3. Claire

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Claire

Beep... beep... beep...

Everything hurts. I must still be alive—because if this is what the afterlife feels like, then fuck that. I want out. Let's see what the after-afterlife has to offer, because this is not it.

My left arm is in a cast, and my right hand is warm—it feels like someone's been holding it. As my mind begins to focus, I hear him.

"Becca, you have got to stop calling me. We'll have to talk about this later—now is not a good time. We still have a few months before you begin to show... No, I didn't say I want you to keep it a secret. A baby is a hard thing to keep a secret, Becca."

I gasp, and Drew's head whips my way.

"Becca, Claire's awake—I have to go," he says, hanging up and crossing the room in seconds.

"Claire, don't you ever fucking do that again." His voice breaks. "I've never been that scared in my life—not until I saw that truck hit you. I thought I lost you, baby. I can't... I can't lose you. You're my life. I love you so much, C."

The room door opens, and the doctor steps in.

"Ms. Lambert, you're a sight for sore eyes! We're so glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

Honestly, I know he's asking about how I feel physically, but right now I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of water mixed with shards of glass...

"I'm in pain," I rasp dryly. "My throat hurts, it feels like my legs don't work, and I just feel... achy. I also need to pee."

The doctor looks at me with sympathy in his eyes.

"I know this is a lot, and we'll give you something for the pain. But there does seem to be some nerve damage to your legs from the accident..."

I close my eyes. When it rains, it pours.

"Now—I'm not saying you're paralyzed, Ms. Lambert. I am saying you may struggle to walk for a while and feel intermittent pain until the nerves heal."

"And how long will that take?" I ask as tears begin to trickle down my face.

"We aren't sure. There's more, though. I'm assuming, since Mr. St. Claire is your fiancé, we're free to speak in front of him?"

"Drew, can you leave the room for a minute?"

Drew takes a deep, stabilizing breath and says, "No."

His face is stone, fists clenched, his body tense and ready for a fight.

"Mr. St. Claire, if Ms. Lambert doesn't want you here, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave. I'll call security if I have to, though I'd rather not," the doctor says.

I'm impressed. Usually, people give Andrew whatever he wants. The St. Claires practically own the town of Fuk. And Andrew—corporate as he looks—is a black belt in mixed martial arts. He spends a couple of hours a week in the gym, not to mention the organized fights they sign him up for. He's the reigning state champion. This doctor either has a death wish or is new to town.

Drew takes a step toward him, and I decide it's time to step in.

"It's fine, Doc. He can stay. I'm sure he'd find out anyway—we might as well save someone else the pain of his interrogations," I say with a broken smile.

The doctor gives Drew a stern look, and Drew glares right back, arms crossed and feet planted.

"If you're sure, Ms. Lambert."

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"I am," I sigh.

The doctor relaxes a little. "Well, it's probably good he's here anyway, since this will affect you both. You're pregnant. About twelve weeks. The baby doesn't appear to have been harmed in the accident."

I begin to wheeze. Breathing becomes harder. They're both speaking to me, but I can't hear anything except—You're pregnant.

I slowly begin to come back into my body when I feel Drew shove my inhaler into my mouth, begging me to inhale. When I turn my head, he looks panicked—absolutely distraught. I can't tell if it's because he doesn't want this baby with me, or because the idea of two women being pregnant with his children at the same time is not the way he saw his life going.

"Breathe, Claire. Please, baby. Take a breath—for me. For our baby. Please," he says.

Our baby. Does that mean he's okay with this?

I should probably focus on using my inhaler instead of debating that right now.

"Fucking breathe, Claire!"

That snaps me out of it.

I nod at him, and he presses the inhaler. I take a deep breath and hold it. We do it again. And again.

Drew has my face sandwiched between his hands, his forehead pressed to mine. His green eyes are staring into my soul as he says:

"I fucking love you, Claire Lambert. But if you keep trying to die on me, I swear to all that is good and holy—I will raise your fine ass from the dead and smack it raw. Do you understand me, woman?"

I smile.