I stare at the round wall clock for the millionth time—scrutinizing the big hand which seems to linger an extra minute with every passing second. I take my gaze off the clock. The wait is killing me. I’ve never been a patient man. But from an early age, I learned to suck it up and wait for the storm to end, pushing myself out of the debris. The only positive news I’ve gotten so far is that my baby will be okay. Aspen, his pediatrician, assured me that even though he was born nine weeks premature, he’s healthy.

The little one will stay in the NICU for a few days or weeks. It all depends on his growth.

My primary concern is Sadie. The woman who let me go without a fight. I understand she was thinking about Tess’s mental health. She always put the girls first, as if they were her own. Would anything have changed if she had told me about the baby?

I can’t believe it, Jax and I are the only ones here. Kevin left a couple of hours ago but promised to return once Sadie was out of surgery. Where are her parents and her friends? Should I call someone?

I blow some air through my mouth, closing my eyes and picturing my woman.

Sadie’s bright smile. That’s all that matters right now, Sade.

I pull out my phone to text Duncan.

Kade: Were you able to get that done?

Duncan: We’re still working with the hospital to get a location where Sadie and the baby can be close together.

Kade: Good, make sure they have the best care.

I lean against the wall, waiting for someone to come out with an update. As I stare at the blank white wall in front of me, avoiding the clock, the tension and anxiety continue building up, squeezing my chest. I stare blankly; my mind full of emptiness and panic.

What if she doesn’t make it?

Then there’s our baby. He’s not ready to deal with life in this world. He’s underdeveloped and what if his mama… I massage my sternum, soothing the ache. Don’t think about it, she'll be fine.

I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants, pushing the negative thoughts from my mind away. If not, the panic is going to eat me alive. I begin my breathing exercises to help me relax. Just as I regain a steady heartbeat, I hear the familiar continual tap of a heel against the floor, and my pulse rate shoots up once again.

Moving my gaze forward, I spot a woman wearing blue scrubs, her light blue eyes peering at me.

“Kade,” she sighs, tapping her clipboard simultaneously.

The doctor removes her blue surgical cap, releasing her dark braid. I recognize her when she removes the mask covering most of her face. Brynn Ward. She’s the head of surgery at Seattle Memorial.

“Brynn?” I step forward, staring at her. “How’s Sadie?”

“Stable,” she breathes the word.

She shakes her head. “She’s in critical condition, but stable.” Her shoulders hunch. “We stopped the internal bleeding. We extracted her spleen. She has three broken ribs, a broken arm, and a punctured lung. On top of that, she hit her head against the window. She has cerebral edema.”

I frown, but as I’m about to ask questions, she continues, “It’s swelling on the brain. She’s in an induced coma that prevents further brain damage from occurring while the swelling goes down.”

My mouth dries as I listen to Brynn. Swallowing hard, I ask, “Is she going to be okay?”

“As I said—”

“Be honest with me. Don’t give me the bullshit runaround. I have to know if she’s going to recover.”

“I don’t know.” She breathes deeply, looking at the floor.

“She’s my friend. I want her to heal and be able to hold her baby.” Her breath hitches. “But as her doctor, I know that it’s a waiting game.”

“Waiting game?”

 “We’ve done everything we can to save her. But I can’t tell you if there will be permanent damage to the brain until we try to wake her up.”

“Brain damage, that’s a broad term isn’t it?”

“It is, the spectrum is wide. Brain injuries are tricky.” Brynn presses her lips together, looking at the floor for a second and then back at me. “There’s also a possibility she might not wake up…”

I drum my fingers on top of my heart as I try to breathe in and out while I repeat her last words inside my head. The last words that left her lips are like daggers puncturing my heart. I can’t comprehend them, but they keep bouncing in my head, replaying like a broken record.

She might never wake up.

There’s a pain in my chest, so strong I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive it.

“But you have to have faith,” Brynn continues, wiping the corner of her eye. Her free hand reaches my arm. She squeezes it reassuringly. “We’ll wait and see how her body reacts. And in the meantime, we pray for a miracle.”

My mind begs me to numb it. My heart bleeds. There’s a vast difference between not being beside me, and not existing in the world.

After several seconds, I find my voice. “How long are you keeping Sadie in a coma?”

“At least a week,” she states. “It all depends on the severity of the swelling, and how she responds. She’s strong and young. We’ll do our best to help her heal.”

“When can I see her?”

“They’re setting up a private room in the left wing for her and the baby.”

Brynn looks around. “For all intents and purposes, you two are together,” she whispers. “She’ll be close to the baby. Once he’s better, we can move him with her.”

“Thank you, Brynn,” I mumble, tossing my head back and closing my eyes.

“She’s going to be fine,” Jax says as he pats my back.

The hospital room is as devoid of beauty as I am of hope. Its walls are white. There are no decorations. The place has an undertone of bleach, and the floor is purely grey. There’re no windows. By the door are dispensers for scrubs, rubber gloves, hand sanitizer, and soap.

My heart stops at the sight of the woman in the bed. There’s a stand of intravenous drips, cables, and tubes hooked to her arms and face. She looks nothing like my Sade. Her petite body lies in bed, lifeless.

Black obscures the edges of my vision, and the only thing I can hear is my heartbeat. My breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps. Seconds pass as I stare at Sadie. Her eyes are closed. The left side of her face is swollen. There’re monitors on both sides of the bed. An IV on the right connected to her wrist. Her left arm is wrapped with plaster and elevated.

The pain of looking at her burns like a fire.

“Baby,” I whisper, walking toward the bed.

I lean forward, caressing her delicate, bruised face. Kissing her cheek lightly, I try to find her signature jasmine, gardenia, and peach scent. A signature fragrance that her grandma gifted her when she turned eighteen, and she still gets it from a signature scent studio. It’s weak, but the aroma diminishes the ache in my chest, numbing it slightly.

Reaching for her right hand, I intertwine our fingers. Her pulse is slow, her breathing faint, but I feel closer to her than I’ve felt in a long time.

“I missed you,” I murmur, kissing her hand. “I missed you so fucking much it was getting hard to breathe. And seeing you here…”

I close my eyes. Tears roll down my cheeks. I’m torn inside; I wish I were dreaming. But all I hear is the sound of the machines. Not knowing if I would never see her again, I just keep feeling this terrible pain in my chest. It’s too intense. I have a hole in my heart.

“We have a son. Our little boy is beautiful.” I brush the strands of hair away from her face, I wipe my face. “You have to wake up and meet him. He’s so tiny. Your room is close to the NICU. Once he’s out of the ventilator, we might be able to move him over here.”

“Kade,” Brynn calls to me from the door. “They’re setting up the room next door for you.”

“I don’t need a room.”

She shakes her head and smiles. “You have to rest for at least a few hours. The staff will be available around the clock to take care of Sadie and the baby’s needs. Kevin is bringing you some clothes. He wants to know if you need anything else.”

“My guitar, tell him to bring my guitar.”

As I look at the bracelet they gave me to identify me as the father of my little boy, I think about all the videos I have of Sadie. He should listen to her voice.

“My laptop and the box with SD cards that are next to it … and the camera too. It’s in my closet on top of the shelf.”

“We’ll get some clothes for the baby too,” Brynn states as she walks toward the door. “He can only wear booties and hats for now, but we’ll have everything for him.”

“Thank you for looking after them.”

“Hey, I’m here to help as much as I can. They’ll be fine. There’s a nurses’ station next door. They’ll be monitoring both 24/7. Studies have shown that talking to people in a coma helps them wake up sooner. Once the little man is ready, you can hold him—skin to skin contact helps them a lot during this time.”