‘Where are you?’ I glance at the clock. I’m forty minutes away from the hospital, give or take, depending on traffic.
‘In the car. I’m about two hours away. They wouldn’t let me travel with her. I can’t get there quickly enough. Can’t get through to anyone on the phone. I keep getting the same bulldog of a receptionist who won’t tell me anything. You’re closer than me, bro, can you please go to the hospital? Find out what’s happening. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but I can’t bear the thought of Jess being alone. If anything happens to her… or the baby.’
Jake’s had my back since the day we met. Through training. Through competitions. When I struggled to adjust after retirement. But it’s the biggest day of Savannah’s life too. Guilt twists my guts. I hate having to choose between the two people I love most in this world.
I glance at the dash. She’s doing the solo shoots first. Finn shouldn’t be anywhere near her until this afternoon. The thought of that makes my blood boil, but this is life or death. If something happened to Jess or the baby, I’d never forgive myself.
I’ll make it for the interview.
I suck in a breath and blow it out slowly. ‘I’m on my way.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.’ Jake’s relief resonates through the car.
‘Call me as soon as you find out anything. I’ll keep calling from here. I had to switch my number to private because the receptionist must have caller ID and she keeps answering my calls with “I still don’t have an update”.’
That explains that then.
‘I’ll call you within the hour, I promise.’
‘Thanks, man. I owe you.’ Jake sounds like he’s on the verge of tears.
‘You owe me nothing.’ I hang up. I need to call Savannah and explain what’s happening.
I scroll through my contacts until I find her details, listed under ‘Future Wife.’
It rings and rings until her answerphone kicks in. ‘You’ve reached Savannah. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’
Fuck it, she’s got no phone. I should have insisted we replace it immediately, but after everything, she liked the idea of a few days reprieve from the millions of notifications.
Forty minutes later, I pull up outside the hospital. There’s no parking anywhere. Fuck my life, of all the days. I crawl around the car park twice before finally giving up and abandoning the Tesla outside the hospital doors. I’ll pay the fine. Whatever.
The sickly scent of disinfectant hits my nostrils as I enter the building. I run towards the reception desk, but there’s no one behind it and the phones are ringing off the hook. A small bronze bell sits to the left of a leather-bound clipboard and a medical history form. I press my finger on the bell and leave it there for a good ten seconds.
Two harassed-looking receptionists emerge from a roombehind the desk, each clutching chipped china mugs, each wearing an expression of irritation.
‘Can I help you?’ One of them who’s wearing thick red-rimmed glasses, her grey hair twisted into an elegant bun on top of her head, asks. She radiates a no-nonsense sort of headmistress vibe.
‘Yes. Jessica Jones was airlifted here this morning from Ballyshanway. I’m her…’ I scratch my head, ‘brother.’
‘Really.’ She arches her eyebrows. ‘And there was me thinking you looked awfully like that swimming champion. The one that’s supposedly dating the single mam blogger.’
‘Okay. I’m Ronan Rivers, and yes, I’m dating Savannah.’ I bang the flat of my hand on the wooden desk hard enough to startle them. ‘Now please, for the love of God, tell me where Jess is. She and Jake are like family to me. I need an update.’
She pushes her glasses up on her nose, takes a seat behind the glass panel and places her mug on the worn wooden desk. Her fingers glide across the keyboard as she stares at a computer screen.
Finally.
‘What room is she in? I need to see her.’
She glances up after a few seconds of scrolling and clicking, sympathy creasing the corner of her eye. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘What do you mean, it’s not possible? What’s happening?’ I pace back and forth and fling my hands in the air in frustration. No wonder Jake is going out of his mind. If that was Savannah in there, I’d be sick with worry.
She tsks, more to herself than me, I think. ‘She’s in surgery right now. You can’t go in.’
‘What kind of surgery? Is she going to be okay? Is the baby okay?’
The other receptionist steps forward with a haughty expression. Her index finger taps the name badge pinned tothe front of her navy and green striped blouse. ‘See this,’ she says. ‘Receptionist. We aren’t doctors, pal. We understand your frustration, but we can’t tell you what we don’t know.’
