The Blood Between Us

ChapterTwo

CHAPTER TWO (2)

EVE'S POV:

I woke slowly, as if rising from the depths of a dark ocean. The first thing I noticed was a sound—a steady beep, ticking in time with my heartbeat. At first, it was just a noise buried in the distance, but it grew louder, sharper and real. Then came the cold sting of oxygen in my nostrils, the weight of tubes in my arm, and the dry, scratchy pain in my throat.

My body felt foreign, heavy and unmoving. My skin tingle with numbness. My eyelids fluttered against a light that felt too bright, and when I finally managed to open them, everything was a blur. Shapes moved—nurses, doctors, shadows in green scrubs. Their voices floated through the air around me, mixed with soft footsteps on tile.

“She’s responding to external stimuli.”

“Her vitals look stable. I think she's coming around,” a woman whispered.

I couldn’t speak. I could only listen and breathe. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled my lungs—clinical staleness, I named it. That unmistakable scent of a hospital, that makes time stand still.

A sudden, pounding ache tore through my head, sharp and searing, like something inside me was trying to claw its way out. I let out a soft and broken sound that startled even me—a groan I could barely recognise as mine.

“She’s waking up,” someone said gently near my ear, and then I felt a presence close to my side.

My eyes fluttered again, struggling to focus. A face came into view—kind eyes behind thin glasses and a soft expression.

“Evelyn... can you hear me?” He asked softly. His voice was gentle, like he’d been waiting for ages to say my name

I tried to nod but my body only managed to answer in fractions—a twitch here, a flutter there.

“You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been in a coma for six months following an accident. But you’re awake now. You made it.”

The words sounded far away and too close all at once.

Six months?

I tried to speak, but only a dry rasp came out. He nodded knowingly and turned to the nurse, who adjusted something in my IV, and cool liquid started to soothe my veins.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he said, his voice floating like a lullaby. “You’re doing great, Evelyn. Just rest. We’re right here.”

His voice melted through me like warm water. I felt myself slipping again. Not into darkness, but into something softer. Sleep. The beeping faded. The light dimmed.

-----------------------

The next time I woke, the room had changed.

It was no longer the humming, crowded ICU. This room was quieter and warmer. The lighting was soft, like sunlight through gauze curtains. The bed beneath me was plush, warm and more comfortable. A vase of tulips—purple, my favorite—sat on a small table near the window.

I reached for my face. No more tubes, just the soft brush of a nasal cannula and a dull, bearable ache in my arms. I was in a private ward.

Everything still felt... unreal.

Six months?

The thought pressed into my brain like a weight. And then another sensation hit me, strange and undeniable. I looked down.

My hands moved instinctively to my stomach. There was a gentle roundness. A curve that hadn’t been there before. My fingers trembled as I caressed it. Foreign, yet mine. I was pregnant.

Before I could process what was going on, the door creaked open.

I turned my head just in time to see a man step in. Tall, lean, his gait slightly uneven—like he was still recovering from something. He wore a soft gray shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal faint scars along his arms. His dark hair was tousled, and though his face lit up the moment our eyes met, his eyes carried exhaustion. The kind you wear only after waiting too long.

“Eve,” he breathed, as if saying my name was an answer to a prayer. “You’re awake.”

He moved closer, stopping only when he reached my bedside.

I stared at him.

There was something familiar about his features—the kindness in his eyes, the warmth in his voice. But none of it connected. None of it made sense.

He reached for my hand.

I pulled it back instinctively, my other arm curling around my belly, protectively.

His expression faltered. Pain passed over it like a shadow.

“It’s me. Kieran.” He smiled gently, kneeling beside me. “You... you’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this every single day for the past six months. Hoping and praying you'd open your eyes and finally wake up.”

I didn’t respond or say anything in reply. I just kept at staring at him with an unknown look.

His words sounded sincere. But he was a stranger. A character in a dream I didn’t remember having.

“Eve? What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his brow furrowing. “It’s me, sweetheart. Kieran. Don’t you remember Clearwater Ridge? The café? The bookstore? Us?”

I stiffened.

The name—Clearwater Ridge—rang a faint bell but it meant nothing to me.

I opened my mouth. My voice was hoarse and foreign. “Who... who are you?”

He went still. His face drained of colour, like I’d just pulled the floor out from under him.

He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. “Wh... What did you say?”

I clutched my belly tighter. “Who are you? Why are you here? How do you know my name?”

Pain sliced through his features like a blade.

I saw him break. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... quietly. Like something inside him cracked in half, and he was trying so hard not to show it.

Before he could speak, the door burst open again.

“Evelyn!” a familiar voice called.

I turned sharply toward it, and a gasp escaped my lips.

“Callan!” I cried out, joy flooding my heart. His name sprang from my mouth like it belonged there.

He paused in the doorway, stunned for a beat—then rushed toward me, his eyes wide.

“You’re awake... my God, Eve!” he said, rushing to my side.

I stretched my arms toward him instinctively. “I missed you... I was so scared,” I murmured, holding onto him tightly.

Julian followed behind him, clapping with a grin like this was all going exactly the way he’d hoped. “Knew you’d remember him first,” he said smugly.

Callan pressed a long, intimate kiss against my temple, his hands squeezing mine a little too tightly, but I didn’t care. He was here. He felt right.

I pulled back slightly, beaming up at him. “Why did it take you so long to come? I remember being at your place the night before. How did I get to the hospital?”

Callan hesitated for a second.

“Traffic,” he said with a chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “You were in an accident, love. A bad one. But you’re safe now.”

I gasped. “Oh my God...”

I pressed my hands to my stomach again. “And the baby?”

“You’re both okay,” he said quickly. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Tears spilled from my eyes. “Thank God... our baby is okay.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his in a deep, passionate kiss.

The stranger, Kieran—he had called himself, stood silently in a corner. He looked like a man unraveling at the seams, his jaw clenched, his hands shaking at his sides. There was something breaking in his eyes. A silent scream held back by sheer will.

Then I turned to Callan, still smiling. “Callan... who is he?” I asked, nodding toward the broken man in the corner. “Why is he here?”

Then there was sore silence. Thick. Suffocating.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Kieran’s eyes glistened. His lips parted slightly, as if to say something—anything.

But no words came.

And in that stillness, I knew something terrible had just happened. Something I've got no idea of.