Reunited with His Runaway Bride
Author
Robin Gianna
Reads
16,6K
Chapters
11
Chapter One
“YOU KNOW, THAT tummy of yours isn’t what you can call a ‘baby bump’ anymore. More like a baby beach ball,” Bree Donovan teased. She glanced at her friend Emma, who was settling herself in the passenger seat of her car. “Good thing he didn’t decide to pop out while you were flying over the mountains. Giving birth on a plane would be a little stressful, don’t you think?”
Bree had to at least lightly chide her friend for waiting to travel until she was thirty-seven weeks along in her pregnancy, after she’d told Emma more than once she shouldn’t. Not that the woman ever listened to advice, and in fact usually did the opposite of anything suggested to her.
“I know you wanted me to come sooner, but I wasn’t ready to deal with Sean yet,” Emma said with a grimace. “Lecturing me and fussing over me like I’m still a little kid instead of twenty-nine years old. Besides, the reason I look like I swallowed a volleyball is because the baby is still high and happy, with no intention of coming soon, I’m told.”
And even if she hadn’t been sure of that, free-spirited Emma probably wouldn’t have worried about it anyway, would she? Bree would have smiled, remembering the way Sean alternately rebuked then pampered his sister, if it didn’t make her heart hurt thinking about Sean at all.
Though not thinking about him had become impossible with Emma coming back to San Diego for a while.
The ache in her chest was joined by self-mockery. Who was she kidding? It didn’t matter that she and Sean had broken up six miserable months ago—he was on her mind way too often, anyway. It also didn’t matter that their relationship had started to list toward rocky shore shortly after their engagement, showing how wrong she’d been during those first starry-eyed months with him. Obvious, important differences had wedged between them, slowly shaking the foundation of what had seemed like perfection together. How that had happened was something she still couldn’t figure out—didn’t falling in love at nearly first sight mean it was meant to be?
The blinding happiness she’d felt then had convinced her it did. And was blinding the right word, or what? She’d certainly chosen not to open her eyes to all the reasons things could never work out between the two of them until after he’d put a ring on her finger, making their breakup all that much harder for both of them.
“Oh, and speaking of Sean,” Emma said, emphasizing her brother’s name in a way that had Bree bracing herself for what might be coming next, “I wanted to confess something.”
“Confess what?”
“Mom told me he’s been gloomy and restless ever since you two broke up. So I set him up with a dating service to help him move on. Just so you know, in case you see him on a date.”
“You did what?” Bree’s mouth fell open and she stared at her friend.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Emma raised her eyebrows, the picture of surprised innocence. “I’m just trying to help him find someone better suited to him, and he works so much, he doesn’t have time to meet women. I mean, you’re the one who broke the engagement. And are ready to move to Hawaii. Right?”
Cold, shocked dismay shot through Bree at Emma’s statement. Why, she didn’t know. She shouldn’t care one bit. A rational woman wouldn’t. It was over between them for a lot of good reasons, and she was moving on, literally and figuratively.
“Of course I don’t mind.” And she didn’t. And maybe her nose was growing, because the thought of seeing Sean with another woman on his arm, thinking of him sleeping with someone else, made her feel sick to her stomach.
“I figured you’d want him to move on,” Emma said with a nod. “You probably know how close he and Dad were. When Dad was so sick in hospice, he told Sean one of the things he hated most about being sick was that he wouldn’t get to see our kids when we had them, and told both of us he knew we’d be great parents. Made Sean promise to live his own life to the fullest, the way he had. It...it makes me really sad, you know?”
“I’m sorry.” Bree reached to squeeze Emma’s knee. “That has to feel horrible, with your little one on the way now.”
“It breaks my heart that my baby’s never going to know his grandpa. And after Dad died, Sean was even more determined to be the man Dad raised him to be.” Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “Wants to be just like him, you know? A good doctor, a loving husband and the world’s best father.”
Bree’s throat closed, and she couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. How much Sean wanted a family of his own had become painfully, fatally clear, but she hadn’t realized until this moment how much that desire was tied up with his love for his dad, and his mother, too. Bree might not know anything about having the world’s best father, but she did know with certainty that Sean would be amazing at all those things, even though she couldn’t be a part of it. “I wish I’d known your dad.”
“Me, too. He was special.” A deep sigh left Emma’s chest. “So that’s part of the reason Sean was so happy to think he was going to be settling down with you and eventually having a family. Since that didn’t...turn out so well, I want to help him find that. Be happy again. I’m not sure he’s gone on any dates yet, so I’m going to be nagging him about it.”
Bree wanted to say, Well, thanks a lot for that, you traitor, but knew that would sound ridiculous and awful, under the circumstances.
She drew a long, slow breath. There didn’t seem to be much else to say on that depressing subject, and she forced a teasing tone to change it. “Think that volleyball belly will make you feel right at home on the beach?” She knew the game had been one of Emma’s favorite pastimes and wanted to steer the conversation somewhere light, away from distressing thoughts of Emma’s dad, and of Sean and their spectacular breakup. Away from visions of him with other women that dredged up memories and emotions better left deeply buried.
“Yeah. Except I’ll be the proverbial beached whale on the sidelines, not a player,” Emma said, smiling again. “Don’t tell Sean, but I admit being home always makes me feel good. It’ll help me get back into shape in no time. With the bike path on the bay right outside Sean’s place and not too far from Mom’s, I’ll be able to easily run with a stroller.”
Bree opened her mouth to say she’d love to join her, then shut it again. It seemed impossible that she’d be moving in just over a week, and she couldn’t deny that a part of her kept thinking about how things might have been different.
Over and done with. In the past, and her new job would be a step up. Right? It would.
Maybe her expression was saying something she didn’t want it to, because Emma tipped her head. “You really have to move to Honolulu? I mean, now? I wish you could be here when the baby’s born.”
“I wish I could be, too. But they need me to start soon because an ER doc is leaving. And it’s a good opportunity.”
“Not sure I believe it could be any better than here.”
“It’s a university Level One Trauma hospital,” Bree said. “With a chance to move into the emergency department director’s position at some point. Plus you know it’s important to me to take part in the bigger surf competitions. Living in Hawaii will make that easier.”
“Hmm. I suppose. Though you managed to do that living in San Diego.” Emma raised one eyebrow. “Truth. Are you moving because of Sean?”
“Of course not. We found out we’re not right for one another before we made the mistake of making it permanent. It’s a good thing.” Not that it had felt very good at the time, but she’d managed to move on. Pretty much.
“And all those reasons you came up with for it not working out between you two are a crock, if you ask me. So he likes to be in charge and is used to taking care of people, and you don’t need taking care of. So, what? Your independence is one of the things he loved about you, even if he wouldn’t admit it.”
“I don’t think so. It was one of the things about me that bugged him.”
“Wrong, and I know so.” Emma folded her arms across her chest, and Bree could feel her staring hard at her. “Another thing Dad said to Sean before he died? He asked him to take care of me and Mom. Yeah, that’s sexist, but he loved us and worried how it would be without him. And Sean was about as rock solid a support as a person can be for us, even when he got aggravated with me. Who in their right mind doesn’t want a guy who cares about you that way?”
“You, for one.” Bree stared in disbelief before turning back to the road. “You’ve bitterly complained about Sean wanting to take care of you, badgering you instead of letting you live your life the way you want to.”
“He’s my brother, not my boyfriend. So maybe he did a little too much trying to take Dad’s place, but, even when it made me mad, I always knew it was because he loves me. There’s such a thing as being independent to a fault, you know.” Her hand waved around dismissively. “And part of the breakup being because you wanted to run off and elope when he wanted a big wedding with all our extended family here, and all the cousins and kids dancing and everyone having fun? Plain stupid. Don’t tell me you two couldn’t have figured out a way around that.”
“You’re forgetting even bigger things,” Bree said. Why were they hashing over all this again? Probably because she and Emma hadn’t talked about it since she and Sean had first broken up, and one more round of torture was inevitable. “I wanted a no-care condo so we could be free to go to surf competitions and all the other traveling I need to do, and he wanted a bigger house with a yard, a cat and a dog tying us down.”
And kids. The biggest thing of all. The one thing there was no way to compromise about.
“I know being independent is important to you. I get that having pets and children would make that harder. But maybe as time went on, you’d feel differently. Haven’t I had to do things differently than I thought? Move back home for a while, when I never thought I’d do that?” Her hands cupped her belly in a gesture filled with tenderness. “My baby wasn’t planned,” she said softly. “But I can tell you I’d do anything for him, and he’s not even here yet. So tell me why you’re so sure you don’t want kids.”
“Let’s just say my family dynamics and relationships with my parents convinced me.” It was past time to change the subject, but before she could say anything more, a monstrous delivery truck moved into her peripheral vision, running through the red light into the intersection, straight toward Emma’s side of the car.
“Hang on!” she yelled, her heart doing triple time as she swerved into what little space seemed free. Inches between her lane and the one filled with oncoming traffic. Got half a car length between them and the truck. Saw it bearing down on them, behind Emma now. But not far enough. In what seemed like bizarrely slow motion, she watched it slam into the back-seat door with a bone-jarring impact. Shoved them into the next lane of cars with another deafening screech of metal.
Emma’s screams tore through Bree’s very soul. Then it was dark.
* * *
“Which room? Is it ready?” Bree ran through the ambulance entry of the ER, hanging on to the gurney carrying Emma that was being steered by two of the EMTs who’d responded to the accident. Clutching the bar like a lifeline, as though if she just held on tight enough, Emma would be okay.
“Which room?” she repeated hoarsely. Bree’s throat felt so dry and tight she was surprised she’d managed to get a single word out, but even one second of time lost might be too much.
“Trauma Two!” a nurse shouted back.
Bree pivoted that direction along with the gurney, using her free hand to swipe at the blood dripping into her eye. She scrubbed her hand down the side of what had been a new blue dress, but her clothes and her own injuries were last on her list of things to care about. There was no doubt Emma had suffered some serious injuries, and being conscious and lucid now didn’t mean that couldn’t change in a single heartbeat.
As the gurney swung into Trauma Two, she could see Dr. Kurz was already there, gowned and waiting for his patient, and she was beyond thankful for that. “Okay, Emma,” she said, letting go of the railing to reach for her friend’s hand. “We’re here now and everybody’s ready to help you.”
“Bree?” Emma’s dark eyes, filled with fear, stared up at her from the gurney, her voice a muffled whisper through her oxygen mask. “It hurts. It...it hurts so much.”
“I know, sweetie. Hang in there,” she said, shoving down the fear that had filled her throat the second she’d awakened from the knock on her head to see Emma trapped and unconscious. She swallowed hard. Was there something, anything, Bree could have done to prevent the accident?
She lifted a shaking hand to wipe away the blood trickling into her eye again. Please, please let them be okay.
The medics, as breathless as Bree, started in with their rapid-fire report to everyone in the room. “Twenty-nine-year-old, thirty-seven weeks pregnant. Vehicle struck by a truck, passenger side, pushing vehicle into oncoming traffic. Extensive damage to multiple vehicles. Forty-five-minute extraction, GCS fifteen, last heart rate one thirty-five, BP eighty over fifty.”
Bree blinked fiercely as she listened. Remembered. The impact had nearly flipped Bree’s car as it skidded into a sedan coming the opposite direction. The horrific shriek of tearing, crumpling metal. Her own door caving in, knocking her head against the window as the air bag exploded into her face, briefly blinding her as she heard Emma’s screams just before Bree blacked out for a moment. Awakening to turn, stunned and disoriented. Seeing Emma’s body terrifyingly still and bleeding.
“Were you the driver of the car, Dr. Donovan?” Kurz asked, looking at her more closely than she wished he would.
“Yes.” She should have known he’d figure that out, but her own minor injuries weren’t an issue at the moment, and she was more than capable of helping the team. “But I’m fine.”
Kurz gave her a nod. “Let’s get the patient moved over.”
Hearing the senior critical care doc’s calm, commanding voice helped her focus as she watched four pairs of hands lift the board Emma was strapped to, sliding her onto the trauma bed. Bree took her place at Emma’s right as the team cut away her clothes.
“That’s about the only top that fits me now,” Emma gasped through her oxygen mask.
“I’m sorry, but we have to,” she soothed, swallowing hard. As though her blouse mattered one iota under the circumstances. She stroked Emma’s hair then reached to squeeze her hand. Could she hope it was a good sign Emma had even thought about it? “I’ll get you another just as pretty, I promise.”
In mere seconds, the team had Emma set up with blood-pressure cuff, IV, and cardiac leads to the monitor as the surgical resident examined every inch of her, and Bree was so thankful again that they weren’t in that smashed car anymore, or the ambulance, as good as the EMTs had been, but finally here, getting Emma the help she needed.
“Tell us where you’re hurting,” Kurz said as the X-ray tech got ready to shoot films.
“My chest, my stomach.” Emma moaned. “My arm and leg. My baby—oh, please make sure my baby—”
“I promise everyone’s going to take good care of the baby, Emma,” Bree managed to say. Question was, would it be too late? “Let’s get a monitor on him, check how he’s doing.”
A nurse got the monitor on Emma’s belly. The infant’s heartbeat showed up strong and steady, and relief made Bree’s knees so wobbly, she gripped the side of the bed to hold herself up. Whether he was ready or not, baby had to come into the world soon, in case he or Emma took a turn for the worse.
It took every ounce of restraint Bree could muster to just stand there and watch the team work instead of assisting in some way. But right now, she had to remember her training as an ER physician who was used to trauma just like this and let the team do their job. Pretend the woman on this bed wasn’t her close friend. Wasn’t the sister of the man she’d been in love with not so long ago, no matter how unsuited they’d proved to be for one another.
Thinking of him and how devastated he’d be by this accident ratcheted her adrenaline even higher. Had her chest tightening at the thought that he might blame Bree, and maybe she deserved it. “Anyone know if Dr. Sean Latham is in the hospital? This is his sister. He needs to be notified right away.”
Kurz’s attention swung to her in surprise before he barked more orders.
Bree closed her eyes, thinking of Sean hearing the overhead paging him to Trauma Two. He’d be so unprepared for what he was about to walk into. Sean got frustrated with Emma sometimes, but he adored his little sister.
Bree glanced at Emma’s monitor and her stomach lurched. “Heart rate’s one-sixty.”
“Blood pressure’s dropping, too,” a nurse said.
Kurz had his stethoscope and fingers on Emma’s poor, bruised chest. “Hemothorax. Hold on X-ray. We need the chest tube tray—you got this?” he asked the surgical resident.
Bree didn’t like the shaky affirmative of the resident’s answer, and anxiety rose in her own chest as she prayed the resident had the confidence and experience to get the tube inserted into Emma’s lung fast. Steadily stroking Emma’s hair, she couldn’t say for sure if she was trying to calm Emma or herself.
Kurz continued barking orders, sending techs and nurses scurrying. “I want Anesthesia down here now, and why the hell isn’t OB here yet? And get the NICU team.”
“Bree, what’s happening? NICU team?” Emma’s eyes were wide and scared, and Bree took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“Got to get you fixed up and deliver the baby. You’re going to meet your little guy today. Can you believe it?” Somehow, she managed to keep her tone light. “You still going to go with the name you told me you’d decided on?”
“What? I’m not ready! I—”
“We’re going to help you be ready. It’s going to be okay.”
“I... Bree,” Emma whispered, her words slurring. “I feel...funny. It’s... Is it getting dark? Where...?”
Just like that, Bree saw her eyes close, her head go limp and her skin turn as white as pure, pearly beach sand.
“Emma!” Oh, no. Please, no. “Emma, stay with me!” Her shouts were punctuated by the cardiac monitor alarm, heart rate forty, thirty, fifteen, then asystole. Flat line. The sight of that neon line felt like a sharp knife blade slicing right through Bree’s heart as the screech of the monitor filled her ears. Air didn’t seem to be getting to her lungs. Watching hands pumping on Emma’s chest, hearing Kurz’s voice demanding Epi and oxygen, felt utterly surreal.
“What the...?”
Bree whirled. Sean. Standing there in the doorway, staring at his sister in shock.
“Pulmonary injury. Right hemothorax.” It was hard to choke out the words, and the next were even harder. “Coded twenty seconds ago.”
“About to place a chest tube,” Kurz said as he worked. “We’re going to OR Three. When we can get her there.”
Before one more second ticked by, Sean moved into action. He shouldered the surgery resident aside to get the tube placed as quickly and efficiently as possible. Immediately the blood began to flow, releasing the pressure on her lungs and heart.
Bree watched him secure the tube to the chest wall when the startling beep of the cardiac monitor cut through the fog in her brain. Emma’s heart’s back! She’s back! But each beat was so far apart. Slow. Too slow. She must have some other serious injury. Needed more blood circulating. Needed for her heart to pump harder. Needed it for both her and her baby.
Bree knew what had to be done and drew on reserved strength to get the words out. “We have to take the baby.”
“Not yet,” Sean said, a tortured fierceness on his face she’d seen only once before—the day they’d broken up. “Is OB on the way? We can wait till then.”
“We can’t wait. We have to do it now or we’ll lose both of them.” She hated that her last words came out in a near sob. How emotional. How unprofessional. But Emma was her friend, and for a split second Bree had seen the overwhelming love in her eyes as she’d cupped her belly, so happy to soon be holding her baby in her arms. If they couldn’t save Emma, they could at least save one life. Bring this precious baby, a part of her, into the world.
“A few more minutes. Emma’s got a strong heart. She—”
“Dr. Donovan is right,” Kurz said. “You take over chest compressions while we do a crash and burn C-section to get the baby.”
“I’ll do the prep and assist,” Bree said as she snapped on gloves. For Emma. For Sean. For the baby who might never know his mother.
Kurz nodded and Sean opened his mouth to argue more, but the look on Kurz’s face was clear, and, as he was senior ED doc running the code, the call was his to make. Wordlessly, Sean took over compressions, rhythmically pushing on his sister’s chest. As she saw the mix of determination and anguish on his face, Bree’s heart cracked.
“You ready?” Kurz asked Bree as she quickly swabbed Emma’s belly with antiseptic.
“Ready.” It wasn’t true, she wasn’t ready for them to bring this baby into the world without his mother, but it had to be done. Saving this child was at least one thing she could do to try to make up in some tiny way for driving her car into harm’s way.
Barely aware of a different nurse rolling a warming cart next to her, Bree handed Kurz the scalpel and watched as he made a full, midline incision as fast as he could. They delivered the baby and suddenly the NICU team was right there, swooping in to grab the baby up, leaving Kurz to refocus on Emma. Numb, Bree kept glancing over to watch them give the infant chest compressions and oxygen before rubbing him all over to stimulate him. Surreal that, at the very same time, Sean and the team were insistently working on the baby’s mother in nearly the same way.
It seemed to go on so long with no response at all from the tiny boy, she started to lose hope. She glanced up at Sean, who was still doing strong, unrelenting chest compressions on his sister. Emma’s heart rate had dropped to barely a blip on the screen. But Sean was still determined. Still believing.
Losing both of them would take a terrible toll on the man so close and connected to his family. Hadn’t they already lost the father they’d dearly loved? She tried to swallow down the deep pain choking her when she thought she heard a weak cry that sent her attention flying to the NICU team and the baby. Her heart lifted, soared, when his cries strengthened. His deep purple color lightened and slowly pinked up.
Her gaze moved back to Sean, who was looking at the baby while still performing steady chest compressions. Awe slid across his face, mingling with that fierceness as their eyes met. Her throat closed when, even in the midst of his intense work trying to resuscitate Emma, he gave Bree a quick, nodding salute.
Bittersweet emotion tangled around her heart as the team placed the infant in the warming cart and took off with him, doubtless heading to the NICU to be stabilized and evaluated. Tears stung Bree’s eyes as they met Sean’s, and she prayed again that the baby would be okay. That Emma would still, somehow, survive. That she’d be here to hold her infant son in her arms.
* * *
Seeing Bree’s beautiful green eyes fill with tears made Sean somehow even more determined to save his sister’s life. As though he weren’t already giving it everything he had in him to make that happen.
His mother had already been through too much tragedy. And if Emma died? He knew that blow would practically kill his mom, too. And not only did Emma have a lot of living yet to do and a child to raise, he was not going to have Bree feeling some kind of lifelong guilt because the two of them had obviously been in that car crash together. Most likely she’d been driving, but she was so good behind the wheel, he knew it couldn’t have been her fault.
For all those reasons, his sister was going to live. That was all there was to it.
“Sean.” Kurz reached to touch his shoulder, and he knew what was coming. “I’ll take over.”
“No. Keep up with the epinephrine and blood transfusion for another minute. I’m not being crazy. I’m going to make this happen. She—”
“Sean.” Bree’s tone of voice was completely different than Kurz’s had been. Held a tentative, then rising excitement. “Sean, you did it! Heart rate’s...heart rate is rising to...eighty!”
He glanced at the monitor. What he saw there nearly made him fall over, as though he could feel the world slowly turning on its axis. Emma’s heart was in normal sinus rhythm, etched on the screen in steady, perfect, neon green spikes. For real.
His whole body started to shake. “Notify the other surgeon on call and any GYN available,” he somehow managed to croak out. “Get her to the OR to figure out what all’s going on.”
Everyone moved into action. Sean stood there motionless, because at that moment moving a single muscle felt impossible. He watched them roll his sister from the room, the terrifying details of her bruised and battered body seared into his brain. He looked down at his hands, Emma’s blood still covering them from when he’d inserted the tube, and didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to losing her.
How he still might.
Somehow, he moved toward the sink, feeling as if every bit of support in his legs had disappeared. Kurz must have realized he didn’t feel like talking. Just clasped his shoulder in a tight grip for a lingering moment before he left the room. A smaller hand pressed against his back, and he didn’t have to turn to know it was Bree.
For a lot of reasons, he didn’t want to talk to her, either. The adrenaline—and, yes, the terror—of the past twenty minutes was leaching from his body pretty fast, leaving behind a mental and emotional shakiness and upheaval he didn’t want to admit to, or show, to anyone. Least of all her, the woman who’d left him with plenty of the same kinds of disturbing feelings to deal with for the past six months.
“Tough day,” Bree whispered.
Tough? The way she said the word had him realizing how tough it must have been for her, too. In the middle of the crisis, he hadn’t been able to process that. Tough to be in what must have been one horrific crash. Tough to go through whatever had happened at the scene after. Tough to see Emma code, and, despite all that, step up and help bring her baby into the world without a second of hesitation.
Iciness crept through his veins as the full reality hit him in the gut, knocking what wind he had left right out again. Bree had been in that car, too. Tough? The word didn’t exist that could describe how he’d have felt if Bree had been seriously injured in that accident as well. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a part of his life anymore. Then as soon as that thought came, he knew that was only partly true.
It mattered because she’d be a part of him forever.
He turned, and her soft hand moved to his arm. He rested his palm on top of it, and that simple connection somehow soothed the raw chaos burning in his chest.
“Even tougher day for you, I’m guessing. You okay?”
“Okay. I’m...I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Was she blaming herself after all?
“I was driving. It technically wasn’t my fault, but...you know. I have to wonder if I could have prevented it somehow.”
“No, you don’t. Because I’m not wondering, and I’m sure Emma isn’t either. You may be a hellion on wheels, but you’re a damned good hellion. Always beyond alert behind the wheel, and I’ve never once seen you cross the safety line.”
“Thank you. I think.” A tiny, wobbly smile touched her lips, despite the tears swimming in her eyes. “Obviously, we both know Emma’s not out of the woods yet. But she sure showed she’s one resilient woman, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.” They hadn’t even learned, yet, the full extent of her injuries. Who knew what it would take for her to recover? “But somehow, I know she’s going to be all right. Even if that sounds stupid.” Maybe it was some mysterious, brother/sister connection, but from the second he’d tried to bring her back, he’d known it wasn’t over. Known with utter certainty that he’d get to see her again. A little like he’d known when their dad had finally given in to the cancer he’d fought for so long.
“Doesn’t sound stupid. I may not have a sibling, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. There seems to be some sort of ESP about one another.” The green eyes staring into his were deeply serious. Questioning. Hopeful. “I don’t suppose that ESP extends to the baby?”
“No gut feeling about the baby, unfortunately.” A baby he’d been upset with Emma about, wondering how his little sister had gotten herself pregnant without a husband, and even angrier that she stubbornly refused to say who the father was. But the deep, wrenching grief he’d felt when he’d first seen the baby, blue and seemingly lifeless in Bree’s remarkably steady hands when she’d delivered him, had made him realize with a shock that he already felt a connection to the little guy in spite of all that.
Which had him wondering about the same question he’d asked a hundred times. How was it possible that Bree didn’t want that kind of connection someday with a child of her own?
Everything in him seemed to squeeze until he couldn’t breathe. Since he didn’t know how to manage the band of emotions strangling him, he forced himself to ease away from Bree, not wanting to think about all that. About her relationship with Emma, about how and why his life and Bree’s had gotten tangled up then ripped apart. About the day his sister had introduced her freshman dormitory roommate to him, insisting they should meet after Bree had moved to San Diego to work in the same hospital he did.
His first sight of her was still branded into his brain. He knew it would be branded there forever.
She’d stood silhouetted in his doorway wearing a pale yellow sundress. Tall and proud, lean and fit. Backlit by the bright, Southern California sunshine, a confident smile tipping the corners of her beautiful lips. Her lively, intelligent eyes had met his and held—eyes that were such a mesmerizing sea green he’d almost forgotten how to breathe. Her thick, shining hair, a color somewhere between golden honey and liquid fire, had skimmed her tanned, bare shoulders, and he’d had to stop himself from reaching out to see which was softer—those silken strands or her smooth skin.
He’d never believed in love at first sight. Who did something so stupid as that? Who let themselves fall in love because of hormones or lust or chemistry, and not because that woman and you were truly compatible? Not concerned with whether or not they shared a mutual vision of the future? Whether or not that person might break your heart?
Who did that? Him, apparently, and he had the deep scars on that vital organ to prove it.
Bree’s nearness, the caring softness in her eyes, made him really look at her. Made him take in the sight of her beautiful face marred by disturbing swelling, scrapes and blood. Those physical reminders of how easily she could have been even more badly hurt, or worse, made his throat close and his gut clench. Had him wanting to pull her close, wanting to take care of her.
Wanting to never let her go.
But wanting that and having that were two very different things. Wanting that still tied him in knots.
Having that had proved impossible.
He lifted his hand to her banged-up face, carefully stroking his thumb across a cut on her cheekbone liberally smeared with dried blood. The full reality of what had almost happened tonight slammed into him all over again, and he had to try twice before he could speak. “Time to get yourself looked at. Get these cleaned up and make sure there’s nothing more serious that you’ve hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
Of course she was, despite what she’d gone through tonight. That was his independent Bree in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Except she wasn’t his anymore.
He dropped his hand from her cheek. The hollow ache in his chest seemed to physically hurt, his body started to shake again from the inside out, and he knew he had to get out of there before he did something horrifying. Like grab Bree up and plead with her to change her mind, to come back to him again. Beg her to love him again.
The room suddenly felt claustrophobic, and he gulped in a breath, trying to get air. “I need to go to the OR, see what injuries Emma has.”
He strode out the door and could feel Bree’s eyes on his back. Imagined pain in them, the hurt, maybe, that he wasn’t sticking around for her when she’d obviously been through hell and back in the past hours.
His steps slowed and he nearly turned. Until he remembered how vehemently she’d assured him she didn’t need a man in her life to take care of her. That she’d never need that, when all he’d wanted had been for them to take care of each other, form a partnership, the way his parents always had. What his father had said he wanted for both of his children—a deep love with one special person, having children together, to form the best kind of foundation for their adult lives.
She’d claimed that his vision for their future had somehow been all about him trying to change her, or be someone different from who she was, and how she’d figured that he just didn’t understand. There wasn’t one single thing he could think of that he’d want to change about Bree Donovan, except her conviction that children would never fit into her life. He couldn’t deny that making a family with her was a vision he’d had a hard time letting go.
Somehow he forced himself to keep walking. But the distance felt as if yet another seismic shift shook his heart, sending the cracks that already crisscrossed throughout splitting wider than the Grand Canyon.
