It wasn’t until I was nearing the end that I realized I was no longer snapping at him, but relaying details calmly. Quietly. Instead of gripping at my chest and hair, I was sitting forward as I stared numbly at the dried red streaks on my arms.
“I know what it felt like when I got the call about my brother,” Briggs began a while after I’d finished, mentioning the guy he’d practically raised and had done everything to keep alive, “but I know I can’t imaginethis. Still, I needed to get you away from that consuming panic you were falling into. Understand?”
I nodded without meeting the stares I could feel on me.
When minutes passed in tense silence, I asked, “The other Davises?”
“We’ll discuss those later,” Briggs said as he stood.
“Just tell me if they were taken care of.”
Briggs hesitated before acknowledging, “As far as we know, they have been.”
With another dip of my head, I registered Briggs settling against the same wall, a handful of feet away. Thatch still hadn’t moved from where he stood across from me, and he didn’t move.
None of us did.
I’m not sure how much time passed as we stood there. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours as I drowned in my grief and self-loathing, sure I could’ve prevented this. As I prayed relentlessly to a God I’d never really given much thought to before.
I was vaguely aware of Evans coming over a handful of times.
Same with the girls. All of them—even Ada.
But if any of them tried talking to me, I wasn’t aware of it.
Every time those double doors pushed open, my heart shuddered to a stop, only for the nurse, doctor, or visitor to walk right past us like I wasn’t dying a little more with each eternal hour that passed.
By the time the surgeon finally pushed through the doors and called Mallory’s name as he, too, walked right past us, I was dropped in a crouch, gripping at the sides of my head and grasping at my hair as my body uncontrollably shook with the need to get to my wife. To take her place. To justbe there.
I was normally so steady on my feet and in my movements, but as I shot to my full height and rushed after him, I stumbled. Staggered.
Shoved Briggs away when he reached out for me and choked as I tried to call out to the surgeon.
Paralyzed.
I’d been waiting for this. I’d needed this news to come hours ago. But I was so paralyzed by my fear that I couldn’t make my legs work properly. Couldn’t make the words dislodge from the knot they’d formed in my throat.
“Here,” Briggs finally said for me and grabbed my shoulder anyway, steadying me because he knew I needed it. “We’re here.”
The surgeon turned, eyeing us in a solemn, careful way that had my heart wrenching and Briggs’ hand twitching against me.The man’s head dipped as if preparing to destroy my entire world, and I felt Thatch step up on my other side, hand pressing against my back like he knew I was about to fall to my knees.
“Which of you is the husband?” the surgeon asked, as if he couldn’t figure that out from the way my friends were keeping me steady.
When I just struggled around that jagged knot in my throat, Briggs answered, “He is, but we’re family. So, talk.”
The surgeon gave him a disapproving look, but when I didn’t argue—not that I would’ve, even if I’d been able to speak—he sighed and focused on me as he informed us, “We aren’t out of the woods yet, but your wife is out of surgery.”
The fact that she was alive at all had me staggering back a step as hope and gratitude built so fast and thick. My body sagged and my vision blurred with tears I didn’t know how to be ashamed of...before he went and tore it all away.
“Your wife lost a lot of blood, mostly from the wounds to her neck, but not so much that a transfusion was necessary. In that regard, her pregnancy is likely what saved her in the first place—women produce extra blood when they’re pregnant, so she had blood to spare. However...”
No.
“That blood is needed for the fetus.”
No, no, no . . .
“We’re monitoring both, but the fetus’ heart rate is very low, and we don’t expect it to survive.”
