A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 47

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

GRIFFIN

W hooshing hits my ears as Finley stands from her seat. The red game clock shines behind her, highlighting the score and my girl’s hunched body. Her hand presses into her belly as she scoots past her dad. Uncle Mack says something to Aunt Kate. She nods at him and follows Finley up the concrete stairs. Their movements are slow. Forced. Pained.

My attention darts to Uncle Mack again, waiting to see if he follows. He’s a paramedic. He wouldn’t leave them alone if he was worried. Would he? He stares at the tunnel the girls disappear through, wiping his palms along his jeans and shifting back into the plastic seat while turning to the ice. It should make me feel better. Maybe she ate some bad food or something. But it doesn’t do shit at easing the tightness in my muscles or the pressure in my chest.

The minutes tick by at a snail’s pace until the penalty box timer goes off, and the ref opens the door, letting me free. My skates cut through the ice as I head to my position, gripping my stick while trying to get my head back in the game.

When I miss a pass, Coach Sanderson yells, “Thorne! Get your head outta your ass!”

I shake my head and scramble for the puck, but it crosses into the enemy’s territory, and I look up at the stands again.

Mack’s gone.

Where the fuck is Mack?

Ice sprays against my calves as Ev stops short in front of me. “Hey, you good?”

“Something’s wrong.” The realization hits like a truck, and makes my heart pound faster and faster with every passing second. Racing to the bench, I barely cast my coach a glance. “Family emergency. I gotta go.”

“Thorne,” Coach starts, but I don’t stop as I rush down the tunnel toward the locker room.

A text with a hospital address is waiting on my phone. Adrenaline buzzing through my veins, I grab my street clothes and start changing when the locker room door slams open, revealing a pissed-off Everett. “What’s going on? Where’d my family go?”

“Hospital,” I answer as I rip off my jersey and pads.

Ev kicks his ass into gear and opens his locker as the word rolls off my tongue. “Seizure?” he asks.

I shake my head while replaying the image of her hobbling up the steps. “I don’t think so.”

“Baby?”

Unease twists in my gut as I reach for my T-shirt and shove it over my head. “Just hurry.”

“You gonna call your parents?”

I send them a quick text, then jerk my skates off.

I’m coming, Fin.

After meeting my parents in the parking lot, I punch the hospital’s address into my GPS, and my dad speeds toward it. My dad drops me off with Everett at the entrance, promising to meet us inside once they find a parking spot. Uncle Mack’s waiting for us since Everett had the foresight to give him a heads-up we were on our way.

When he sees us, he motions to his left. “Third door on the right. She just changed.”

“Take Griff,” Everett offers. “I’ll wait for Uncle Colt and Aunt Ashlyn by the entrance.”

With a swift nod, Uncle Mack guides me down the hall toward Finley’s room. The smell of cleaning supplies hangs in the air, making my nose scrunch.

I haven’t been back to a hospital since Finley’s seizure. Before that? Archer’s passing and Mav’s surgery.

I shake off the foreboding feeling and ask, “She okay?”

He squeezes the back of his neck but doesn’t answer me immediately, making my pulse race even faster.

“Uncle Mack?—”

“She is, yeah.”

“And the baby?”

“Not sure yet. We’re waiting on the doctor.”

It’s not a no. I cling to his words.

Not a no.

Relief spreads through me, and I look up at the ceiling, saying a silent prayer of gratitude.

“Not outta the woods yet, Griff,” Mack warns. “There’s a lot of blood.”

A chill races down my spine, and my heels dig into the ground outside the third door on the right.

There’s a lot of blood .

She’s in there. Anxious. Scared. In pain. Probably going out of her mind with unanswered questions.

There’s a lot of blood.

The words haunt me as I stare at the closed door separating me from my everything. Since when is there blood? Did it start during the game? Has it been going on for a while, and she didn’t tell me? How can I fix this? I need to fix this. I need to make sure she’s okay. That the baby’s okay.

“I need to fix this,” I voice aloud, though I’m not sure who I’m telling.

Stepping closer, I reach for the door, but Uncle Mack grabs my bicep and stops me. “Sometimes, we can’t fix things, Griffin.”

My gaze slices to his. He looks…scared. And my Uncle Mack is never scared. He’s like a moat. A quiet protector. He surrounds the people he loves, giving them room to grow and to be safe and to fucking thrive. But he’s never scared. Not even when Maverick dropped to the ground at a family party last summer. So, what the hell is this?

“Don’t say that,” I grit out. “Don’t tell me I can’t fix this.”

“I just want to make sure your expectations are where they should be,” he warns.

Like a punch to the gut, the air sputters from my lungs. I want to scream. I want to hit something. I want to run into Fin’s room and carry her out of here. Far away. Where nothing can touch her. Not even fate. The same familiar burn spreads from behind my eyes to the back of my throat, and I fist my hands at my sides. “What do I do, Mack?” I rasp, looking at Finley’s father like he holds all the answers because I sure as hell don’t. Not right now. Not in this moment. I feel helpless, and I hate feeling helpless. Like my hands are tied behind my back. Like it doesn’t matter what I do, I’m still spiraling. And so is Fin. I need to get to her. I need to…do something. Anything.

“You be the man my baby needs.” His voice cracks, and my chest splinters at the sound. Because if Mack is worried? If Mack’s worried, then there’s something to worry about, and I have no fucking clue if I’m strong enough to handle what’s on the other side of this door. My shoulders hunch as if I’m carrying the weight of the world, and maybe I am. Because if Fin’s okay, but the baby isn’t, I’m not sure how to handle it. If I can handle it. And if Fin’s not okay? I won’t survive it.

“Go on,” Mack mutters. “I’ll wait for everyone out here.”

My body feels like sandbags are tied to my limbs, but I force myself to move, knocking my split knuckles against the door, then I slowly push it open.

Aunt Kate’s sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed. A hospital gown covers Finley, and itchy sheets are spread out along her legs as she talks to her mom over the beeping machines. When Kate’s gaze lands on me, Finley follows it, her lips parting on a gasp when she sees me.

“Griff?” Her brows crash together, like she doesn’t trust her eyes. “What are you…what are you doing here? What about the game?”

Rushing toward her, I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her as I cup her face. “Are you okay, baby?” She looks pale, her gray eyes stormier than normal, her bottom lip trembling before she sucks it into her mouth.

“I, uh,”—a sheen hits her eyes—“I’m gonna go with no. I’m not okay.”

Pulling her into me, I hold my broken girl against my chest as her hands twist in my T-shirt.

“Stupid question,” I mutter against the top of her head, and she laughs softly.

“Kind of, yeah. But don’t worry. I forgive you. ”

Hot tears seep into the fabric, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hating how lost I feel. How fucking helpless. I hate this. I hate this so fucking much, and I don’t know how to fix it.

A soft knock cuts through Finley’s quiet sobs, and she lifts her head, turning to the sound. A doctor in a pair of black scrubs stands at the entrance, his expression stoic but unreadable.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Brandish. I hear you’re having some cramping and bleeding?” He steps into the room.

Wiping the tears from her face, Finley answers, “Uh, yeah.”

“And how long has this been happening?”

“Uh,”—she licks her lips—“the, uh, cramping started a little bit last night but got progressively worse, and the, uh,”—she lets out a slow breath, her body tensing as another cramp hits her—“the bleeding started about…” turning to her mom, Finley gives her a questioning look. “Thirty? Maybe forty-five minutes ago?”

“And how far along are you?” Dr. Brandish prods.

“Um.” She presses her fingers into the corners of her eyes, then wipes beneath her nose. “Eleven?—”

“Twelve weeks on Tuesday,” I finish for her.

Dr. Brandish turns to me. “And you’re the father, I assume?”

The question hits as hard as it did the last time we were in a hospital together. When everything was so different, yet I wanted the answer to be the same, regardless. The reminder that whatever perceived control we convince ourselves we possess couldn’t be further from the truth is still very present. The realization that our lives, regardless of outcome, are about to be irrevocably changed, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“He is,” Finley answers .

The doctor’s head bobs up and down. “Well, cramping and a bit of bleeding can be completely normal, but I think it’s best if we do an ultrasound to see how everything’s going.”

Sitting up a little straighter, Finley wipes at her cheeks again. “Uh, okay. Whatever you think would be great.”

“Perfect. I’ll have a technician come by in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” I tell him.

As he disappears, Everett and Macklin step into the room, their shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor.

Hands tucked in his pockets, Everett mutters, “Hey, sis.”

“Hey.”

“You, uh, you doin’ okay?”

A pathetic laugh slips out of her. “I’ve been better.”

“Anything I can do?”

She shakes her head. “Not really, but thanks for coming. You didn’t have to miss your game.”

“Are you kidding?” He chuckles. “Our asses were getting kicked. At least now I can blame it on our absence and let Reeves take the fall, right?”

The same pathetic laugh pushes past her throat as she dabs at her eyes with the edge of her hospital gown. “Glad I can be of service.”

He steps closer and scoops up her free hand, squeezing it softly while plopping down in the last vacant seat. We sit in silence, exchanging worried glances every time Finley bows forward or wrinkles her forehead in discomfort despite the IV plugged into her arm pumping pain meds and fluids. It’s more often than I’d like to admit.

Something is definitely wrong.

A few minutes later, a young woman arrives. She’s sporting the same stoic expression as the doctor, and it doesn’t make me feel any better .

Not gonna lie. I’m scared shitless, and I’d give anything to go back on the ice. To see Finley’s big grin up in the stands. To hear Reeves’ Game Night ideas. Instead, we’re here. Waiting. Helpless. Fucking spiraling at all the potential what-ifs our future may or may not hold anymore. It’s torture.

Nah. Even torture is better than this. This…unknown.

“Hi, I’m Beth,” she says, introducing herself. “You’re far enough along that we don’t need to do the ultrasound vaginally, so if you’ll lift up your gown, we can get started.”

“Aaaand, I’m gonna wait outside,” Everett announces. He gives Fin one more squeeze, then heads out the door as Finley’s parents look at each other carefully.

Finally, Kate murmurs, “We’ll stay or go. Whatever you’d prefer.”

“Uh…stay. I guess?” she answers.

“And me?” I prod.

She looks up at me with watery eyes. “Don’t you dare think about leaving, or I swear I’ll kick you in the balls.”

Despite the ache behind my eyes, I smile and kiss her forehead, caught between gratitude and fear. Fear of losing her. Fear of knowing that some things are out of my control even when I’d give anything to fix this. To take away her pain. Her discomfort. Everything.

“All right, then,” Beth offers. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Oh. Right.” With a nod, Finley shimmies the gown up but hesitates at the last second and looks up at the ceiling, sucking her lips between her teeth.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I murmur.

“Uh…”—she shakes her head—“I can feel the blood…” Her voice cracks, and she bites the inside of her cheek before letting out another slow breath. “I can feel the blood coming out when I move. ”

“Do you want to use the restroom first?” Beth interjects.

Finley shakes her head back and forth again, her tears falling freely down her cheeks. “I’d rather have an official answer from you first.”

The technician’s expression falls, and I hate that I see it. The glimpse of pity hidden behind her stoicism. She’s seen this before. Probably more times than I can count. Yet here we are, pretending like everything might be fine.

Fin’s right. The quicker we do this ultrasound, the quicker we can see past the unknown and grieve or celebrate the way we need to.

A lump forms in my throat as I help Finley lift her gown a little more, noticing the deep crimson stain on the bottom edge of the fabric from where she’d been sitting on it. My hands shake as I move it to the side, covering the blood-soaked splotch with some excess blanket while making sure her stomach stays uncovered in the process so Beth can do what she needs to, and we can get some answers. Grabbing Finley’s hand, I thread our fingers together, and bring them to my lips, kissing her soft skin.

Fuck.

Fuck!

I want to hit something. I want to rip the world apart. I want to burn the building to the ground. I want to throw Finley over my shoulder and carry her away. Where she’s safe. Where nothing can hurt her. Nothing. But that’s the shitty thing about life. It has a way of catching up with you. And I hate how a small piece of me. A piece I don’t even want to fucking acknowledge. Already knows the truth.

It’s too late.

A burn hits behind my eyes as the technician squeezes some goop onto the wand, then presses it to Finley’s bare midsection right above her pubic bone. She drags the screen a little closer to her, keeping it angled away from us while wiggling the wand back and forth in hopes of gaining a clearer picture.

“Is the baby okay?” Finley whispers.

The technician hesitates, refusing to look away from what I assume is a grainy image. Or at least that’s what was on the ultrasound last time. Just a grainy, black-and-white picture and the promise of an indescribable future. Fuck, it feels like a lifetime ago. When we were here. Together. Seeing the baby for the first time.

Please be okay.

“The doctor will be in to look at everything and can give you an update,” the technician offers.

“Tell me he’s okay,” Finley pushes. It’s a plea.

Without a word, the technician lifts the wand, wipes the goo off with a tissue, and offers one to Finley. It hangs in the air between them as Finley releases a shuddering breath.

“Tell me my baby’s okay,” she begs.

Reaching for the tissue, I help Finley clean up as the technician leaves the room, and it’s all I need to know the truth.

The baby’s gone.

Fuck!