She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 167

(Chase)

The phone vibrates against the granite island at exactly eight-forty.

I’m in the townhouse kitchen, staring at a mug of French roast I’ve ignored for so long it’s turned cold and unappetizing.

I barely slept last night.

Natasha has gone back upstairs.

We were in the kitchen together for ten minutes while she grabbed coffee and a bottle for Lily.

Trapped in this polite, sterile ceasefire that makes my jaw ache.

I’ve been trying to calculate how to ask her what the hell I did wrong without blowing the entire thing up again.

The screen lights up. St. Jude’s.

Tracy from oncology tells me that Lily’s panels from Friday have been flagged by the lab.

Both numbers tanked.

They want us to bring her in right away.

I don't remember ending the call.

I’m halfway up the stairs, my mouth opening to yell Natasha’s name, but she’s already on the landing.

Jeans on, keys gripped in her fist, her face the color of skim milk.

She got the same call.

“Get some bottles ready for Lily. I’ll get her dressed and pack her bag.”

We hit the front door in under five minutes.

I drive.

Under normal circumstances, her handing me the keys would be a white flag.

Today it just means her hands are shaking too hard to steer.

We’re in the car, the engine humming, her fingers digging into the leather door handle, mine strangling the steering wheel.

"She's going to be alright," I say.

Natasha stares out the passenger window.

I check the rearview mirror.

"She's going to be alright, Natasha."

She looks at me with a helpless expression before turning back to coo at Lily, who’s calmly kicking her legs in her car seat.

Blissfully unaware of anything that’s happening.

Seventeen minutes of driving that feels like a life sentence.

Dr. Bailey is waiting in the corridor outside his office.

He skips the bedside manner entirely.

“I want her admitted to the Pediatric ICU immediately,” he tells us.

He nods to a nurse who’s standing by to take Lily.

Natasha’s eyes follow them as the nurse walks into a room with our daughter.

“How bad is it?” Natasha asks tersely.

“Her hemoglobin crashed and the platelets have bottomed out. Lily’s kidneys are taking a beating. She needs an HLA-matched transfusion of red cells and platelets as soon as possible.”

Natasha’s hand drops to her side and finds mine.

She doesn't look down to do it.

Her grip is bone-crushing.

“You mentioned Nathaniel is a match, though. Right? Is it good enough?”

James Bailey hesitates a second too long before nodding once.

“We have a good match. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Natasha suddenly drops my hand like it burns, and pushes past James into Lily’s room.

Dr. Bailey heads to his office.

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