lurked in the night. But today, the monsters were all too real. And there was no escaping them.
Kiki heard a stifled sob and looked across the bed to see Luke on Andie’s other side, clutching her free hand and glaring at the monitors. If he could stop things with will alone, the world would cease its turning with that look. The effort he was putting into holding back his fear brought a fresh rush of sorrow to Kiki. Andie wasn’t the only one losing a child today. The wave of sorrow that realization brought almost drowned her.
With trembling lips and a quivering chin, Kiki pressed a watery kiss to Andie’s temple then reached out to give Luke’s tightly clenched fists a squeeze. “I am going to find Jax and Logan, make sure they made it okay and know where we are.” When Andie stiffened and turned panicked eyes her way, Kiki’s anguish multiplied. “I’ll be back in a jiff. Luke’s going to be right here. He’s—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Luke said, his voice rough gravel amidst the beeping and buzzing of the hospital room. Andie’s gaze swung his way as if she’d forgotten he was there—or maybe forgotten this was his tragedy as much as it was hers.
“Oh, Luke,” Andie sobbed. “Our baby.” The last came out nearly inaudible, and yet it echoed louder than any of the machines. Like the final drop of water breaking a dam, Kiki watched as Luke lost his battle with control. Chest heaving, tears flooding, Luke braced his elbows on the bed, bowed his head, and gave in to the storm of emotions battering him. His grief as rending as Andie’s, and it stopped the breath in her lungs to see it.
Andie tugged until Luke released her, and then she wrapped both arms around him, and they clung to each other, mother and father adrift in an ocean of anguish. Kiki backed away slowly. Leaving felt like sawing off a limb with a rusty blade, but this was a moment for the two of them. As much as she loved Andie and had grown to love Luke, this loss was theirs, and she was going to give them the space they needed to get through it.
Out in the hall, she saw Jax and Logan barreling her way with the matching expressions of shipwreck survivors. When Logan caught her eyes, she saw a desperate hope fill his, and she would’ve given all she owned to give him the reassurance he sought.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” she told him before he could ask questions she didn’t have the answers for. “They’re saying if the baby comes now, there’s no hope.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and she rubbed them away with a rough palm then told him the rest. “And the baby’s coming. They’re trying to stop the labor, b-bu-b-but—” And she cracked, unable to finish. She didn’t need to though. The horrible truth was already evident, and Kierra covered her face with her hands and let the grief come. When Jax’s arms engulfed her, she welcomed his warmth, burrowed into it, and clung while fear and sorrow had their way.
“It’s going to be all right.”
It wasn’t, but she didn’t contradict Jax, knew he was only trying to comfort her.
Logan moved aside, and Kiki lifted her head to see him drift to stand in the open doorway. New cracks of pain broke into her chest as she watched the young man look into the room where his unborn sibling struggled for life. He looked so young, she thought, too young to face an ordeal of this magnitude, yet too old to be told to not worry about it and go out and play.
Kiki pulled away from Jax slowly, tapped his arm, and indicated with her eyes where her attention had gone, and the two of them moved as one toward Logan. She had no idea what either of them could do to help, but they were going to offer what comfort they could. Unfortunately, when Logan caught their move in his direction, his expression shuttered up and he stepped back. When they continued to close in, he lifted both hands in the air and backed farther away.
“I can’t. I just can’t be here. It’s too much. Tell Dad. Tell him—” He gulped, looked back to the room in despair, and then closed his mouth, turned on his heel, and fled. Kiki tried to go after him, but Jax didn’t let her. “Leave him be.” She turned drenched