Too Late To Beg

TAMSIN

James was two hours late.

I stood in the living room, watching the candles gutter in their holders. Condensation wept down the champagne bottle. The ice had long since melted.

Seven o'clock had come and gone.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Tammy." That's what he'd said when I invited him. When I told him I had something special planned.

It was nine o'clock now.

I dialed his number for the third time, thumb hovering over the call button. Please don't be drunk. Please don't make me regret this.

Two rings.

"Tammy, dear." His voice came through, rushed and breathless. "There's been an emergency. I'm at the hospital."

Cold flooded through me. "What? Are you hurt? James?"

The line went dead.

"James?" I said to no one.

I grabbed my keys.

Ten minutes later, I was white-knuckling the steering wheel toward the hospital.

Today was supposed to be perfect.

The pregnancy test sat in my purse, wrapped in tissue paper inside a small box. I hadn't looked at it since this afternoon. Didn't need to. I already knew what it said.

Pregnant.

After more than three years of trying, waiting, and learning not to hope too much.

I'd passed out during rounds this morning. Woke up in the ER with a colleague pressing test results into my hand and a smile that said she knew before I did.

A little over a month along.

I'd spent the afternoon planning. His favorite meal. Candles. Champagne for him, sparkling cider for me.

I barely remembered parking. Left the car at an angle, half blocking a loading zone, and ran.

"Doctor Tamsin!"

I nearly took down a nurse in the corridor. "Sorry, Sandra. My husband. Have you seen him?"

"Mr. Whitmore? I saw him heading into Ward Eight." She pointed.

"Thank you."

The hallway blurred past. Familiar faces. People calling my name. I didn't stop.

At Ward Eight, I pushed through the door without knocking.

James sat beside the hospital bed, his back to me. His fingers were laced through someone else's.

Isla Parker.

He lifted her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles, and murmured something I couldn't hear.

So much for the emergency.

"This was the emergency?"

Both of them turned.

James blinked, as if surprised to find me standing there. "What are you doing here, Tammy?"

I stared at him. "You answered my call from the hospital and hung up. What did you think I'd do?"

"I didn't ask you to come."

"You said emergency." I kept my voice level. It took work. "I waited two hours, James."

He exhaled, already annoyed. "I'm under a lot of stress right now. Clearly. You can see Isla's condition."

I scoffed in disbelief. "Her condition?"

"You didn't even ask how she was." His tone shifted into something that might have been disappointment. "Why are you being selfish?"

The word hit like a palm to the face.

Before I could answer, Isla stirred against the pillows. "Please don't fight because of me." Her voice came out soft, apologetic. "I shouldn't have called him. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

She coughed delicately, her fingers tightening in his.

James was on his feet instantly. "Don't talk. You need rest."

"I just want Tamsin to understand." Isla's eyes stayed downcast, perfectly tragic. "She can't blame you for being here."

James turned on me. "Do you see what you're doing? You're upsetting her."

I said nothing. Didn't look at Isla. Kept my eyes on my husband.

"Do you have any idea how important tonight was to me?" I asked quietly.

"Enough, Tammy."

He straightened, and crossed his arms. His irritation smoothed into something that might have passed for patience in bad lighting. "Fine. Say it. Whatever you wanted to tell me, just say it."

I searched his face. Looking for concern, for guilt. For anything that resembled the man I'd married.

Found nothing.

Isla coughed again.

James turned away without hesitation. His voice dropped as he spoke to her, thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles. She squeezed back.

The world contracted to the two of them. They looked perfect. Complete.

When he finally remembered I existed, his decision was already made.

"Go home, Tammy. It's late. I'll see you tomorrow."

I didn't argue.

I turned and walked out. Didn't stop when someone called my name. Didn't slow until the cold outside stole my breath.

I made it to my car before I shattered.

My hands shook on the steering wheel. I pressed my forehead against it and broke, the sounds coming out harsh and ugly and mine.

Then I wiped my face, straightened, and started the engine.

The drive home blurred. Traffic lights. Empty streets. Other people's lives moving forward while mine cracked apart.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, I'd stopped crying.

The house looked exactly as I'd left it. Table still set. Candles burned to stubs. Champagne gone warm.

I picked up the bottle and threw it.

It exploded against the wall in a spray of glass and gold liquid.

I tore down the decorations. Ripped the tablecloth free. Dumped the gift box into the trash without looking inside.

In the shower, I cried again. Quietly this time. Until there was nothing left to come out.

Finally, I crawled into bed and slept without dreaming.

The doorbell woke me.

My head throbbed. My throat burned. I sat up slowly, then froze as nausea rolled through me in waves.

I barely made it to the bathroom.

When I finally opened the front door, James stood there.

With Isla.

She clung to his arm, head resting on his shoulder, body pressed into his like she'd grown there.

James guided her past me. His hand steady at her back as he maneuvered her to the couch, lowering her with the kind of care reserved for blown glass.

Then he turned to me.

"Prepare the guest room, Tammy. Isla needs to rest."

I stared at him. "No."

His jaw tightened. "This isn't the time."

"If she's unwell, she has her own home." My voice came out flat. "She can hire a nurse."

"It's our responsibility."

"Our responsibility." I let out a sound that might have been a laugh in another life. "How exactly did caring for your best friend become my job?"

He met my eyes, his expression unreadable.

"Because Isla is pregnant with my baby."