Breathe
by;michimichiro
Chapter 29
The moment Zyke burst into my office, her face twisted with anguish, I knew something was wrong. My heart seized with dread as I jumped to my feet. "What is it? What's happened?"
"It's Zia," she choked out. "She's in the hospital, Eli. She lost the baby."
The words slammed into me like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. Zia. My beautiful Zia. The woman I had loved for so long had ached through the lonely years since she left me for him. Clint. The man who had never deserved her.
I closed my eyes as sorrow washed over me as I pictured her lying broken in some sterile hospital room, robbed of the tiny life she had cherished and the hope she had clung to. "Tell me everything," I demanded, my voice raw.
Zyke sank into a chair and rubbed a weary hand over her tear-streaked face. "Clint came home drunk and raging last night; nothing new there. She started cramping and bleeding soon after. The doctors couldn't stop it. They couldn't save the baby."
White, hot fury ignited in my veins, eclipsing even my overwhelming grief. At that moment, I could have killed Clint with my bare hands. But Zia needed me. She needed my strength now, not my rage.
"I have to go to her," I said numbly, already reaching for my keys with shaking hands. "She can't be alone right now."
Zyke nodded. "She's at St. Anne's. I can drive you."
"No. No, I need you to stay here to handle things at the office. I'll be with her. Just... just pray for her, Zyke." My voice broke on the last word as I fought back the tears burning my eyes.
Zyke's answering nod was solemn; her eyes were haunted. "Of course. Whatever you both need."
I barely remembered the frantic drive to the hospital, my mind consumed with memories of Zia. Zia's laugh. Zia snuggled besides me on lazy Sunday mornings, her sleepy eyes full of love. Zia sobbed in my arms the first time she was forced to marry Clint.
I had thought I was long past the days when her pain could shatter me as thoroughly as my own. I had told myself I was over her, that I had accepted her choice and moved on. But as I raced through the halls of St. Anne's, my heart jackhammering against my ribs, I knew that had been a lie. I would never be over Zia. A part of me would always belong to her, and I would always bleed when she bled.
Room 209. I stood paralysed outside her door, suddenly terrified to face the ruin Clint had made of her. I was terrified that even now, even after everything, the sight of her broken heart would break me too. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.
The room was shadowed, but even in the dim light, I could make out her slight form huddled beneath the thin blankets, facing away from me. I crept to her bedside, a lump lodging in my throat at how fragile she looked. The urge to gather her into my arms, to somehow shelter her from this devastation, was overwhelming.
"Zia," I whispered, resting a tentative hand on her trembling shoulder. "Sweetheart, it's me. I'm here."
For a long moment, she was silent and still, and I wondered if the sedatives the nurses had undoubtedly given her had pulled her under. But then I heard her draw a ragged breath, and she slowly turned to face me.
Even red-eyed and ravaged by grief, she was breathtaking. But it was the emptiness in her normally vibrant green eyes that clawed at my heart, the hopelessness that dulled her luminous spirit. Her pain slammed into me like a physical force, and I had to grip the bedrail to keep from staggering.
"Eli," she said, her voice a thready rasp. "You came."
"Of course, I came." I sank onto the edge of the bed and took her cold hand in mine. "Zia, I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."
