Double Dysfunctions

Chapter One

It was 1 a.m. in the morning on one of Chicago's busiest stretches of highway, and yet, for some people in one of the largest metropolitan cities in the United States, life was only about to get so much better.

          Tyson Comer and Andrea Brubaker couldn't have been any happier.

          Admittedly, Andrea was in more pain than anyone but a mother could possibly imagine. After all, she was in the backseat of her and Tyson's broke-down 1989 Ford Taurus, struggling to keep her twins inside her until she reached the sterile environment that only the maternity ward could provide.

          Andrea was in her nightgown and plush slippers, with a fluffy hot pink bathrobe tied around her swollen belly. Her usually sleek and shiny black hair was currently in a state of utter chaos. Her typically beautiful, lustrous caramel-colored skin was completely covered in sweat, and tears were streaking down her grimaced face as she attempted to stop herself from screaming out in sheer agony. And in reality, nobody would have blamed her had she screamed out, because being only eighteen years old, she was, to her folks, still just a baby to the world.

          "Tyson! They're almost here! I don't know how much longer I can hold on!" Andrea managed to grunt in between jolts of pain within her abdomen.

          Tyson looked back for a fraction of a second, concern for his wife written all over his strained face. "Hold on, babe; we're almost there!"

          At twenty-one years old, Tyson was what any celebrity tabloid would call "the sexiest man in the world." With wavy blond hair that fell to his ears, and his piercing lapis-lazuli colored eyes, he would fit in perfectly on any high-end beach in the world. His super-toned body was any girls' dream. Tyson looked as if he had been a body builder in a past life. But truth be told, he wasn't a body builder; Tyson was about to graduate from the Police Training Academy. As part of the training, cadets were to work out at least four out of seven days a week.

          As Andrea whimpered in agony, Tyson peeled around a corner and saw the sign for the hospital's emergency room. Flooring the gas pedal, Tyson just barely made it through the intersection before having to slam the brakes at the entrance to the parking deck.

          Tyson swung into the first available parking space, bolted out of the front seat, and yanked open the back door to grab up his wife. He pulled Andrea up into his arms and rushed for the E.R.'s front doors.

          Tyson didn't even make it to the receptionist's desk before a wheelchair was ushered toward him by a nurse. The nurse was asking question after question, but the young couple was beyond comprehending anything that the professionals had to say.

          By the time the small posse reached the maternity ward doors, Andrea had all but fainted, and Tyson was close to hysterics. The nurse told Tyson to wait for a nurse in the waiting room, and he watched his family as they were rolled away.

          Ten minutes passed, then twenty; every time the double doors opened, Tyson jumped to his feet, ready to hear the news, any news.

          But every time he did, Tyson always had to sit back down on the worn waiting room chair, feeling dejected and anxious.

          Finally, after a half-hour of waiting, the nurse that rushed Andrea off to the maternity ward came out of the operating room and said, "Mr. Comer, you may come back now to see your wife."

          Startled by the nurse's sudden entrance, Tyson looked quickly at the clock, which let him know that it was fifteen minutes after two, then proceeded to follow the nurse down the ward to room 202.