Our Broken Love (Angels of war series #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Four months later...

It's at three am I get the worst phone call. Beatrice isn't at home. The call comes from Max's father, a person I did not want to hear from, especially regarding a situation like this one.

I haven't spoken to him since the day he got Max off with charges from the police. We're not close enough to keep in touch, and I think he hasn't felt the need to contact me, even about his son.

I assumed he would contact Max directly, but after a bit of digging, it became apparent Max had yet to speak to his father. Disorientated, I clamber out of bed and into an old pair of jogging bottoms. My coat will cover the rest, and my belly will only slow me down if I try to squeeze into anything without an elastic band.

It's a rushed car journey to Beatrice's house, where I pull behind Max's dad's car and go as quickly as possible to the front door. The house is empty of anyone, the backdoor wide open where I can make out some shadows at the bottom of the lawn.

"Beatrice!" I call out when I make out her figure laid out on the ground. Max's dad kneeling over her. "Beatrice! Oh, my god, what happened?"

When I don't get an answer from her, my stomach drops, and a sickness fills my throat. In her nighty, her legs and arms are bare to the elements, her clothes soggy from the rain. Max's dad looks grey, eyes wet. No.

I shuffle back to the house, where I grab her a blanket. It covers her still body, but she's not answering me. "We need to get her inside."

"The phone operator says not to move her. I think she hit her head," he replies.

I hold her cold hand, seeing the blue flashing lights over the house's roof. I demand I stay with her while he goes to greet the paramedics. What were you doing out here, Beatrice? You're frightening me. I need your witty comebacks and bossiness.

The paramedics come in and take over while I sit back and watch. My hair dripping from the rain, I helplessly watch as they try to rouse her, but she's not gaining conciseness. They do their best, but it's not working, and when the words "No pulse" are mentioned, I scream a painful noise.

"There's a DNR on her information," The young girl says as I plead with them to do it anyway.

Do not resuscitate.

Max's dad does the same, demanding they stop wasting time, precious time that could mean saving her life, but they don't listen. It's what she wanted. My heart hurts. My body aches. My mind races fast enough to make me lose my step, reaching out to hold the wall.

It's a bit of a blur if I'm honest—a horrible nightmare. Max's father is shouting in the background while my stomach tightens and water gushes between my legs. The noise grabs the attention of one of the paramedics.

"How many weeks are you?" he asks, holding my elbow as I stare at gunk leaking out of me.

"I'm thirty-four weeks," I say in a daze, letting him lead me to the ambulance. "No, is it too early?"

The young guy does his best to comfort me, leading me towards the ramp of the ambulance. "Baby's born at thirty-four weeks have every chance of being as healthy as a full-term. I'm going to take you to the hospital, okay?"

"But, this is for Beatrice! You need to help her," I cry, not willing to look when sorrow fills his face.

He keeps quiet for a moment. "My colleague is with Beatrice. I really think you need to get to the hospital."

"I haven't got contractions yet."

"Yes, but your waters broke early, and that, coupled with the stress, isn't a good thing for baby," he says, my head so mashed it doesn't disagree.