pit of my gut, that I need her to be okay.
“What does that mean? Is she going to be okay? Can I see her? See if it’s the same person?” I fire off questions one after the other.
“Yes, you can see her, but just for a few minutes. She’s still in critical condition. And being her next of kin means you’ll be the one making medical decisions for her until she wakes up.”
No fucking way. “I need to see her, see if I know her. This has to be a mistake.”
“Sure, but like I said, it can only be a few minutes. We’re monitoring her closely.”
“That’s fine, I just need . . .” I swallow hard. “I need to see if it’s her, if it’s the same Melissa.”
“Of course, right this way.”
“I’ll wait here for you,” Sheriff Simpson says. “Anyone you want me to call for you?”
“Not yet. I don’t know if . . . not yet.” I stand and follow Alice out of the room.
The hallways are bustling with activity—doctors, nurses, even patients walking around. Alice leads us to the end of the hall and through a set of double doors marked Critical Care Unit. There are patient rooms surrounded by glass and doors, unlike the other that are only separated by curtains.
Stopping in front of Room 3, Alice turns to me. “She hasn’t woken up yet. I’ll leave you, but just a few minutes.” I watch her walk to the small nurses’ station, seemingly to give me a sense of privacy.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I take in a deep breath and hold it. Slowly, I release the air from my lungs, willing my heart to slow its pace. I repeat this at least three times, probably more before I grip the door handle and walk into her room. The privacy curtain is pulled around the bed. When I slowly walk around it, I freeze.
It’s her.
Melissa.
Melissa from the bar all those months ago, who left me in her bed in her motel room after our night of hot sex. The Melissa I’ve thought about often and wondered what made her slip away in the middle of the night. What would’ve happened if I had woken up with her lying beside me? Would she be here now? Lying in the hospital bed fighting for her life? I think back to that night—she said she was just passing through. What is she doing here now, so close to me and my company? Why would she list me as her next of kin?
Her face is bruised and she’s bandaged over one eye. Her eyes are closed, and she appears to be sleeping peacefully. Except that’s not the case at all. She has yet to wake up.
Will she ever?
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know she had company. I’m Dr. Ellis. I just came by to check the baby’s vitals.”
Wait? What did he just say? “Umm, the baby?” My eyes travel to her swollen belly. How did I miss that?
“Yes, it appears as though Miss Knox is eight months along.” He gives me a look like I must be crazy. Why wouldn’t I be? Who lists someone they met briefly, had hot sex with and runs out on them as their next of kin?
That’s when it hits me. Eight months ago. I count back in my head. No. It can’t be. I try to breathe, but I can’t seem to suck in any air.
“Sir, you okay?”
Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and fight like hell to catch my breath.
Is this really happening?
“Sir?” the doctor tries again.
“Why don’t you sit down?” a soft, feminine voice says from beside me.
I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but when she and the doctor each take an arm and lead me to a chair beside the bed, I don’t fight it.
“Slow, deep, even breaths. That’s it, in and out,” she coaches me.
I focus on her voice, blocking out the white noise bouncing around in my head. Another slow, deep breath and I feel some of the pressure release from my chest.
“Good,” the woman says. Looking up, I see that it’s Alice. “I take it you didn’t know she was expecting?” she asks.
No shit, Sherlock. “No. I met her once, briefly.” I’m barely able to croak the words out around the lump in my throat.
Confusion crosses her face.
“Is the baby . . . okay?” I can hear myself speak, but it doesn’t even sound like me.
“I’ve been monitoring the baby closely and