Page 12

Chapter 12

Gabi

I can't feel my hands. They're trembling so much I can barely hold my phone.

Jacob's on his way to the hospital, and I'm frantically giving the cab driver directions amid the occasional hysterical screech.

My mind races, painting horrifying pictures of worst-case scenarios.

What if he can't play hockey anymore? What if he never walks again?

I shudder, pressing my hands to my chest as if I can physically keep my heart from breaking.

The cabbie keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, probably wondering if I'm going to lose it completely. And honestly, I’m not sure myself.

Each minute feels like a century as we crawl through traffic.

I text his stepmom, dad, and anyone else who might need to know, but my fingers are shaking so badly that I keep hitting the wrong keys, and my messages come out looking like gibberish.

I'll never forget the look on Jacob's face as he lay on the ice, the pain etched deep in his eyes, the way he crumpled like a rag doll.

I try to push the thoughts away, but they cling like a stubborn stain.

I picture him having to endure surgeries, therapies, and endless days of pain, and the thought is like a punch to my gut.

A thousand 'what ifs' bombard my thoughts.

What if Jim had hit him just a little harder? What if he'd struck his head straight on? I might be racing to the hospital for a whole different reason. I might be...oh God, I can't even go there.

Tears spill over, and I swipe at my cheeks, desperate to regain some composure before I walk through those hospital doors.

The cab screeches to a halt, and I throw a handful of bills at the driver, not caring if it's too much or not enough. I'm out the door in a flash, racing into the ER like every second could change everything.

My feet barely touch the ground as I sprint toward the hospital entrance, but the sight of flashing cameras and a sea of microphones brings me to an abrupt stop.

The press. Of course they'd be here.

The questions hit me like a tidal wave, and I feel my anxiety skyrocket.

"Is Jacob okay?"

"What happened on the ice?"

"Do you think this will affect your wedding?"

Chest tightening, I attempt to navigate through the throng of reporters, murmuring "no comment" and "excuse me" as I press forward. They're relentless, shouting louder with each step I take toward the hospital's front doors.

"Please, can you give us any updates?"

"Who's to blame for the accident?"

"How are you holding up?"

How am I holding up?

I’m a mess.

A complete and utter mess, but God forbid I show it now.

For Jacob's sake, I need to keep it together. I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace as I finally break free and dash toward the reception desk.

My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the noise. All I can think about is reaching Jacob, being by his side, and finding out if he’s okay. The automatic doors swoosh open, and I dive inside, leaving the chaos of the press behind.

The sterile smell of antiseptic greets me as I rush through the lobby, fighting the urge to gag.

My shoes squeak against the polished floor as I weave past bustling nurses and the odd, confused patient.

I keep my eyes focused on the signs overhead: Intensive Care Unit, third floor.

"Elevator. Elevator."

It's a chant I mutter to myself, scanning left and right until I find the silver doors gleaming invitingly at the end of the hallway.

I practically barrel my way through a group of interns, who scatter like pigeons as I jab the up button repeatedly.

Come on, come on.

The ride up feels like an eternity, each floor lighting up at a glacial pace. Bouncing on my toes, I will the metal box to go faster.

At last, it dings open, and I'm off again, navigating the maze of the third floor until I spot his room number.

Right there. 312.

But just as I'm about to push the door open, a nurse steps in my way, holding up a hand as if to fend off a linebacker.

"Miss, I'm sorry, but you can't go in just yet," she says in a tone that brooks no argument. My heart sinks, but only for a moment before I hear it.

A voice. A deep one that sends shivers of relief through the column of my spine.

"Gabi?"

The nurse seems to sense the connection, and her firm stance softens...just enough.

Edging past her, I peek through the tiny window on the door, eyes searching until they find him.

It's Jacob.

Battered and bruised but alive.

He's propped up on the bed, tubes, and wires snaking around him like an overgrown garden. His sandy brown hair is disheveled, and there are dark circles under his sea-blue eyes that weren't there before.

But he's talking. Laughing, even. And as I watch him interact with another nurse inside, my heart feels lighter than it has in days.

I can't help but smile as I push open the door, ignoring the nurse's huff of protest.

"Jacob," I say softly, crossing to his bedside.

He looks up at me, blue eyes lighting up with recognition and something else...gratitude?

"Gabi...you came." His voice is rough around the edges, but oh so undeniably strong. “Nice of you to drop by. Was starting to think you'd forgotten me."

I roll my eyes even as my throat tightens. "Forgotten you? Please, your snoring's still ringing in my ears."

Jacob chuckles, which quickly turns into a grimace of pain. "Ahh, I see we're starting with the insults. Excellent choice."

I step closer, my eyes taking in every bruise, every inch of his pale skin. "Just trying to make you feel at home. Though, you could've picked a less dramatic way to get my attention."

"Instead of being a Prince Charming, I've ended up as a drama queen. Figures."

I pull up a chair and sit by his bedside, careful not to disturb the maze of medical devices around him. "So, you planning to make this a habit? Because I really don't have the stomach for hospital visits."

"I'll try to stage future accidents more carefully."

"Good." I reach out to take his hand. "Because these gowns? Not your color."

The warmth of his skin, battered as it is, reassures me more than any words could. We're here. We're together.

And somehow, despite everything, we're still finding ways to make each other laugh.

My eyes blur with tears, and I squeeze his hand tighter. "Jacob, I..."

He furrows his brow, concern immediately replacing his sarcastic smile. "Gabi, what's going on? You're starting to worry me."

A shaky breath escapes me, and the tears spill over, streaming down my cheeks unchecked.

He reaches out with his free hand, brushing away my tears with gentle, clumsy fingers.

"Hey now, none of that. You know there are rules against crying in front of the patient. I'm pretty sure it's in the handbook."

I let out a choked laugh, but it doesn't alleviate the tightness in my chest.

I need to say it, to get it out before I lose my nerve. Before I lose him.

"Jacob, there's something you need to know."

He eyes me warily, his thumb continuing its sweeping motion against my hand. The words sit heavy on my tongue, but they have to come out. "Jacob," I start, my voice trembling, "you're the father."

His eyes widen, the thumb that was sweeping across my hand now frozen in place. "What? Say that again."

"The baby," I say, my tears giving way to a smile that's threatening to crack. "You wanted to know about the father, didn't you? It's you, Jacob. It's you." I blink. "You're the father of our baby."

Jacob's eyes dart between mine, searching for any hint of deception. But there isn't any. This is the truth.

The only truth that matters.

It’s a truth that I don’t know if Jacob can accept. I barely can.

The silence that falls between us now is the loudest sound I've ever heard.

Suitcases always seem to mock me with their refusal to stay packed.

It’s the day after I told Jacob the truth about the baby—our baby—and I feel like I’m barely holding my life together, let alone the carry-on I’ve been shuffling between cities.

I shove one last T-shirt into the duffel bag and zip it up before it has the chance to escape. I'm running on less than zero hours of sleep, and it shows.

The hotel room is almost empty now. The only things left in it are my memories, my suitcases, and the sound of Lexi's voice over the phone.

Her sigh is long and loud over the line. "Well, at least you did it. You told him."

I let out a humorless laugh, my hand automatically going to rub the growing bump on my stomach. "Yeah, I did it. And...it was a disaster." I lean against the bureau, my legs feeling like jelly. "I thought he was going to pass out. You should’ve seen his face. It was as if I told him he had to start playing right-wing with a broken arm."

Lexi snorts on the other end. It almost makes me smile.

Almost.

"Well, in his defense, he was already dealing with the game two loss and his injury, and then you throw in a baby on top of that. Man's got his work cut out for him."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Yeah, I know. But it needed to be done. I can't keep secrets, especially not ones that kick inside me during post-season games."

"Tell me about it! Anyway, how's everyone taking the game two loss without their star player?"

"Not great." I squint at the last lonely hanger dangling in the closet like it's mocking me. "It's like everyone's pretending they're not worried about Jacob's injury, but you can feel it. Tension, thicker than Chicago fog."

Lexi's voice turns softer. "You holding up okay, Gabi?"

I smile at her concern, even though she can't see it. "Barely. But hey, at least I have you to spill it all to. And to laugh at my suffering, apparently."

"Who better than me to tell my favorite tired mom-to-be that she sounds like death?"

"Your only tired mom-to-be friend, you mean."

"Potato, po-tah-to." She laughs briefly before the sound fades. "You know you're not alone in this, don't you? You will never ever be alone so long as I'm living."

I nod, even though she can't see me. "I know. Thanks, Lexi."

"Anytime, girl." There's a pause before she speaks again. "So...have you thought about a name yet?"

My hand stills on my belly as I consider her question. A name. For a baby with a father who may never come back to us.

"I have," I finally answer, my voice barely above a whisper. "But it's too soon to tell anyone."

"Gotcha." Lexi understands, like she always does.

I let out a long sigh and continue sorting through the closet. Maybe I'll find something that will distract me from these heavy thoughts.

"So, tell me about this cutie physical therapist you went on a date with," I say, changing the subject. "What's his name again? Max?"

"Maxwell. And he's not just cute. He's funny and smart and sweet."

"Sounds like you hit the jackpot."

"I know, right?" She exhales. Hard. "If I wasn't terminally attracted to bad boys, I'd marry him tomorrow."

I laugh. "Well, at least you're giving the good guys a chance now."

"Yeah, yeah. Who knows? Maybe one of them will actually stick around this time."

"Hey, don't jinx it," I tease.

"Oh please, like your love life is any less complicated."

Touché. I can't argue with that one.

"And speaking of bad boys, what are you going to do about your brother? I mean, Gio still doesn't know about Jacob being the father of your kid." She pauses. "How do you think he's going to take the news that his best friend knocked up his sister?"

I groan. "Do we have to talk about this right now? I'm already stressed enough as it is."

"Fine, fine. We'll table that conversation for another day." There's a moment of silence before Lexi speaks again. "But seriously, let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?"

"I will," I promise.

As always, Lexi has my back.

Even though things may feel overwhelming and uncertain right now, having a friend like her makes the journey—my own and potentially my baby’s—just a little less scary than it was before.

We continue chatting and laughing until my phone beeps with an incoming call from a number I don't recognize.

"I should take this," I say to Lexi before answering the call.

"Hello?" I say tentatively, unsure of who might be on the other end.

"Is this Gabi?" comes a familiar, yet professional voice.

"Yes, this is Gabi."

"It's Shera, your Nonna's nurse."

"Hi. Shera. Yes, of course." I grip the phone tighter. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yes, everything is fine! Actually, your Nonna wants to speak with you. One moment, please."

Before I can process my relief, I hear the unmistakable, warm voice of my Nonna. "Gabi! Oh, mia cara, how are you?"

"Nonna! I'm...I'm good. How are you feeling?"

"I'm wonderful, darling! My hip is doing so much better with the help of Shera and the physical therapy. You won't believe it—I walked around the neighborhood today, past the old tree house."

"Really? That's amazing, Nonna!" I exclaim, genuinely happy for her.

"Yes! And I was thinking, maybe one day soon, you and Jacob could come by. We could take a walk together and have a meal. Wouldn't that be nice?"

I bite my lip, trying to mask the turmoil swelling inside me.

How do I tell her that Jacob might never come around again, especially after I lied about him being the father?

"Um, Nonna, Jacob's staying a few days in New York. His team has a big game coming up, Game Three of the hockey playoffs."

"Oh, those games." Her voice deepens with disappointment. "Well, whenever he gets back, okay? Promise me you'll bring him by?"

"Of course, Nonna. I promise," I say, although it feels like my voice might crack under the weight of the untruth.

We exchange a few more words before saying our goodbyes.

As I hang up, I can't shake the feeling of dread mixed with guilt. I've always kept my promises to Nonna, but this time, I'm not so sure I can.