She hears anyway. She finally seems to realize it’s me. She’s limp in my arms, twists her head to look at me. Her face is streaked with red and sweat, hair tangled and plastered to her forehead. “Colton? Oh god…god. You weren’t supposed to follow me.”
Anger billows out of me. “What the f**k, Nell? Why’d you run? I love you. You think I wouldn’t—wouldn’t…shit…what did you think I’d say?”
She pounds my shoulder with a weak fist. “It’s what you did say. A baby is the last thing you wanted. And that’s what I was going to have. A baby. A f**king baby.”
“No, Nell. No. That’s not what I said. I said a pregnancy is the last thing we need. I did not say a baby is the last thing I wanted. And regardless, running was…so wrong. You’re mine. The baby would—would have been mine. I’d take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.” I’m crying. Like a f**king girl, I’m just openly crying as I carry Nell across the field, stumbling over roots and branches and hillocks. “I’m here…I’m here.”
She’s too quiet. Looking up at me, half-lidded, weak eyes. Unfocused. Shimmering wet in the moonlight. Bleeding onto me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was just so scared. I’m scared, Colt.”
It’s the first time she’s ever called me Colt. “I know, Nelly-baby. I’ve got you. You’ll be okay.”
“No…no. It’s not okay. I lost the baby, Colton.” Her voice hitches, breaks.
“I know…” so does mine. “I know.”
“I didn’t want a baby. I didn’t want to be a mother. I’m too young. It was too soon. I begged to not be pregnant all the way here. But—but I didn’t mean this. I swear. I didn’t want this. I’m sorry…Not this way.” She’s barely audible, rambling.
She’s lost a lot of blood. I’m covered from the chest down. My arms are trembling, my legs are jelly. I ran so far, so fast, and I’m operating on adrenaline right now, pure determination. I’m half-running with her, stumbling in the darkness.
Then the yellow glow of the Hawthorne’s backyard appears and I’m fumbling at the sliding door with bloody fingers. Rachel Hawthorne is frantic, begging, demanding to know what happened. Jim Hawthorne is on the phone.
“Colt, what happened?” Rachel’s voice from far away.
I won’t let go of her, can’t. She’s unconscious. Still bleeding on me.
A hand shakes my shoulder, brings me to reality. “Colton, what happened? Why is she bleeding?” Jim, harsh and demanding and angry.
“Miscarriage—” It’s all I can manage.
“Mis—she was pregnant? With your baby?” He’s even angrier now.
“I didn’t…didn’t know. She didn’t tell me. She ran. Came here…” I look down at her lovely, slack face. “Please, Nell. Wake up. Wake up.”
She doesn’t wake up. Her head lolls to one side, her hand falls free and swings. She’s barely breathing…or not at all.
Blue-gloved hands take her from me, gently but firmly. I try to fight them, but other hands pull me away. Rougher, harder hands, too many hands keeping me from her. I turn. Dad. Jim, Mom, Rachel. All pulling me away. Yelling at me, but there’s no sound. Just a roaring in my ears. A uniformed body steps into view, a young guy from EMS.
His eyes are brown and hard, but compassionate. Sound returns. “…Gonna be okay, Colton. She’s lost a lot of blood, but you got her help in time. I need you calm or I’ll have to have you detained and you won’t do Nell any good like that.”
I’m panting. I meet his eyes. Hope swells in my chest. “She’s not dead? She’ll be okay?”
“She’s alive, yes. Unconscious, but alive.”
“So much blood…” I stumble backward, fall to my ass on a couch, hit the edge and tumble to the floor as if drunk.
“She’s hemorrhaging pretty bad, but the doctors will be able to stop it, I’m sure.”
I don’t hear anything else. I’m back in time, back in a hospital in Harlem and a doctor is explaining something to me, but I don’t hear him either, since I tuned out after the words lost the baby. I’m back on the cold tile of the hospital waiting room, sobbing. India…dead. She never told me. Or she didn’t know she was pregnant. Either way, she’s gone, and so is the baby I never even knew about.
Hands move me, push me, pull me. Peel my sopping shirt off, wipe my torso with a hot, damp towel. I let them. I’m in so many places. Torn, mixed, shredded, broken.
Another baby I never got to know or hold, gone. I would have been there. But I never go the chance. No one asks me what I want. Just assumes because I’m a thug who can’t read that I wouldn’t want a baby.
Not fair, though. India didn’t get a chance either. Maybe she would have told me. Let me be a father. We talked about kids, India and I. She wanted them. I kept quiet and let her talk, didn’t tell her what I thought. Didn’t tell her I would have loved the child and let him be whoever he wanted to be, even if he couldn’t read. It’s all I wanted, all my life, and never got.
And now it’s been taken from me again.
Sudden rage burns through me, white hot, blasting and beyond powerful.
It’s not f**king fair.
I’m not me, suddenly. I’m an observer watching as someone who looks like me heaves to his feet, picks up the nearest object—a heavy, thickly-padded leather armchair—and heaves it through the sliding door. Glass shatters, scatters, the frame cracks.
Familiar yet foreign hands touch my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Colton.” My father’s voice, murmuring low in my ear. “Just calm down.”
But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know jack-shit about my life or anything I went through. I shove him away and stalk out the front door. My rental has been moved, and I climb behind the wheel. Jim Hawthorne slides in next to me.
“Sure you should be driving, son?” His voice is carefully neutral.
“I’m fine. And I’m not your f**king son.” I’m not fine, but it doesn’t matter.
I force myself to drive halfway normally to the hospital. Before I can get out of the car, though, Jim puts his hand on my forearm.
“Wait a sec, Colt.”
I know what this is about. “Not the time, Jim.”