Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
“I eat on the run a lot. It’s wedding season, Blake. I’m always on the go.”
Hillary is a baker and is known for her wedding cakes.
“You need to eat well. That’s part of your problem. Add a little salt to your water, that will help the blood pressure a bit. If you feel like you’re going to pass out, sit down. You don’t want to fall and hit your head.”
“I’ve passed out a few times,” she admits, and I frown.
“Let’s get those tests. Don’t leave until I get the results. It shouldn’t take long.” I open the exam room door and point to the left. “The EKG and X-ray department are just at the end of the hall. Take this paper down there, and they’ll take care of you.”
“Thanks. Hey, before you go, we should get a pizza sometime or something.”
I stop and look her dead in the eyes. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m in a relationship. Go get those tests, and we’ll get this figured out.”
Her shoulders sag, but she nods and walks down the hall for her tests.
“Heartbreaker.”
I turn at her voice and pull Harper into my arms. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until dinner.”
“I know. It’s my lunch hour, and I missed you. So I came to hug you real quick. I know you’re busy.”
“Best part of my day,” I whisper into her ear. “Best part of every single day, sugar.”
She buries her face in my neck and holds on tight before she pulls back and grins at me.
“Same, Dr. Blackwell. I’m making you dinner tonight.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“I’m cooking tonight, Harps. I have a plan, and I’ll get home before you. Be sure to bring an overnight bag.”
“Already packed,” she informs me. “And I get to cook next time. Or we can cook together.”
“Deal.” I press a kiss to her forehead as she walks away. “Eat something before you go back on shift.”
“Are those doctor’s orders?”
“If that’s what gets you to eat, yes.”
She laughs and turns a corner to leave the clinic, and I turn to see a smiling Hillary standing outside of room 11.
“I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. Let’s look at your test results.”
I’ve just set some chips and queso on the island when Harper walks through the front door, drops her bag on the floor, her purse on top of that, and sighs.
Her hair, which just four hours ago was in a knot on top of her head, is now floppy. Her mascara is smudged. And her lower lip is quivering.
Fuck.
After flipping off the burner, I toss the towel from my shoulder to the counter and hurry to her, scooping her up in my arms as the tears come. She buries her face in my chest, clinging to me.
“Shh.” I rock her back and forth, and my heart aches as she cries. “Aw, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I have no idea what happened, but it’s bad. And it’s rocked her to the core.
I pick her up in my arms and sit on the couch, keeping her cradled against me, and let her cry it out. After pulling her hair out of the wrecked bun, I push my fingers through it and press kisses to the top of her head.
As medical professionals, we’ve all seen horrific things. I’ve had to tell parents that their children weren’t coming home. I’ve given diagnoses that meant my patient had days, not years ahead of them. I’ve seen more blood and horror than any one person should.
And I know that it’s the same for her. For every good outcome, there are more that are deeply tragic. Especially when you’re dealing with medically fragile babies.
“He was so tiny,” she says in the smallest voice as the sobs start to slow down. “Not my smallest, but still. And we worked on him for what felt like hours. But he was just too small, Blake. And his parents conceived through IVF, and fucking hell, it was just so goddamn sad.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and kiss her temple as she lifts her head. I wipe her tears away with a tissue. “That’s heartbreaking.”
“It really was. Mom almost died, too. And her poor husband was just shell-shocked, standing there like what am I supposed to do? I felt awful that no one could talk to him because we were too busy working on Mom and baby. Baby was born at twenty-five weeks and one day. He was twelve ounces.”
Fuck, that’s a small baby.
“For a few minutes, I thought he was going to rally. I knew he’d have a tough road, but then everything just went to shit, and nothing we did worked.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault.”
“Maybe if another nurse had been there—”
“No, Harper. You know as well as I do that isn’t how it works. We can do everything right, down to the letter, and still lose them. It happens every day, and it’s not your fault. At twenty-five weeks, that baby had very little chance, and add on to it he only had one kidney? This wasn’t your fault.”