Chapter 57

I end the call with a sigh, not bothering to leave a voicemail. Mel is pissed at me because of last night. Not that she has any reason to be. But I guess if I heard some guy in her apartment, I would have lost my shit and gone straight over there to find out what the fuck was going on, so I can’t exactly blame her.

I’ll go to her work during lunch and explain. It will give me a chance to make sure she takes a break and is eating properly too. I’d rather she didn’t work at all right now, but I get that she can’t—and won’t—just up and quit her job. Plus, the doctor said there’s no reason at all why she shouldn’t work.

I glance at my laptop and then at the painting on my wall. It’s my most treasured possession. I should keep it at home, but I spend more time at work than I do at my penthouse, especially now that Mel is no longer there. Her absence makes the place seem emptier than it’s ever been.

I lean back in my chair and wonder what she’s doing. If she ate breakfast this morning, if she felt sick at all. Whether those ginger cookies I gave her are helping with her nausea. I hate that I only get to check in with her by phone, hate the thought of her doing this all alone. I should be there, holding her hair back when she’s sick and rubbing her swollen feet.

Tyler will be home in a couple of weeks, and I guess she’ll have him then, at least for a week or so before he leaves again. But I’m not sure if I feel better or worse about that. He’ll be the one who gets to feel our baby kick for the first time and see her bump grow every day. The one who will hold her hand through it all. Envy burns through my veins.

She should be living with me, at least until she has the baby. Tyler is rarely ever home. She needs someone to take care of her. She needs me. The memory of our phone call last night plays on a loop in my head, particularly the direction it was headed before Sapphire interrupted.

I googled pregnant women being horny, and apparently it’s a thing. I’ll be fucked if I let anyone else scratch that particular itch for her.

The sound of my office phone ringing snaps me from my thoughts. I press the button, and Helen’s voice fills my office. “It’s someone from Jasper Hospital on the line, sir.”

My heart rate doubles. “About who?”

“Mrs. James.”

The breath leaves my lungs like someone sucked all the air out of them with a straw. I place my hand on the table, grounding myself to the solid wood, and stare at my mother’s painting, hoping to channel some of the peace I usually feel when I stare at it. “Put them through.”

A few seconds later, a doctor whose name I wouldn’t remember if someone put a gun to my head tells me that Mel is in the hospital and that she lost our baby. I don’t remember ending the call. I don’t recall half of what she said. My soul cracks in two. She lost our baby. And she was all alone when it happened. Did she call out for me? Was she in pain?

Tears burn behind my eyes, and I rub my knuckles into the sockets. Tears won’t help her right now. The only thing I can do is get to her as fast as possible.

I race through the hospital, frantically looking for the suite where my wife is lying all alone. When I get there, a blond doctor is waiting outside the door. “Mr. James?” I recognize her voice from the call earlier.

“Yes.” I look behind her, through the crack in the door where Mel lies on the bed, curled in a ball.

“I’m sorry. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

I blink at her. “But what happened? I spoke to her last night, and she was fine. How did she get here? Who brought her?”

“She came in a cab. She was already bleeding heavily, and she passed the embryo in the night. These things have no rhyme or reason, Mr. James. They just happen.”

I glare at her, waiting for another platitude, but she doesn’t offer one. Instead she gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your wife can go home when she’s ready.”

“So she’s okay? Physically, I mean?”

“Yes. She should expect a little more bleeding for the next few days, much like a period, but other than that, she’s perfectly healthy. I’m sure she’ll be more comfortable at home.”

I thank her and burst into the room. “Mel.” Her name is a plea, but she doesn’t look up.

Dropping to my knees at her bedside, I wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks, but they’re quickly replaced with fresh ones.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and my heart fractures into a thousand tiny pieces. I would lay them all bare at her feet if I thought it would bring her any comfort.

“No, corazón. You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I assure her, aware of the tremor in my voice.

She stares past me, unblinking.

I brush her hair back from her face and glance around the room. I fucking hate hospitals. Nothing good ever happens in them. “Let’s get you home.”

She goes on staring, and I place my hand on her cheek, rubbing the pad of my thumb over her soft, wet skin. “Mel. You want to get out of this place and go home?”

She sucks in a deep, rasping breath. “Y-yes.”

“Good girl.” I help her off the bed, then grab her coat and purse. “Tedward is outside.”

She stands on shaky legs. “Can you take me to Tyler’s?”

“Not a chance, corazón. You’re coming home with me.”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to take care of me.”

Yes, I really fucking do. More than I’ve ever had to take care of anyone in my whole fucking life, I need to take care of you right now. I swallow down that retort. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m leaving you alone right now, corazón. Now let’s get the fuck out of this place.” I slide my arm around her waist, and I’m relieved when she offers no further resistance.

Curled up on the back seat of the car, as far away from me as she could possibly get, Mel barely said two words during the car ride home. Does she blame me for what happened? She has every right to. I upset her, and then I hung up the phone to go to a fucking charity dinner. I never should have left her alone, not when she was carrying my fucking child, and especially not given her history. I let her down badly, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.

When we get home, I pour her a glass of cold water and she drinks it all down. Then she stands in the kitchen, looking so broken and lost that I want nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything will be okay. But I have no idea if she wants that from me. I have no idea how to comfort her when my own heart is so beyond broken that to even speak of what we’ve lost would render me a complete mess.

“I’m tired,” she eventually says, her voice terrifyingly small and timid. “I think I’m going to lie down.”

“Okay. You need me to do anything?” I wince at the sheer fucking ridiculousness of my question.

She shakes her head and drifts out of the kitchen without another word, like she’s sleepwalking through the day and I’m not even here. As soon as she’s gone, I sit on a stool at the island and rest my head on the countertop. I’ve never felt as utterly powerless as I do right now. Never in my life have I been so completely impotent, and I would give anything to take her pain away.

With nothing else to do, I wander down the hallway and stop outside her room, pressing my forehead against the door. Her low sobs break my heart anew. My fingers curl around the doorknob, and I contemplate whether to go inside or leave her with her grief. But I’m drowning here too, and she’s the only person who has even an inkling of what this hurt feels like.

I push open the door and step inside, my eyes drawn to where she’s curled up in the middle of the bed, her arms wrapped around her body, which shakes with the violence of her anguish. Wordlessly, I crawl onto the bed beside her and band my arms around her. She melts into me, laying her cheek on my chest and nestling into my body like it’s the only place in the world she belongs. I hold her while she cries, her tears soaking through my shirt as my own silent tears drip down my cheeks, and I let myself grieve not only for the child we lost but also for the future that was only ours.