Love Without End

Alyvia Paige

COPYRIGHT© 2015

Love Without End Copyright © 2015 Alyvia Paige

Published by Alyvia Paige

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Published: Alyvia Paige, June 2015:

Editing: Jennifer Van Wyk – JaVa Editing

Cover Design: J. Sava – Love Affair with Fiction

Formatting by: Brenda Wright

This book is intended for a mature audience of eighteen and older.

To those who dreamt of their HEA, but life changed your course. Remember that it’s okay to mourn the loss of what you cannot have, but it’s beyond important to accept the fact of things change. Just because your Happily Ever After isn’t what you envisioned, doesn’t mean the one you are given won’t be just as perfect or perhaps even better!

Beep. Beep. Beep. My blurred vision catches colors of blues and greens hustling about while muffling the sounds of what seems to belong to multiple hushed yet authoritative hospital staff. I ache everywhere, my head barely able to turn side to side and my body feels as though it is cemented to this concrete rollaway table. I squeeze my eyes shut forcing out the bright light being forced into them, but to no avail, I lose the fight when my lids are lifted against my will. More talking, more poking and prodding of my limbs for examination, the voices grow quieter. Beep. Beep. Darkness.

Opening my heavy eyes to a mere squint taking in my surroundings without stirring around unsure if pain will consume me as it did once before. A slightly calloused thumb brushes over my left hand creating a figure eight pattern, and my eyes immediately draw to the movement as it continues. I fixate on the movement so meticulously covering the seemingly unharmed, perfect area, and then slowly dragged my eyes up his arm until I meet his eyes. My breathing becomes labored as I see his weary face, triggering his deep brown eyes to jolt to mine.

I barely catch his movement before I hear a nurse sound through the speaker above my head, “The nurse will be right in.” I look to Carter confused as he gives me a tight smile and continues to brush the figure eight pattern over my hand until a tall woman in her mid-thirties knocks lightly on my room door before walking in.

“Good Evening, Ms. James, how are you feeling?” She asks as she makes her way to my bed and begins to check my vitals and temperature as if this is a normal regimen. She continues her tasks as I look from her to Carter internally questioning how long this has actually been going on as she charts her findings in the tablet she carried in with her. “You seem to be improving as expected. Are you hungry or thirsty, I think you should perhaps try to have a little something since you are finally awake.”

I close my eyes and moisten my lips before returning my gaze to the open window. The sun is setting, filling the city skyline with vibrant hues of oranges, reds, and deep purples. I feel indifferent aside from the obviousness of hospitalization; something within me is not the same anymore. “Can you tell me wh-what day it is, h-how long I have been here?” I ask no one particular, my voice hushed and raspy.

Both Carter and the nurse begin to speak at the same time, so he pauses to her voice. “Hannah, you arrived via ambulance the morning of fourteenth and it’s now the evening of the fifteenth. Once you were stabilized, you were moved to the pediatrics - maternity ward, but should be released as long as you maintain these solid vitals and get a bit of food down.” With my head inclined to the side and brows creased, I stopped listening at ‘pediatrics -maternity ward’ coincidentally this is also when Carter stopped drawing that figure eight and is now tightly holding my hand with his fingers interlaced with mine. I am twenty-two, far too old for the pediatrics unit and last I can remember was not pregnant… was I?

“Wait. What? Maternity? Pediatrics? Huh? Carter?” My breathing accelerates as I look from the nurse to Carter to my stomach back to Carter. I tug my right arm to my stomach splaying my hand over womb; it’s tender to the pressure and my arm is heavy, wrapped in bandages. My chest begins to rise and fall quickly as tears pool and fall from the corners of my eyes. Carter begins to caress my hand again while bringing his other hand to gently brush the hair from my face. He ignores the tears, not once does he wipe them away he just watches them fall, one by one, all the while refusing to break contact as he once again makes the figure eight pattern with his thumb on my left hand.

The nurse returns to my bedside as a monitor alarm chirps; she quickly silences it while trying to coax me into taking deep breaths. “Hannah, dear, I need for you to take a deep breath in for me, and now exhale.” I do as she instructs multiple times until my breathing returns to normal. “There we go, now let’s try to refrain from doing that again, shall we?” This comment earns her a scowl from me and a chuckle from Carter. I turn my head away from the nurse and find Carter’s brown eyes scanning my features carefully. The left corner of his mouth tugs upwards into a half smile as he leans over and kisses my forehead.

“Carter, please tell me what all is going on? Please.” I am pleading, my voice barely above a whisper in hopes that he will just treat this situation as a Band-Aid and rip it straight off without hesitation, but I’ve known Carter Grayson Jacobs for 19 years. In all those years, there have only been a few rare instances where he has done just as I have asked. Typically, because he is older and seems to think he knows what is best for me.

Carter takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand, “Oh Banana, a truck blew through the red light on Fraase, smashing through your passenger’s side door at around thirty miles per hour. You have two broken ribs, a lot of bruising, and a severe concussion.” When he stops talking, I notice the gulp and tears he pushes back before looking into my eyes again. “Are you feeling up to some water or juice? The doctors really would like you to try something.” I nod in agreement, trying to pull apart what exactly he didn’t say in order to formulate a better line of questioning just as the nurse sets a cup of water on the table next to us.

Reaching for the cup, I wince in pain but refuse to give in until it’s in my hand. Sinking back into the mattress with an exaggerated groan, I gradually sip the ice-cold liquid while bending the straw back and forth. “So, why am I on this floor, and where is everyone else?” I ask blankly in-between sips. Either this water has made me inquisitive, or I am just tired of asking myself questions I cannot answer. Carter runs his hands over his short brown hair, looks into my worrying eyes, and my beautifully planned, organized world comes crashing down just as the sun did into the horizon at sunset.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket as I cross the side street behind Charles Hall and reach my car to shield myself from the bitter, cold air pricking my exposed skin. Folding into my Honda Civic, I pull out my cell to find notifications indicating several missed texts from Tracie. Instant dread washes over me as I swipe the screen to unlock the messages awaiting me.