sure where the glass ended up, I only know it was sticking out of his throat pretty close to his carotid artery. I did my best to slow the bleeding until help got there.”

Bristol nodded her understanding and held out her hand to the man. “Thank you, for being with him.” Turning to Micah and the rest of the family who’d just entered she said, “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t asked him for a milkshake in the middle of the—”

Grant was the one to shut her down first, “Stop that. This wasn’t your fault any more than it was Roan’s. I don’t see what it helps to blame yourself for it.”

She stared at him, seeing him, but not really registering it. “Nice to see you too, Colonel.”

“Status report,” Grant said to Asher, and Bristol listened as the whole story was repeated to the rest of the family.

Her legs were supporting her, but barely, and when Micah saw her swaying, he reached out and pulled her over to a chair. “Do you want some coffee? A soda?”

She shook her head, and rubbed her tummy, soothing the babe within. “I’m fine.”

“Fine my ass,” he retorted. “He’s going to be okay, Bristol. I know it.”

“You don’t know anything. He could be dead already, and we’re just waiting to get the word,” she murmured. “Don’t lie or make promises you can’t keep. Just sit here with me quietly, okay?”

He nodded and took her hand. “Just don’t go into labor on me, m’kay? I’m not the best with crying women.”

“No shit?” she said, with an empty laugh. “I’m not having the baby for two more weeks. Especially, now that Roan is hurt. If they have to lock my legs together, this baby is staying in.”

It was almost three hours before the doctor finally came searching for them with an update.

“He’s stable,” the man said, smiling as if that was enough to ease all of her worries. “The glass didn’t hit the carotid artery, but it was close. We’ve managed to fix the damage for the most part, but he won’t be able to talk for a little while.” Turning to Bennett, he said, “It’s a good thing you were there to slow the bleeding and keep anyone from pulling out the glass, or he might have bled to death.”

Bristol stood, “Can I see him?”

“He’s still in recovery, but if you can promise you’ll only stay for a few minutes, I’ll let you see him,” the doctor told her, smiling when he noticed her overly pregnant belly. “Neither of you needs extra stress, so try to remain calm.”

She nodded, and a surge of relief washed over her when Payton took her hand and walked with her down the hallway. Thank God, she wasn’t alone.

Roan was unconscious on a bed with a tube in his mouth and wires attached to him everywhere. A huge gauze bandage was wrapped around his neck, and a stabilizing cushion supported it from the back. There was another bandage over his eye, and she could see multiple cuts on his arms from the accident. He looked like hell, but he was the most beautiful sight she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Sweet Jesus,” Payton said as they drew close.

“His heart rate is strong, and he’s stable,” the nurse told them. “Now that he’s patched up, he looks worse than he is.”

Bristol nodded her thanks and took Roan’s hand in hers.

“I will never risk not being able to tell you again, Roan Storm. I love you with every bit of my heart and soul. This child wasn’t a mistake, it was a blessing, and when you’re out of here, you and I will start our life together.”