Rage (6 page)

and Adam stopped struggling against them.

“Please, everyone just calm down.” His mother cried as she

stepped between them as if she were capable of defending him. It was at that moment that a man in scrubs and a cap approached

them as if oblivious to the altercation taking place before him.

“Which one of you is Stephanie Brier’s next of kin?” The

gravity in his commanding voice cut like shards of glass. Phillip felt his stomach plummet to his feet.

“I’m her father. This is her brother.” Adam gestured to

Cedric as he snapped to attention like the doctor was his drill

sergeant.

“I’m her fiancé.” Phillip interjected and Adam spun on him.

“No you’re not. She never answered you!” His hostile eyes

pained Phillip. He knew Adam could be wildly protective of

Steph, and it dawned on him that Steph’s mother’s death was the

result of a car accident. He’d been driving like a maniac to get her here alive. He knew Adam had every right to be upset with

him, but Phillip couldn’t believe that he thought he’d do any-

thing to intentionally jeopardize her well-being.

“Follow me.” The surgeon’s eyes flit between them so

quickly and decisively that it was almost imperceptible. Adam

strode after him, and Cedric hobbled closely behind-cane in

hand. The three men disappeared behind security doors. That had

been four long hours ago, and he hadn’t seen them since.

He choked on the harsh smoke as his lungs acclimated to

inhaling for the first time in months. His head immediately

buzzed as the tobacco and other essential poisons flooded him.

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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

When the first news van pulled up, he wasn’t the least bit sur-

prised.

“Phillip! Mr. Kersey.” The reporter shouted from the street.

Phillip flicked his cigarette in their direction and turned to walk back inside. The sight of Adam Brier standing in his path

stopped him in his tracks. Adam looked ten years older than he

had just a few hours before and a bit lost.

“Do you have any more of those?” he asked Phillip, pulling

a flask out from an inside pocket of his jacket. Phillip pulled the cigarettes and matches from his pocket and handed them to him.

“Where’s Cedric?” His own voice sounded horse and hol-

low. He was afraid of what Adam’s answer might be.

“He’s with Bonnie. She’s out of surgery. They say she’s

stable.” Adam replied and lit a cigarette, inhaling heavily. Phillip felt a tidal wave of relief crash over him. Stable. It was a heavenly word.

“Why do you call her Bonnie?” Phillip asked. It was proba-

bly an odd question at a time like that. Based on the way Adam

paused mid drag, he obviously thought so. He proceeded to in-

hale again deeply and passed his flask to Phillip who took an

obnoxiously large swig.

“I wanted to name her Bonnie. It’s a family name. Her

mother wanted Stephanie-after Stevie Nicks. So we compro-

mised like all good married couples. She got her way. Bonnie

became her middle name.”

Phillip nodded and took another swig of whisky, letting the

burn cauterize his narrowed throat.

“Can I see her?” He sounded like a frightened child and

didn’t care. Adam fixed him with a hard look. Whatever he saw

while looking Phillip over seemed to soften him. He nodded.

“They are about to move her from recovery to her room.

Then you can see her.”

He barely had the last word out before Phillip took off for

the entrance.

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RAGE

“I’m still pissed at you, you little bastard!” Adam called af-

ter him.

Steph stared at the crooked picture on the wall. It was ugly

as hell, and she wanted to chuck her pitcher of ice water at it, but even blinking hurt. So she had nothing to do but study the shitty picture and think about what the surgeon had just told them.

They’d cut her open and taken her right fallopian tube. It had

ruptured and she’d had profuse internal bleeding. By the time

they figured out it wasn’t her appendix, they’d had to give her

two pints of blood. She was currently getting a third, along with antibiotics, fluids, and enough pain meds to fuck up even Uncle

Keith.

She hadn’t had a clue she was pregnant. Taking birth con-

trol pills usually prevents shit like that—at least for normal folks.

As usual, she had to be the statistical anomaly. Eight weeks

pregnant, they estimated based on the size of the fetus. The doctor said she might still be able to have children, but it would be riskier for her than other women. He said the other tube looked

normal, so it was unlikely that an STD that had caused the ectop-ic pregnancy. A fairly impressive factoid, considering her last

two boyfriends were a philandering movie star and a British rock god. Just another statistical anomaly, she supposed. Doc said

they had run additional tests to be 100% sure.

Super.

All this joyful news was delivered in the surgeon’s oddly

cheerful Irish brogue. “Your baby wasn’t viable and ye were in

hypovolemic shock. Do ya have me Lucky Charms?” Steph

chuckled at her own crazy thoughts and pressed her pillow firm-

ly to her abdomen when the pain reminded her to. Yep—no

doubt about it. She was indeed tripping balls.

But then the doctor mentioned that her father had consented

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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

to have the fetus sent off for genetic testing while she was still under sedation. The results would be back in a week to ten days.

This was a sobering mental image. She wondered if her baby

was in a jar of formaldehyde somewhere waiting for Fed Ex. She

wanted very badly to see it and wondered if this pressing desire was morbid or normal. It was all too much to think about. She

squeezed the button and felt a small burning rush as more pain

meds flooded her bloodstream. She could feel Cedric’s eyes on

her, and with herculean effort she turned her head an inch to look at him.

“What?” She croaked, momentarily distracted by the beep-

ing of her heart monitor. The blood pressure cuff squeezed her

arm so hard that she winced.

He hobbled across the room to sit at her bedside. “I’m here

when you’re ready to talk, Sis.”

“There’s nothing to say, Ced.” She started to shrug and

groaned at the unpleasant sensation of tugging in her lower ab-

domen.

“You nearly
died
. They asked dad if you were an organ donor. I thought he was going to have a coronary.” Her brother,

who was typically cool to the core, looked visibly shaken. She

had the overwhelming urge to comfort him, but a wave of nausea

hit her. She dry heaved, and he raced to hand her an emesis ba-

sin. She breathed through it and managed not to vomit. Probably

for the best, since that would have definitely popped a stitch or two.

“You know only the good die young. So I’m basically im-

mortal.” She managed to curl her lips in a piss-poor imitation of a smile.

His typically bright eyes looked overcast and forlorn. “Your

baby is dead, Stephanie.”

His words sliced through her bravado with surgical preci-

sion. His frankness wiped the smirk from her face, and the un-

characteristic cold delivery of his message stunned her.

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RAGE

“Screw you, Cedric!” she hissed, glaring up at him. He re-

fused to flinch away from her or blink during their impromptu

staring contest. And Steph’s expertly constructed walls collapsed with such force her monitor began to alarm. A choked sob erupted from her, and Cedric gently took her hand in both of his.

Within moments her cheeks were drenched with tears. Her nurse

came into the room and silenced the alarm after one look at

Stephanie. The nurse and Cedric exchanged knowing glances,

and then she left the room without a word.

Her child. Phillip’s child. Gone before she even had a

chance to feel it move.

Steph’s creative mind had immediately constructed an im-

age of what it might have looked like. A devious little blonde

boy with a Harry Potter accent…a sassy redheaded princess

whose daddy bought her a pony. Her next words came out in a

staccato rhythm between desperate gasps. “I didn’t even know

about the baby.”

For thirty minutes Cedric sat with her as she released every

jagged emotion warring within her. Neither of them spoke. Fi-

nally she’d exhausted herself. She glanced at her cell phone for the time and saw a missed call from Cheyenne. The thought of

Baby Liam’s little chubby legs set her off again. Finally, after she’d used a half a box of tissues, her crying ended and she hurt all over from the physical effort. She pressed her PCA button

and felt the sting of relief again.

“Phillip’s waiting outside. Shall I let him in?”

Phillip. She shivered from the chilly temperature of the

medication and blood being dumped into her. Or maybe it was

the sound of his name. What would Phillip’s thoughts be in re-

gard to his defective girlfriend and their dead baby? Before she could even follow the train of thought, Cedric left the room.

Phillip rushed into the room as if the building were on fire.

His clothes were disheveled with odd brown stains on his jacket

and shirt. and he had a large bruise on the lower left side of his 35

TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE

face. He looked haggard and exhausted. His eyes swept her, flit-

ting to the I.V.s in both her hands, and he practically screeched to a halt when he saw the blood hanging from the pole beside

her. Steph watched expressionlessly as he took in the machines

and alarms. When his eyes finally met hers again, she saw pity

and fear in them. He moved around the bed and pulled the chair

right up next to it so that when he sat, they were virtually face to face. He apprehensively took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

“What the hell happened to you?” Steph reached out toward

his jaw. His half smile as he pulled away from her hand revealed just how painful his injury was.

“It’s nothing. Really.” His face was an inch from hers, his

eyes somber. “You scared the hell out of me, love. Don’t ever do that again. Thank God you only have one appendix for me to

worry about.”

Steph’s glassy eyes languidly roamed his face. He didn’t

know. She exhaled loudly and set her jaw. He never needed to

know.

She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault that part of you malfunctioned.” He

smirked, and his unintentional jab stung so badly she pressed her pain med button. Phillip reached into his jacket and pulled out

the ring box. Steph tried to roll her eyes, but had lost the muscle control to do it justice. Not that damn box again. He pulled the ring out of the box and reached across the bed for her left hand.

Steph pulled it back and covered her eyes with it. She shook her head, unable to believe he was putting her in this position twice in one day.
This
day of all days.

“Oh I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He flushed, and the con-

cerned expression he wore fractured her already wounded heart.

“I can’t. I just can’t,” she said more to herself than him. It

was way too heavy and too much to process. He made way too

many emotional demands, and in her weakened state, she felt

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RAGE

herself caving. She heard Cedric’s voice ringing in her ears.

Your baby is dead.

She felt more of those insidious tears threatening to fall. Her

voice failed her, and she turned from him, but Phillip gently

touched her face.

“Steph, look at me,” he demanded quietly. The first tears

spilled from her eyes as she reluctantly complied with his re-

quest. She watched him shed a tear of his own. He ignored it and took her hand in his. “Do you love me?”

She felt her heart racing as she panicked. Her monitor

alarmed, and she tried to steady her breathing. Flashes of their time together bombarded her senses. When they were apart, her

body, mind, and soul ached for him. She counted the minutes

until she could get on a plane to him, or he to her. And here he was, asking for her hand, for the second time in a day. Part of her wanted to act impulsively and hop on a plane to Vegas with him.

But Steph knew she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to have a

serious conversation, let alone make a life-altering decision.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “You know how I feel

about you.”

He narrowed his eyes, but his gaze was unflinching. “Then