Personal: The Extended Edition (Private #3)

Chapter 4

Wes

I give the back of my neck another squeeze, the haunting words I heard fucking hours ago somehow getting louder instead of quieter as they continuously repeat like an old television show suddenly in syndication.

Inconclusive.

Neurologist.

Uncertain.

Unlike our last surprise stretch at a hospital, she’s not conscious.

Not awake to bite my head off for being overprotective.

Not awake to give the doctor doing their best to handle her a snarky nickname.

No.

She’s still not awake.

Unresponsive to the mere notion of waking.

The rest of her body?

Operating better than expected.

Her heartbeat is regular.

Her temperature is normal.

Even the gashes are already beginning their healing process.

Yet her mind?

Her beautiful, brilliant, brain that always seems to fathom new ways to drive me insane?

Won’t wake up.

Or can’t.

And right now, no one seems to know the difference.

Opening my eyes occurs courtesy of my vibrating cell I’m surprised I haven’t crushed into dust by the way I’ve been death gripping it.

J.T.: Nephew has been up for about an hr and is now helping Lucky make banana nut pancakes in the main kitchen. He ended up sleeping with us all night. No complaints in regard to his injuries. No potty issues either. Asking for mom though. Any changes?

God, I wish there were.

I wish I could text him back and tell him Uhura has been cleared by Bones and will be reporting for duty within the hour.

I wish I could make that reference.

To him.

To her.

To them .

That we were all at the estate sipping orange juice and laughing at the sight of my little hero doing his best to get nuts in the bowl instead of his mouth.

The lump of tears that seems to have taken up a permanent residence in my throat violently expands when a photo of Wy covered in flour suddenly pops onto my screen.

Fuck.

What am I supposed to tell my son?

How am I supposed to explain why mom hasn’t come home yet?

Isn’t coming home yet?

Can’t come home?

How am I supposed to tell him that there’s a very real possibility she may never come home again?

You’re never “old enough” to lose a parent.

It’s going to hurt.

Regardless of their age.

Or yours.

I don’t want my son to experience that agony yet.

He deserves more.

More time with her.

More time with us.

More family moments and less with me working.

Fuckme, I could really use a shot of whiskey.

Just. One.

One to takes the fucking edge off.

“Water?” Hamilton unexpectedly offers me a bottle as he drops down into the seat beside me. “You need to stay hydrated.”

I exchange texting J.T. back for taking the beverage in wordlessness.

“As Bryn’s primary physician I’ve been granted access to review her charts and unfortunately-”

“ Not a word I want to hear, Hamilton. ”

“ Unfortunately , upon further reviewing, there still doesn’t appear to be any clear indication for why she hasn’t become conscious or when she will be.”

“Is there at least one that she certainly will ? That I won’t have tell my son his mother’s not going to wake up ever again?”

“It’s not that simple, Wilcox.”

“I need it to be, Hamilton.”

His mouth twitches open as if preparing to say something else yet shuts.

Refrains.

Pushes my brow to furrow in tandem with me asking, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m not sure now is the time.”

There’s no stopping my glare from darkening. “ Hamilton. ”

He gives the waiting room that’s primarily filled with only those I trust – including Evie and Jenny who are correlating damage control with Pham regarding the press nightmare in the opposite corner closest to the elevator – a good visual sweep prior to whispering, “ Bryn was pregnant. ”

“What?!” I thoughtlessly roar.

“ Volume ,” he scolds on a calming hand motion.

With Clark and Lauren out to grab coffee for everyone – meaning they didn’t just witness this outburst – the only attention in the room besides my PR team is our entire main security detail – Park, Holmes, Hill, and Hurst – who all instantly snap their stares to me.

Despite my insistence that Hurst get some rest after spending hours with HPD and then hours more being interrogated by Park, he’s still here.

Refusing to leave until Bryn is awake.

Offering to turn in his resignation every other time we cross paths.

Swearing to Park any punishment for his fuck up – including firing – he’ll gladly take.

The truth of the matter is…he didn’t make a mistake.

He maintained the safe agreed upon distance.

He cased the entire playground repeatedly.

He spotted no suspicious activity until Jessie spoke up at which time all the proper protocols went into effect.

There was no way he knew someone was going to try to kidnap my kid.

And he damn sure had no way of knowing a lost tourist was going to hit my wife with her car.

As much as I want someone to blame, someone to pay for why my wife is lying in the hospital unresponsive, it’s not him.

However, he will do whatever it takes to help me find who it is.

“ Bryn’s pregnant?!” comes out a volume just above a whisper. “ You’re certain?! ”

“She was , Weston. When she arrived.” His hold on his bottle of water tightens. “But according to her latest bloodwork…she’s… miscarried. ”

Any ability to breathe is instantly obliterated.

She was…pregnant?

Was she aware?

Was this something she was waiting to tell me?

Is this the deeper reason why she was so upset about me missing what seemed like trivial family time?

We hadn’t talked about expanding our family since the first time Wy asked for a sibling – and then immediately changed his request to that of a dog – but it wasn’t off the table.

Yes, she had been steadily taking her shot – never missing a scheduled one again – yet was willing to discuss the idea of planning to stop it if that’s what we both wanted.

Which at the time it was.

But now that someone has tried to steal our only son, I’m not so sure.

How can I be expected to protect more children when I failed so miserably to take care of the one?

Of his mother?

My. Wife.

I give the back of my neck another squeeze, anxiousness to bury the building anger underneath a bottle of whiskey aggressively increasing. “How far along was she?”

“I’m not an expert in that department, but if I had to venture a guess, based on her hCG…three or four weeks?”

My mind momentarily thinks back to her behavior, curious if there were signs, I missed much like the first round, only to find I’m drawing a blank.

Unsure if that’s because I’m barely thinking straight or was occupied with reviewing documents for the pending quarter is what has me remaining silent.

Slumping further into the seat.

“It was likely triggered by the trauma of the impact,” Hamilton quietly explains. “There’s a high probability she had no clue.”

And now I have to be the one to tell her.

To explain that she sacrificed herself and our unborn to save the little hero who still needs us.

Heartache hastily hurls into hatred that once more narrows my gaze.

This will not end well for everyone and anyone who was fucking involved with this orchestration.

I am a very powerful man.

And it will be felt.

“You are soooooo top cheddar,” Jenni gushes loudly enough to warrant my attention. “Just like your daughter.”

“I feel like that’s a compliment,” Lauren replies in a puzzled fashion while handing over the covered beverage.

“It is,” Evie sighs prior to receiving her own beverage. “It’s my girlfriend’s way of saying she thinks you’re incredible.”

“Then why doesn’t she just say that?”

“I did!” squeaks Jenni in obvious confusion.

“She primarily speaks puckhead,” my publicist casually informs. “It takes a bit of adjusting to get used to.”

Before another retort can be made a familiar voice calls out, “Mr. Wilcox? Mrs. Baker?”

Our faces all instantly turn the direction of Stefan Howard, the primary doctor that’s been tending to Bryn since her transfer out of the ER.

“May I have word, please?”

Hamilton rises along with me and crosses to the small space near the front desk that he’s occupying.

Upon our arrival, he offers a small respectful nod to the other physician in his presence. “ Hamilton. ”

“ Howard. ”

The dark-haired male waves a hand at the golden umber skinned female beside him. “You all remember Dr. Vickers, the on-call neurologist that initially assessed Bryn and has been monitoring her brain activity, correct?”

“Has there been a new development?” I rush to investigate. “Is there cause for alarm?”

“Development, yes,” she cautiously begins. “Bryn is conscious and responsive.”

Relief rips itself through my voice leaving it to be mainly air, “ She’s awake? ”

“Yes,” Dr. Howard slowly nods. “Her vitals are all still holding steady. We’ll be drawing blood again within the hour to verify no infections have developed and will be encouraging her to eat shortly after to ensure everything inside is… functioning properly. ”

“No bowel obstructions or blood clots,” Hamilton murmurs to me for clarification.

“That’s…” words struggle to form. “That’s…”

“Fantastic,” Lauren inserts for me, hand reaching to hold mine in support.

“The severe bruising on her back and legs seems to be increasing, so we’ll continue to monitor that as well; however, there are still no signs of broken bones or internal bleeding,” Dr. Howard explains, tone eerily even.

“Pretty standard,” Hamilton echoes for my reassurance.

“What’s not standard are some of Bryn’s responses to…certain questions she’s been asked,” Dr. Vickers gingerly continues.

“That sounds pretty standard to me,” Lauren heavily sighs. “My daughter isn’t exactly Mrs. PC.”

A nod of understanding is delivered before adding, “She doesn’t believe she’s Mrs. Wilcox either.”

“ Excuse me? ” practically reverberates around the room.

“Brain injury and trauma, such as the one she recently suffered, can often lead to issues regarding one’s memory, particularly if she’s dealt with it in the past.”

“Like her previous concussion,” Hamilton damn near whispers.

“Correct. And sometimes in these situations, a patient may face amnesia-”

“My wife doesn’t know who she fucking is anymore?!”

“ Weston, ” firmly hisses Lauren.

“Typically, the two types a patient like Bryn may deal with are retrograde or anterograde amnesia.” Dr. Vickers folds her hands politely in front of her. “Anterograde amnesia is the inability to form new memories. Basically, anything pre incident would still be intact – although the accident itself may not be recalled – and everything pos t is subject to being forgotten.”

Lauren beats me to the question, “Is that what she has?”

“Bryn seems to have no issue recalling who I am. Who Doctor Howard is. Or even the ‘bitchy’ nurse who she says hid the T.V. remote to stop having to listen to Star Trek reruns.”

Yeah.

That’s definitely the woman I married.

“Which is what leads me to believe she may be experiencing retrograde.”

“What exactly makes you think she’s experiencing anything at all?” Hamilton swiftly investigates.

“Claiming that her last name is Winters,” the woman treads carefully. “That her place of employment is somewhere called Diamonds, not The Bower and Powell Aquatic Institute.”

“The Gentleman’s Club she used to bartend at?” her mom croaks in obvious disbelief. “She hasn’t worked there in years…”

“That was before Fire however, I would like to present outside stimuli to see if perhaps it triggers something in the brain to fill in the blanks.”

Hope makes the mistake of hopping into my expression. “That’s possible?!”

“It’s possible yet irresponsible to place a percentage on how probable ,” Dr. Howard finally rejoins the conversation.

Right now, I’ll take possible.

I need possible.

A fucking miracle.

“Monitoring her response and her body’s response to introducing the two of you will be key to giving me a better understanding of her current state which is why I’ll not only be in the room but handling the introductions. And Dr. Howard will be in the room to guarantee her vitals remain steady rather than spike or spiral.” She lets her dark chocolate brown gaze connect to my mismatched glare. “I am going to have to ask your security to remain out here and Hamilton to station himself in the unseen right outside the doorway. I understand he is her primary care provider, but for the sake of discovery, only you and her mother should be introduced.”

“Understood,” Hamilton folds without the inkling of a fight.

Post a hand gesture for security to stay in position, the five of us begin making our way towards Bryn’s room where Lauren enters first while I’m instructed to listen from the threshold.

“Mom,” I hear the love of my life sigh in exasperation instilling both gratitude and grief, “did they really have to call you?” One beat passes. “For hitting my head?” Another brief pause is taken. “That’s not really an emergency worthy of calling my emergency contact, doc.”

“It can be,” Dr. Vickers sweetly insists. “Depending on the how, the where, the why.”

“Yeah, we’ve been over this. I don’t technically have any of that information, but you seem interested in playing a weird hospital version of Clue , so, fuck it. I’m gonna guess it was Peaches, in the champagne room, with a bottle of flavored lube that matches her name – again .”

It’s impossible not to sneer.

I know about where she’s worked.

I know about all the jobs she’s not proud of – including the one she has mentioned.

I know about these things because they were in her file when she first came to the estate.

The same file I instructed Park to burn.

The one I never thought I’d need again.

“And what exactly were you doing in the champagne room, Brynley Elizabeth?” huffs Lauren clearly unhappy. “ You said you don’t strip.”

“ Dance. ”

“ Brynley. ”

“You work for a really rich dude. You should know that branding – above all else – matters.”

A really rich dude?

As in she doesn’t even know my name?

Who I am?!

What I… look like?!

“I can’t go in there,” I immediately croak to Hamilton on a shake of the head.

“What?” Befuddlement darts into his expression.

“She doesn’t remember who I am.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“That means she doesn’t remember my face.”

“Wes-”

“That she doesn’t remember I fucking look like this.” A harsh finger is pointed inward. “That she doesn’t remember that she fell for a fucking monster.”

“Wes-”

“ I can’t do this… ” leaves me in tandem with my body backing away from the doorway. “ I can’t convince her to fall in love with me again. ”