Follow Me Back (Fight for Me 2)

It didn’t matter how hard I tried to contain them.

Sobs broke free, ripping from my throat, fed from my soul. And I swore, I was right back in the hospital on the day my entire world was ripped apart.

I shivered when the door to the private room we’d been whisked to on the maternity floor edged open.

I had no idea what was happening, though every cell in my body warned it was bad.

I’d been waiting for hours. Days, I thought. I wasn’t sure. The only thing I knew was my world had stopped the second they’d taken away my infant son.

The doctor who came through the door was older, hair gray and thin, his expression stoic. Yet, I could read people well enough that I could see beneath it.

To the grim lines that had been checked. Held. As if it might make the delivery of horrible news more bearable.

Slowly, he sat next to me.

My husband was on the other side of me, the heel of one of his expensive dress shoes bobbing incessantly.

Waiting silently. Swimming in his own turmoil.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gentry . . .” the doctor broached.

I clutched my trembling hands on my lap.

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news. We’ve discovered a severe abnormality of your son’s heart.”

Dizziness whipped through my head, whooshing through my body. A vortex of dread and fear and grief. The man continued to speak, attempting to explain the deformity.

But the only thing I could hear was my soul screaming, “No, no, no!”

“What does that mean?” I finally whispered through the anguish.

“We are going to have him transported to Camden Children’s Hospital in Tennessee. One of the best in the nation. He’ll need to undergo surgery as soon as possible. We hope to repair the abnormality, which may make it so a heart transplant isn’t required.”

I blinked as the term penetrated.

Heart transplant.

I jarred forward.

Unprepared.

How could this be happening? It couldn’t. It couldn’t.

The doctor continued speaking, “Not all of the tests are back, but we believe this is due to a genetic defect. If he survives, this will most likely present itself in other ways in the future.”

If he survives.

Horror burst in my blood, and I curled in on myself, no longer able to remain upright, the overwhelming joy and love inside me shattering.

Splintering out.

I squeezed my eyes closed as the tears fell. And I issued up a million prayers. Begging for this not to be real. To go back to hours ago when I held my tiny, healthy baby boy in my arms.

“Evan,” I rasped, clutching at my chest as I whimpered his name.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor offered, pulling himself back to standing. “A case manager will be in to talk with you about making arrangements to get him transported by air to expedite his care.”

The door swung shut behind him.

Dane jumped to his feet, the first reaction out of him since the doctor had begun speaking. But I was unprepared again, jerking in fear and surprise when I heard the crash.

The punch of his fist against the wall and the sound of his guttural shout. Then his dark head of hair dropped between his shoulders as he gasped for the air that had been sucked from the room.

I forced myself to stand. To go to him. I set my hand on his back, needing to comfort him, desperate for it in return. Needing him to hold me, support me, whisper that it would be okay.

We had to have faith. We had to. Otherwise, we’d have nothing left.

But he shocked me again when he twisted away from my touch, spinning into the middle of the room and facing me. Hatred glinted in his eyes. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Dane,” I gasped, eyes pinching, a terrified kind of confusion sinking like lead to land with the fear and grief.

He hesitated for a moment before he pointed at me. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

He whipped away, anger and fury in his stride. He flung open the door and didn’t look back before he disappeared down the hallway, leaving me standing there by myself. Knees week. Foundation gone.

I slid down the wall and onto the ground, my hands clutching my chest that ached and moaned.

And I was sure, never in my life, had I ever felt so alone.

“Finally got the last of the customers out of here,” Jenna said as she blew through the swinging door.

Shaken from the horrible memory, I jerked my head from my hands. Through bleary eyes, I stared at her. The second she saw my state, she rushed for where I was crumpled on the floor.

“That asshole. What is he spoutin’ this time?” she demanded, sinking onto her knees beside me.

Unable to answer, I gasped over another sob.

“Fuck,” she muttered, shifting to sit on her butt. She pulled me to her chest, wrapping me in her arms. “What did he do now?”