Stay with Me Page 10

  “Is everything all right…Catherine? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I’m fine, and thank you for making the arrangements.”

  Catherine hung up and stared at her suitcase she hadn’t yet packed. She was slightly ashamed of the fact she hadn’t been convinced that Logan would call or that he would wrap up when he said he would. She’d been prepared to stay on for another few days.

  After stuffing her suitcase halfheartedly, she dragged herself into bed after calling the front desk for a wake-up call and also to have a car waiting to take her to the airport.

  It would be okay. Things were going to be okay this time.

  ***

  Things were not okay.

  Catherine dragged tiredly from the boarding ramp into the terminal, clutching her side. What had brewed for a day and a half as a dull ache had rapidly escalated into fiery pain.

  The flight had been long and miserable, and she’d spent the entire time sipping water and praying she wouldn’t lose the contents of her stomach all over the seat.

  She turned on her cell phone, hoping to find a message from Rhys or Logan. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted to tell them about her pregnancy, but she was scared something was wrong.

  Trying not to panic, she quickened her stride then slowed down when each step sent a new wave of pain through her abdomen. Okay, nice and slow. Rhys and Logan would be waiting for her in baggage claim or maybe even at the security checkpoint.

  She exited the checkpoint and stared around at the people milling about. Not wanting to stand for long, she picked up her phone and started the walk to baggage claim.

  She was punching speed dial for Logan’s number when the LCD flashed that she had an incoming call. Relief came swift.

  “Logan, where are you?” she asked as she brought the phone to her ear.

  “Ah, it’s me, Paige.”

  Catherine frowned. “Oh, sorry, Paige, I just assumed it would be Logan.”

  “About Mr. Wellesley,” Paige said after a brief hesitation.

  No. No, no, not again. Catherine stopped and leaned against the wall with her free hand.

  “He and Mr. Cullen were delayed in San Francisco. They won’t be able to meet you at the airport.”

  “Was their flight delayed? Are they catching another one?” Catherine asked.

  “No, not immediately and no, it wasn’t delayed. They stayed on another day to meet with Mr. Kingston again and are surveying the construction site. I’m not entirely sure when they’re going to fly in.”

  “I see,” Catherine said faintly.

  “I’m having a car meet you. If you’ll wait inside baggage claim, I’ll have the driver come in to collect you,” Paige hurried to say.

  Catherine closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the wall. “No, I’ll take a cab. I’d prefer not to wait.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  Paige didn’t sound convinced.

  “Tell me something, Paige. When did this change of plans take place?”

  There was a long silence, and Catherine shook her head.

  “When I called them back last night to tell them I’d made your flight arrangements, they told me that Kingston wanted to meet with them again.”

  Catherine pressed her lips together and her grip tightened around the phone. “Okay well, you can tell Mr. Cullen and Mr. Wellesley, should they call to get a report, that I made it in just fine, and that for the record, my flight was perfectly miserable, and I would have much preferred to remain in Jamaica since it’s clear they aren’t coming home anytime soon.”

  She slapped the phone shut and took in several gasps as the pain in her side became nearly unbearable. She bent over to try and steady herself, sucking in air through her nose.

  A chill worked up her spine, and she shivered. A bug. She must have caught a bug in Jamaica. She was tired and achy, and a chill had set in. She needed more Tylenol for the fever, and then she needed to call her obstetrician.

  After waiting impatiently for her baggage, she hauled it toward the taxi rank outside and waited her turn for a cab. After twenty minutes, she climbed into the backseat and wearily supplied her address.

  On the way home, she phoned her obstetrician and got his answering service. She left a message for him to call her as soon as possible then leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew, the cabbie had reached back to touch her shoulder.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  The doorman to their apartment building opened her door.

  “Mrs. Wellesley, welcome home. I’ll get your baggage.”

  She reached gratefully for his hand as he helped her out. She stumbled as she stepped onto the curb, and Stuart put a hand to her elbow.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Wellesley?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Long trip.”

  “Why don’t you go on up. I’ll bring your bags up in a moment.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  She walked as quickly as she could to the elevator and was grateful when it opened and someone got off just as she approached. She stepped inside, inserted her keycard then punched the button for the top floor.

  As the elevator soared upward, she wavered and reached out to brace herself. A searing bolt of pain speared through her side, and she doubled over in agony.

  She gasped as wave upon wave splintered through her body. She cried out in pain and then again in fear. Her baby. She couldn’t lose her baby.

  Her knees buckled, and she grabbed at the railing. Her vision dimmed, and she couldn’t breathe for the horrific, burning pain.

  She was vaguely aware of hitting the floor, and then mercifully, blackness enfolded her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Logan let the phone ring until the answering machine picked up then he hung up for the fortieth time. Then he dialed Catherine’s cell phone. Again. He swore when it went straight to voicemail.

  He and Rhys stood outside the door of passenger pickup waiting for their driver, and both men wore extremely grim expressions.

  Rhys, too, was on the phone, talking to Paige. When he slapped the phone shut, jaw clenched, Logan knew he hadn’t been any more successful gaining information about Catherine.

  “What did she say?” Logan asked.

  “The same as the last time,” Rhys said tersely. “She talked to Catherine right after she got off the plane. She took a cab home, and she was pissed.”

  Logan blew out his breath. Hard to do around the sick feeling in his stomach.

  “We blew it,” Rhys said. “All we had to goddamn do was come home when we said we were, and we fucking blew it. Goddamn Kingston.”

  Logan silently agreed. Even though he’d finally told Kingston to take his fucking deal and shove it up his ass, it had been too little too late. Kingston had dicked them around from the beginning, high on a power trip and goaded by his ego.

  He’d loved jacking him and Rhys around, having them at his beck and call. He’d dangled the hotel deal in front of their noses then watched with glee when they jumped when he said jump.

  Logan and Rhys had gone through the motions. One more hour. A few more hours. One more meeting until it added up to two fucking days, and they’d stood there knowing that once again, they’d shit on Catherine and for what? A few more million dollars?

  In a moment of complete and utter clarity, Logan realized that it would never be enough. And in the end, he’d be left standing with everything and nothing all at the same time.

  Telling Kingston to go fuck himself was freeing. Realizing that it was in all likelihood too late had thrust a knife into Logan’s gut that he still hadn’t been able to remove.

  When the car pulled around, he and Rhys threw their bags in and jumped in after them. All the way home, Logan relived those last moments in Jamaica with Catherine. The worry and sadness on her face as she contemplated being shoved aside once more.

  He’d assured her. He’d promised her. An
d once again, he’d failed her.

  Would she be there? God, he hoped so. He couldn’t face being without her. They were going to need a lot of time to mend their relationship and to regain her trust.

  When they pulled up to the apartment, he and Rhys jumped out. Before they made it to the entrance, Stuart nearly ran them over.

  “Mr. Cullen, Mr. Wellesley, I’m so glad to see you. How is Mrs. Wellesley? Will she be released from the hospital soon?”

  The older man was clearly agitated, and he wrung his hands in rapid fashion. Rhys stared at Stuart with an open mouth, and fear lodged solidly in Logan’s throat. He tried to speak, to demand to know what Stuart was talking about, but all that came out was a garbled exclamation.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Rhys asked.

  Stuart paled and then stared down at their bags as if just realizing that they’d come back into town. “You don’t know.”

  “Know what?” Logan snarled, finally finding his voice.

  “Mrs. Wellesley arrived home two days ago. I met her at the door and sent her up to the apartment. She clearly wasn’t feeling well. I collected her bags, and when I went to bring them up, I found her in the elevator unconscious. I summoned an ambulance, and she was rushed to the hospital.”

  A buzz began in Logan’s ears, loud, incessant, swarming like a hoard of angry bees.

  “What hospital?” Rhys demanded.

  Logan barely waited for the answer before he bolted back to the car. Rhys piled in beside him as Logan told the driver to get them to the hospital.

  “What could be wrong?” Rhys asked in a shaky voice. “She seemed fine when we left her. She was quiet, not exactly herself, but I chalked that up to her disappointment over our leaving.”

  Logan closed his eyes. Disappointment. Yeah, that was one way to put it.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t fucking know. But we should have been here. Goddamn it, if we’d met her plane, we would have been here when she needed us.”

  Rhys closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He was fighting for control, and Logan could certainly sympathize. He was ready to explode in a hundred different directions. Only the thought that Catherine was in a hospital, that she needed him and Rhys, kept him from losing his cool.

  When the driver pulled around to the hospital, both men jumped out and ran inside to the information desk. The receptionist eyed them warily but looked up the information they asked for without comment.

  “Hmm, yes, we have a Mrs. Cullen-Wellesley. Room 811.”

  Logan and Rhys both turned to go but she stopped them.

  “I’m sorry, but she isn’t allowed visitors.”

  Logan rounded furiously. “What?”

  She visibly blanched. “I’m sorry, sir. It says right on her file. No visitors. Doctor’s orders.”

  “The doctor can go to hell,” Logan said icily. “I will see my wife.”

  Even as he turned back to Rhys, the receptionist was hurriedly picking up the phone. Logan ran for the elevator then cursed when it took too damn long. Giving up, he bolted for the stairs, Rhys on his heels.

  They took the stairs two at a time, bursting out of the stairwell on the eighth floor. A quick check of the signs above the hallway told him that room 811 was in the corridor to the right.

  They took off, and as they counted down the numbers to the rooms, Logan glanced ahead and saw two security officers standing outside a room.

  Ignoring them, Logan and Rhys both reached for the door only for the two men to step in front of them.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.”

  “That is my wife in there,” Logan seethed. “I just got back into town. I have no idea what’s wrong with her or if she’s okay. I only just found out where she was, and you’re telling me I can’t go in there?”

  The security officer’s expression eased into one of sympathy. “Sir, if you’ll wait at the nurse’s station, the doctor is on his way up to see you now. He’ll give you a full report on her condition.”

  “I don’t need a goddamn report,” Rhys interjected. “I want to see how she is doing with my own eyes.”

  The guard eyed him curiously but didn’t question why if she was Logan’s wife, Rhys was breathing fire as well.

  “I understand your frustration,” the other guard said calmly. “I would appreciate it if you waited at the nurse’s station. You’re causing a disruption, and we don’t want any of the patients, including your…wife,” he said, looking at Logan, “to be disturbed.”

  Logan sucked in a deep breath. He wanted to hit something. Catherine was lying in a bed just on the other side of that door, and he couldn’t go in. Couldn’t see her. Couldn’t hold her. Couldn’t touch her and couldn’t tell her he loved her. Couldn’t find out what the hell was wrong with her.

  “Let’s go, Logan,” Rhys said in a low voice. “The sooner we talk to the doctor, the sooner we can see Cat.”

  Reluctantly, Logan backed off and followed Rhys down the hall toward the nurse’s station. When they arrived, Rhys barked out a question to the nearest nurse and was directed into a small lounge adjoining the station.

  They paced the interior until Logan thought he’d go mad. When an elderly man in a lab coat walked in, Logan all but pounced on him.

  “Are you Catherine’s doctor?” he demanded.

  “You must be Mr. Wellesley,” the doctor said, extending his hand. “I’m Doctor Morgan.”

  Logan bit his lip in frustration and returned the man’s gesture. Rhys stepped forward. “How is Catherine? What happened to her?”

  “Acute appendicitis,” the doctor returned. “Unfortunately, it ruptured as she arrived in the emergency room. I performed immediate surgery to remove the appendix but it was complicated by her pregnancy and the high risk of infection.”

  Logan felt all the blood drain from his face. Rhys went chalk white and swayed. “Did you say pregnancy?” Rhys choked out.

  The doctor blinked in surprise. “You didn’t know?” He cleared his throat. “I assumed given the nature of your relationship to the patient that you would be aware of her pregnancy.” He directed his statement to Logan. “She was quite clear that she was married to Logan Wellesley. That is you, correct?”

  Logan nodded, still numb to his toes. “Catherine. Is she okay? The baby?”

  The doctor blew out his breath. “Why don’t you both sit down, and I’ll bring you up to speed on her condition.”

  He and Rhys both sank into nearby chairs. Rhys looked as shocked as he felt. Pregnant. How pregnant? She couldn’t be very far along.

  “Why can’t we see her?” Rhys demanded. “We were told no visitors on your orders.”

  “Not my orders,” the doctor said with a shake of his head. “Those were Mrs. Wellesley’s wishes.”

  Logan looked at the doctor in shock. “What?”

  “After she came out of surgery, she was quite distraught. She asked for you and Rhys Cullen.” He looked up at Rhys. “I assume that’s you?”

  Rhys nodded.

  “She was convinced she’d miscarried the baby, and it took us quite a while to make her understand what had happened to her, and that at least for now, she was still pregnant.”

  “What do you mean for now?” Logan asked as cold fear snaked up his spine.

  “Just that she underwent surgery for a ruptured appendix, which is a risky enough endeavor and when you factor in that the patient is pregnant, it gets trickier. Plus, she runs a high risk of infection which could cause problems with the pregnancy. So far she’s responded well to antibiotics, but she’s not beyond the risk