Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (2 page)

I smiled, that sounded
like Jameson. For being the middle child of Nancy and Jimi, he was completely
different from Emma and Spencer.

The door cracked open
and all three of us stood.

A round dark haired man
that looked like a stubby version of George Clooney walked out. I assumed this
was the doctor by the white coat.

His eyes found Nancy.
“We will be taking him for surgery on Tuesday morning. I want to give him some
time to rest.” He told her. “Our main concern is the pneumothorax.”

I’m pretty sure he
could tell we all had no idea what that was. It sounded like a fancy name for
“pain in the ass” to me.

The doctor chuckled
lightly before he went on to explain what that meant. “It’s a hole in his
lung.”

Why don’t they just say
that in the beginning? Who was the one that thought up all these elaborate
names for shit? I want to meet this person and slap them upside the head.
Just because.

“Usually this is caused
from a hole in the chest wall, such as a stab wound or gunshot wound that
allows air to enter the pleural space. This can also be caused from both blunt
trauma and penetrating injuries to the chest wall, Jameson has received both.
The track safety officials indicated his belts were fastened but loose—which is
why he received injuries of this nature.” Tucking the folder in his hand under
his arm, he continued after looking over his notes. “After performing an MRI
shortly after he arrived, we observed that this was caused from a cut to the
pleura by one of his many fractured ribs. He’s awake for the moment and asking
for a Sway?” His questioning eyes glanced toward Emma and I, trying to decipher
which one of us was Sway.

I stepped forward when
Nancy reached for me, my eyes wide but managing a wobbly smile. Stifling a
gasp, tears filled my eyes as I entered his room.

There, in the middle of
the room surround by various machines was Jameson. The sight was strange and an
unfamiliar feeling. I’d never seen him in the hospital before.

Among various bruises
and scratches over his arms and neck, his left arm was in a bandage. His
hospital gown was on backwards, open in the front, showing a bandage across his
ribs. Bruises covered his stomach and chest, outlining the faint shape of his belts
from the car. Even though I knew he was alive, the whooshing and beeping of the
machines assured me.

My vision blurred from
tears as I stared at him.

Slowly he turned his
head to look in the direction of the door, wincing in pain as he did so.

When his bloodshot eyes
finally met mine, his gaze was bleary, dazed and completely blank for a moment.

I was beside the bed in
an instant; a retarded sob broke through me as I gently touched his cheek.

Jameson’s eyes closed,
his lips twitched into a small smile as he carefully leaned into my hand. He
sighed, blinking heavily, and then those beautiful grass green eyes met mine.

“Sway,” he croaked.

I couldn’t stop another
pathetic cry from escaping me as I bent my head down to his, pressing a soft
kiss into his hair, my body shaking and shuddering with relief.

He struggled briefly,
trying to reach for me but gave up with a moan.

“
Shhh
...
stay
still.” I soothed
through my tears touching his cheek softly. “Please don’t move.”

“Yeah
...
good idea
...
” his voice was rough and unrecognizable, but he squeezed
my hand with his right one. His eyes shut briefly, and he grimaced before
looking at me once again.

“Can I get you
anything?” I whispered.

“No,” he replied in
this weird gravelly voice that was unlike him. He tried to turn his head again
and then winced. “Fuck.”

 “I’ll call for
the nurse,” I said reaching for his call button.

He was either still
pretty well out of it or in a huge amount of pain for him to react that way.
Jameson had always been adamant that he never needed help from anyone.

A few minutes later, a
tall auburn haired nurse walked in his room. “Hey sweetie, you’re awake again.”
She smiled at us checking his IV lines. “Jameson, you probably don’t remember
me, but I’m Melanie, your nurse.”

I wasn’t impressed with
this particular staff member.

Why does she have to be
gorgeous? Why?

In my head, that
Pussycat Dolls song was on repeat. I could hardly focus on anything but the
song at that point.

Leave it to me to be singing
a song at a time like this.

I used to think it was
a catchy tune
...
now I hated it. Here I
was trying to concentrate on the fact that my baby’s daddy was lying in a
hospital bed with tubes around him and I’m worried about the tall auburn beauty
taking care of him and singing
Don’t Cha
because I feel like that’s the
song she would be singing to me.

Damn you crazy
irrational baby hormones, damn you.

“I think he’s in pain,”
I explained, with a worried glance at his face. I then turned toward Melanie.
“Can he have more pain medication?”

Keep your paws to
yourself pussycat doll.

“Ah.” She patted her
pockets and pulled out a syringe. She had a small scanner in her other hand,
and flashed it at his wristband and then at the syringe before setting it
aside. “I’ve got the good stuff.” Melanie smiled and injected the contents of
the syringe into his IV. “That should help sweetie. Let me know if the pain
gets any worse, okay? Do you want some water, or anything else?”

He shook his head
slowly, grimacing again.

“Try not to move
around,” she said kindly, checking the bandage and chest tube. “You’ve got a
number of broken ribs, and I don’t imagine it’s going to feel so great for a
while. Your neck will be very sore as well.”

He grunted as a
response and shut his eyes.

“Thank you,” I said as
she moved to the door.

And remember, paws off!
My
mind screamed toward her.

“No problem.” She
smiled before shutting the door behind her.

It was quiet after she
left. Jameson was lying motionless in the bed with his eyes still closed. I
shifted to sit in the chair thinking he’d fallen asleep when his hand lifted
weakly.

“Stay?” he asked
quietly, so quietly I had to strain to hear the words.

“I wasn’t going
anywhere,” I assured him, bringing his fingers to my lips to kiss them. They’re
rough and warm, just like I remember.

One corner of his mouth
twitched into a small smile, a soft sigh escaped him. “Come here,”

“Huh?” I asked,
confused looking to him for an answer.

“Up here,” he repeated,
puckering his lips in an adorable way. His eyes drifted open, lazy and tired.

It was such a Jameson
thing to say, and the reprieve I felt was immense.
“You
sure?”

He started to nod,
winced, and instead breathed, “Yes.”

I leaned over gently,
pressing my lips to his. In an instance I remembered the feeling.

“
Mmmm
,”
he sighed, his tongue swept along his lower lip. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,”

He blinked his eyes
opened, smiled at me, and then closed them again. His right hand wandered along
the sheets, looking for mine. I took it, my chest tightened in happiness and
relief that he was showing signs of being all right.

“Are you
...
okay?” he whispered eventually,
frowning. His worn vulnerable features held concern and confusion.

“Yes,” I assured him.
Nervously, I bit my lip looking at his face. “Jameson
...
do you remember anything?”

His frown deepened.
“Not really. I remember the race
...
I
think.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “I won.”

I tried to return his
smile, but suddenly I was sobbing, clutching his hand, my entire body shaking
with the force of my cries. I had no control over my emotions. They were now
controlled by the baby.

I was so happy to see
him, awake and aware, and it weakened the tight hold I’d been maintaining on my
mangled composure. I couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. Burying my face in
the bed sheets, I eventually became aware of his hand slowly stroking my head.

“You’re
...
scaring me.” I realized he was
struggling to sit up, and it snapped me out of my emotional shit storm. “What’s
wrong?”

“Don’t,” I sniffed,
wiping my nose on my sleeve. “Stop, Jameson. Hold still. I’m sorry, I’m just so
glad you’re okay.” I held my breath as tears threatened again, but I struggled
until I had some semblance of control. “I was just worried about you.”

He was fighting the
dopiness from the pain meds, but the concern showed plainly in his eyes.

I managed a smile, and
he relaxed, not taking his eyes from my face. I could tell it was costing him.
“You should sleep,” I whispered, touching my fingers to his cheek. I stroked
down his arm, bare under the hospital gown. “I’ll be here when you wake up, I
promise.” Sensing a restlessness returning, I was about to ask if he was all
right when he spoke.

His eyes held mine, but
drooped sleepily. “Will you
...
tell
me,
please
?”

“Tell you?” I frowned.
“Tell you what?”

What would I have to
tell him? Well, I have something to tell him but was now really the time?

“Are you pregnant?” His
voice was soft but I heard every word.

Shocked, I bit my lip. He
was tired but lucid.

Searching his gaze, I
knew I would be honest with him as I had always been. “Yes,” I whispered
gauging his reaction.

His lips twitched into
a half smile nodding carefully, his eyes blinking as sleep began to overtake
him.

“Jameson?” I asked
hesitantly. I didn’t want to push or upset him, but I couldn’t stand not
knowing for another minute if he was okay with that.

Would he still want me?
Was he mad?

This was hardly planned
and not exactly what he needed right now but it happened and we couldn’t take
it back.

“Hmm?”
He was fading.

“Are you
...
” my voice faded into a barely-there
whisper, and he forced his eyes to mine once again, “Are you
...
okay with that?”

I stood in an agony of
dread, anticipation, and fear. He stared at me intently for a long time, and I
began to feel light-headed again, on the verge of tears, thinking the worst.

Finally, his eyes shut
and he sighed. A small smile curved one side of his mouth, and my heart leapt
in true happiness for the first time since I’d watched the accident on
television. It was my smile.

“Yes.” he murmured.

I pressed my fingers to
my lips to contain my sobs once again, this time in joy.

He breathed deeply,
carefully, and his hand reached for mine. I squeezed it gently.

“Everything’s
...
going to be all right.” He murmured.

I stood watch over him
until his body relaxed into sleep. Then I threw up again.

When I walked out of
Jameson’s room to let him sleep, I immediately walked up to Emma, who was now
talking with Jimi.

“Did you tell him?” I demanded
interrupting their conversation. I should have felt bad but I didn’t. Not when
I specifically asked her
not
to tell anyone.

“Tell him what?” Emma
looked at me confused as Aiden slung his arm around her.

“Jameson,” I sighed
harshly. “Did you tell him I’m pregnant?”

“No,” she gasped and I
then realized exactly
how
loud my voice was. Jameson’s entire family,
including many members of his crew, gawked at me.

Can you say awkward?

“You’re pregnant?”
Jimi, Jameson’s dad, and owner of his NASCAR Winston Cup team he raced for,
asked with a look of pure shock. Jimi wasn’t the type of man to show shock but
now, he was.

“I
...
uh
...
shit.”

What do I say now? Do I
admit it? Do I say just kidding?

Ah
...
crap
...
I think I’m gonna be
sick again.

My hand instinctively fell
to my stomach as the rush of nausea hit me. I swayed trying to gain focus and
something to say that didn’t sound stupid.

Nancy wrapped her arms
around me in a motherly way that only she could. “Yes, she’s pregnant but we
don’t
need the whole goddamn hospital finding out, Spencer
...
Emma.” She gave them both warning
glares.