Losing Willow (Nicholas POV)

Nicholas POV:

"Jefferson! Nicholas!"

I glanced over and grimaced at the waving mayor, debating in my head whether it would be too insulting to pretend I hadn't heard him. When my father started making his way over, I kissed Willow's cheek in resignation.

"It's the mayor. Give me just a second." She nodded with an understanding smile. "It's okay. Go ahead."

My mother responded and I paused, an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Flakes of snow were falling and it was freezing cold out here. It wouldn't be good for Willow to stand around in this weather. But I hated letting her out of my reach.

I glanced over to my father and the mayor and then back to Willow, her cheeks rosy from the cold. I squeezed her hand and nodded. "I'll be right behind you."

I hurried over to shake the mayor's hand and oblige him with a bit of small talk.

"Nicholas!" His hand gripped mine in an enthusiastic shake. "It's been too long since we've talked."

"Yes, I've been quite busy."

He laughed. "I heard you were recently married. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

His eyes swept from mine to my father and back again. "I think the three of us should have lunch soon. I want to discuss my plan to propose changing term limit laws and would love to have your support."

I nodded and pretended to listen while he and Dad droned on. My mind was on Willow and wishing we were back at home already.

It was the sounds of my mother's screams that broke me out of my thoughts. I spun around and rushed over to the washroom, confused at seeing my mother shaking and crying next to Rosemary when I flung the door open.

Where was Willow? Then my eyes fell on the broken figure in the corner. There was a familiar coat, the dress, the diamonds sparkling in the dark night.

It was Willow.

No.

No.

There was a roaring in my head as I realized why my mother was screaming.

It was like everything was in slow motion as I reached her. There was blood. So much blood. I tried to see where she was bleeding from so I could stop it but was shoved away by my father.

I hadn't even realized there was a group of people surrounding us.

"Don't move her, Nicholas! She might have a spinal injury."

I felt useless, kneeling there next to her and watching as my father looked her over. I kept calling her name, hoping she would lift her head and open her eyes and tell me she was okay.

There were still screams and shouting and crying behind me, but I didn't know or care who they came from. It was like a fog descended on my world. Everything I cared about was fractured and fragmented on the cold cement in front of me.

She was my whole world, and I had failed her. I should have been beside her, holding her arm like I was supposed to. How could I have let her go down those stairs with only my mother? Stupid! I hated myself. She had slipped and fallen because I was an idiot!

"Nicholas!" Someone gripped my shoulder, and I lifted my eyes from Willow's body to find my father in my face. "Come on. Move back and let them get her on a stretcher."

I hadn't even realized the flashing lights, sirens, police, and EMTs surrounding us. I shook my head, standing up and moving back so they could work.

My mother grabbed my arm, tears streaming down her face. "It was Rosemary. Rosemary did this."

Her words didn't register at first. I simply couldn't comprehend what she was saying. Then I remembered the scene I saw after her first shouts. Rosemary had been standing there, looking down at Willow.

It suddenly became clear what had happened. "Rosemary hurt Willow?" I asked.

She nodded, crying into her hands.

I turned around, scanning the faces around me. There was Rosemary, maybe twenty feet away, and being handcuffed by a police officer. She stared back, her chin lifted in defiance and then smiled at me.

An anger so intense burned through me, I could barely see straight. I charged toward her with every intention of killing her right there on the spot. Several hands were on me at once, holding me back.

"You bitch!" I yelled. "You did this!"

They moved her away, toward an open door of a police car, but she turned her head back in my direction. "I hope she dies."

She was shoved into the backseat and the door closed before I could try to lunge for her again. I wasn't sure if they were trying to protect me from her or her from me. Even as I watched the police car drive away and was held steady by several people, those four words kept echoing in my head.

I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how Rosemary could hurt Willow like that. If she wanted to hurt someone, she should have tried to hurt me. Willow had never done anything to her. The scene around me was so chaotic, but I finally shook off those trying to detain me and made it over to the ambulance just as they were sliding Willow's stretcher inside.

"I'm her husband. I'm going with her."

Nobody was listening to me, they were too busy hovering over her and getting ready to take off. I jumped inside and sat down in a corner, trying to stay out of the action but wishing I could hold her hand. I briefly got a glimpse of my parents before the doors were shut, my father's face set in concern as he held my still sobbing mother.

Then the ambulance started racing through the streets. The anger I'd felt a few minutes before was fading, being replaced by worry for every second Willow lay there motionless. There was a thick brace around her neck, and one side of her face was already showing bruises along with the scrapes.

"Is she... is she going to be okay?" I asked, my voice hoarse and hesitant as I tried to speak around the huge lump in my throat. Nobody answered.

When we pulled in front of the emergency entrance, there was already a team of doctors and nurses waiting when the doors of the ambulance opened again. They had Willow out and on another stretcher immediately, all of them rushing her inside. I ran after them, down a few corridors and past a busy nurse's station, but was blocked before I could enter the last room with the swinging doors.

"Sir, you can't go in there."

"She's my wife."

"I understand," the nurse said, her eyes sympathetic. "We need you to wait out here."

They didn't know Willow like I did. They didn't know Willow would want me in there with her. She didn't like to be alone.

She'd made me promise her once that I'd never leave her alone.

"She needs me with her. Please."

"Sir, you need to wait right now. As soon as the doctors have assessed her injuries, we'll find you." She nodded to the two orderlies who had appeared at my side. "Can you please escort this gentleman to the waiting area?"

"This way, Sir." One of them tried to take my arm, but I yanked it away from his hold.

I stared at the nurse. "Her name is Willow Rowe. She's pregnant with our son. Are they going to be okay?"

"I promise as soon as we have any information, I will find you, Mr. Rowe."

The doors to the room swung open as a nurse ran out with something and another person ran in. The sounds of machines blaring and shouted orders were all I could hear. I couldn't even get a glimpse of Willow because her bed was surrounded by doctors and nurses rushing around.

Someone grabbed my arm again, more forcefully this time. "Mr. Rowe, this way."

They started leading me away, but I turned my head back to the nurse one last time.

"Tell her I love her."

She nodded, giving me another sad smile before entering the room.

I was escorted to the waiting area, finding my mother sobbing in a chair with my father kneeling in front of her. He stood as I approached.

"Have they told you anything?"

I shook my head. "No. Nothing."

He looked down at my hands. "You should clean yourself up."

I glanced down to see what he meant and found my hands covered with dried blood. Willow's blood.

I had her blood on my hands, both literally and figuratively. Even though Rosemary had pushed her, this was all my fault. I had brought Willow here. Brought her into my world. Left her open to attack and didn't protect her when it happened. She was hurt because of me.

I slumped down in a chair, leaning forward and gripping my hair. And that was how the longest few weeks of my life began.

Geoffrey and Virgil showed up soon after, and my mother was given something to calm her down. I was given a bunch of paperwork to fill out, but I couldn't sit still long enough to even read the questions. I paced around that waiting area so many times I probably made grooves on the floor.

It seemed like forever before a doctor finally came out to talk to me, and when he did, the grim expression on his face had Geoffrey and Virgil immediately by my side.

"Mr. Rowe?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm Nicholas Rowe."

He nodded. "I'm Dr. Hemp."

"How is she? I mean... how are they?" My voice broke in the middle and Geoffrey put a hand on my shoulder.

Dr. Hemp motioned toward a chair. "Why don't you have a seat?"

My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. He was asking me to sit down, which meant bad news was coming. Was I going to lose my Willow? My heart? The fear and panic I felt at that moment were more overwhelming than anything I'd ever experienced before. I reached out toward him, wanting to grab the lapel of his jacket, but Virgil held back my arm.

"Just tell me," I asked.

He sighed. "There's no way to sugarcoat this. The situation is critical right now. Your wife suffered massive head trauma. We've had to put her in a medically-induced coma to try and stop the swelling of her brain. There were further complications because of the pregnancy. She started to go into pre-term labor and we had to give her medication to stop it. She and the baby are in distress at this point and the next forty-eight hours, at the very least, will be critical."

Pre-term labor? The baby wasn't due to be born for months. It was too soon. "What do you mean by distress?"

"I mean we're doing everything we can to save them both, but at this point it's difficult to say if we will be successful."

My knees buckled, and Geoffrey and Virgil each grabbed an arm to drag me to a chair. I leaned forward, trying to keep from puking up everything in my stomach. I couldn't see from the tears in my eyes and I couldn't breathe from the fear of losing everything I cared about.

I flinched away from the hand on my shoulder. "Don't touch me!"

It didn't matter who it was: my father, Geoffrey, Virgil, or the doctor. I didn't want any comfort. I didn't deserve any comfort. Willow and our child were dying and it was all my fault.

The next two days were the darkest of my life. My past of being scorned by my father and Rosemary's abortion didn't even compare to what I felt as I sat vigil next to Willow's ICU bed. I stayed there alone, next to her at all times, with only the sound of the machines monitoring her and helping her breathe to keep me company.

Her skin was so pale, almost translucent, making the bruises along one side of her face appear darker. The doctors came and went, checking screens and marking things on charts, but very little was said to me as we all waited for either death or some sign of recovery.

My father, Geoffrey, and Virgil all made appearances, but I wouldn't talk to them either. There was nothing to say. In one of the long hours in the middle of the night, I resolved to follow Willow if she left me. There would be nothing left for me here if she and our baby were gone. Nothing. I held her hand and prayed, hoping God would hear me.

.

"Make sure to look at your dad's hands when he comes in here."

I barely gave Virgil a glance as he kept talking away. How many times had I told them all to leave me alone? I didn't want anybody else in here with me and Willow.

"I'm telling you, he went over there and beat the shit out of Simon. Can you believe that?"

I gave him nothing. Not even a shrug.

Virgil groaned and pulled up a chair next to me. "Boss, you've got to get out of this funk. It's a good sign that the baby seems healthy."

Dr. Whitney had been in several times and had smiled when she told me our baby was in the clear. But how could I be happy when Willow was still in a coma and wouldn't wake up? Did they think I would be joyful just because she was now an unresponsive incubator?

Virgil was quiet for a few minutes before prodding me again. "Can I at least bring some clothes for you from home?"

I ignored him and the fact I was still wearing the same shirt and tux pants a week later.

Another week went by. Another week of daily visits from my friends and family. Another week of not hearing Willow's voice or seeing her pretty eyes or kissing her lips.

But I was wearing new scrubs, at the insistence of Dr. Hemp, and I had begun speaking again.

At least to Willow. "I love you," I told her, squeezing her hand. "Do you know how much? Have I told you how much I love you?"

I took a deep breath, holding back the tears from falling from her inevitable silence.

"I love you more than sleep. More than coffee in the morning. More than ice cream and cake. More than double-digit quarterly earnings growth. More than Laura loves making you dinner. More than Courtney loves shopping."

I squeezed her hand and nothing. The ventilator's whooshing sound made ten new cycles. Up. Down. In. Out. One. Two. Three. I sometimes counted the passing of time by the cycles. Four. Five. Six. I kissed the palm of her hand. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. "I love you more than the sun and the moon and the stars."

.

Hope was something hard to get back once you lost it, and mine was slipping away. I'd been talking to Willow for a week non-stop, and there was still no response. My voice was hoarse, my body was tired, and my heart was broken.

The doctors thought she should have woken up by now, and with each passing day she didn't, their prognosis for her ever coming out of her coma grew dimmer. As I watched her wasting away in front of my eyes, I wished I could go back in time.

I never should have made that proposal. I was selfish, and greedy, wanting her all to myself, and didn't care about the consequences. If I had left her alone, had been even half a gentleman, she would be happy and healthy right now.

She was young, beautiful, and strong. She had her entire future ahead of her, and I took it all away. She was in this bed—in this limbo—because of me. Because I wasn't able to stay away.

The pain of what I'd done ripped through me with a sob. And another. And more after that. I'd never cried so hard or so long. I hunched over, my shoulders heaving and rested my forehead beside her on the bed.

"I'm sorry. So sorry for everything." I gasped for air, but it was hard to breathe. "I love you. Please, Willow. I'm so sorry."

I gently took her hand again, placing it in the middle of mine, and wished for the impossible. "Please, Willow."