Previously…
– Tori and Landon made love for the first time.
– Spencer softened toward Elly after her testimony at Travis’s trial, but she cut off his overture by revealing that she knows he and Natalie are sleeping together again.
– Rosie traveled to New York to question Gia Vincent about Loretta’s murder. She discovered that Gia had no connection to Loretta, but that Finn might have been in cahoots with her. Before she could inform anyone back home, Rosie had abdominal cramps and collapsed on the street.

First comes the sound: a steady, rhythmic beeping, too loud and too close. Then a light, harsh and white. Finally she feels the weight of her own body, heavy and wrong, like it doesn’t quite belong to her.

Rosie Jimenez inhales sharply as a realization strikes her: I’m in a hospital.

“What happened?” she exclaims, sitting up as quickly as she can.

“Welcome back,” a nurse says. She steps into Rosie’s field of vision. “Easy.”

Rosie feels the slight tug of something and realizes that she is tethered to an IV. She follows the line with her eyes, blinking hard and trying to focus.

“You’re okay,” the nurse, a gentle-faced woman with short-cropped gray hair, says. “You fainted. On the street. EMS brought you in about an hour ago.”

An hour ago. Rosie attempts to collect the memory, but it feels like trying to catch running water in her hand. Images skitter and shake through her mind. She remembers talking to Gia Vincent — and the helpful concierge who aided her in getting up to Gia’s penthouse — and–

Then it hits.

Her hand flies instinctively to her bulging abdomen. “My baby,” she gasps. “Is my baby okay?”

The nurse takes a measured breath. “The doctor will be with you very soon.”

“You can’t do that to me–“

“I’ll get the doctor right away,” the nurse says as she scurries out of the room.

Rosie’s hand doesn’t move from her abdomen. She holds it there, because if she lets go… something might be gone.

—–

Travis Fisher pushes open the front door of his mother-in-law‘s home with his shoulder, paper grocery bags rustling as he enters the house.

“I got stuff to make a lasagna!” Travis calls out as he nudges the door closed with his foot. “I thought–“

He stops when he sees Juanita Jimenez standing there by the stairs, not moving or doing anything. Just… waiting.

“…it would be good to stay busy,” he finishes saying, though the air has come out of the idea already. “Is everything okay?”

Juanita doesn’t respond right away. She clasps her hands tightly in front of herself, knuckles faintly pale.

“I got a call,” she says. “From a hospital.”

Travis sets down the bags as delicately as he can. The room feels like it has tilted.

“What hospital? What’s going on?” he demands.

“In New York,” Juanita says, as though the very idea pains her.

The phrase hits him like a bolt of lightning. “What happened?”

“She collapsed,” Juanita says. “On the sidewalk. Someone found her and called 911.”

“Is she–” He stops, swallows hard, and tries again. “Is she okay?”

“They didn’t tell me too much. Just that she’s there and stable. Whatever that really means.”

“And the baby?”

Juanita shakes her head in despair. “I don’t know.”

Travis scrambles to pull his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “What hospital? I need to go. I need to book a flight.”

“Travis, you have court in the morning.”

“I don’t care. My wife is in the hospital 3,000 miles away.”

“I will go,” Juanita says. “I will bring her home.”

“The baby,” he says, almost breathless. “If anything happens to either of them–“

“I will call the hospital back.”

He watches her go into the kitchen to retrieve her phone. Feeling engulfed by helplessness, he scrolls through his recent calls and finds Conrad‘s number.

“Pick up. Please pick up,” he mutters as he holds the phone to his face. “We need to get this trial delayed.”

—–

Spencer Ragan stands by the brass bar cart in the living room, a glass of freshly poured whiskey in his hand. He pauses when he hears footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, his wife appears at the entrance to the living room.

“Where’s Peter?” he asks.

“Upstairs playing whatever video game you bought him last week,” Natalie says. She indicates the glass of whiskey. “Little early for that, isn’t it?”

“It’s the weekend.” Then, almost defiantly, he takes a sip of the brown liquor.

“What’s with you lately? You might as well be walking around with a cartoon black cloud over your head.”

He shoots her an irritated look. “My mother was murdered, and my pseudo-brother-whatever-the-hell-he-is is on trial for it, and my family’s taking his side. Is that not enough?”

She takes a few steps over the soft berber carpet of the living room. “You know I’m here for you, Spencer.”

“You’ve made that very clear,” he snaps.

“Huh?”

“You had to run and tell Elly, didn’t you?”

“Run and–” But she cuts herself off as understanding settles. “You’re angry at me for that? Reminding Elly that I’m your wife?”

“It sounds like your reminder got a little more detailed than that.”

She blinks once, hard, processing.

“So you admit it,” he says.

“There’s nothing to admit. I didn’t go running to Elly. I had a run-in with her. Why do you even care? Weren’t you furious at her 48 hours ago?”

A beat. They stare at each other, something electric and brittle stretching between them.

“Why does it matter, Spencer?”

He scoffs. “It doesn’t.”

“From where I stand, it seems like it matters a hell of a lot.” She watches him, really watches him. She notes the tension in his shoulders, the closed-off posture as he holds the whiskey glass. Something clicks.

“Oh,” she murmurs.

He turns back toward her, wary now. “What?”

“I see what this is. Are you in love with her?”

His eyes flicker. His mouth opens like he might say something, then closes again. That is all Natalie needs.

“Wow,” she says simply.

Spencer drags a hand over the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” But there is something sharper and quieter beneath her words now. “Good to know.” But the lightness doesn’t quite land.

He turns back toward the window and takes another nip of the whiskey. Natalie backs out of the room, eyes still fixed on him as if he might pounce, before retreating to the kitchen. Spencer is left standing there, burdened by a truth that he didn’t even have to speak for it to be real.

—–

Landon Esco pushes himself up onto one elbow, the bedsheet slipping slightly as he turns toward Tori Gray.

“Well,” he says, a faint, satisfied grin tugging at his mouth, “that was, uh–“

“Don’t,” Tori laughs, cutting him off. “Do not ruin this by summarizing.”

“But I was going to say ‘awesome.'”

“Romantic.” She rolls her eyes teasingly as she sits up, self-consciously holding the sheet around her. “Do you have a t-shirt I can throw on? I don’t feel like wriggling back into a jumpsuit right now.”

He rolls the other way, stretches to reach the dresser, and pulls out a neatly folded King’s Bay University t-shirt from the middle drawer. “Here. Super-clean, I promise.”

“Thank you.” She pulls the shirt over her head and disappears for a moment before her face pops back through, her dark blonde hair mussed and her eyes bright.

“All jokes aside,” Landon says, his gaze still feasting upon her, “that was… incredible.   You are just, like…”

“Okay, now this kind of summarizing, I enjoy.” She kicks her feet off the bed. “I’m gonna get some water. Do you want anything?”

“I literally need nothing right now.”

Her head still spinning with disbelief that this finally happened, Tori gets out of bed and steps out into the hallway. Just as she reaches the small kitchen, she hears the front door being unlocked and then opening. She freezes, but it makes no difference. An instant later, Lucy Champlain is stepping inside the apartment, her strawberry blonde hair in a messy ponytail.

“Tori, hey,” Lucy says, before she registers that Tori is wearing Landon’s t-shirt and nothing else. “Oh. I, um…”

“Hey,” Tori replies, equally as awkward. “Sorry. I’m just–“

“I didn’t know you were over. I can — go…”

“You do not need to go. Let me go in and put actual clothes on. I’ll be out in a minute. Okay?”

Lucy nods, and Tori grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and disappears back into Landon’s room.

—–

Seconds later, Lucy goes into the other bedroom and closes the door. It clicks quietly into place, but she simply stands there, hand frozen on the knob.

When she finally lets go, her bag slides off her shoulder. She doesn’t bother picking it up. She sits down on the edge of the bed and stares straight ahead.

The image replays in her mind: Tori, in that shirt, ducking back into Landon’s bedroom.

She blinks her eyes closed and presses her lips together, doing her best to force the emotion back down. But it won’t.

She continues sitting there, legs hanging off the bed, trying to pretend that this realization — one she should have been prepared for — doesn’t hurt as badly as it actually does.

—–

Rosie watches the door to her hospital room with wild intensity. Her hand remains upon her stomach the whole time, as if protecting her baby from any possible harm. When the door finally opens, she lurches upright in the bed.

“Easy,” the doctor, a composed-looking woman in her mid-40s with a black bob haircut, says as she steps inside then closes the door. “I’m Dr. Patel. Rosie?”

“Yes. Hi.” The pleasantry feels pointless even as she speaks it. “My baby–“

“I’ve reviewed your tests,” Dr. Patel says, calm and measured.

“And?”

“The baby is stable. Everything looks normal for this stage.”

Rosie exhales loudly and drops back against the lumpy pillow. “Thank god. Can I check out?”

“Rosie, I need you to stay calm.”

“I thought you said the baby is okay.”

“The baby is okay. The mother, however…” The doctor lowers her clipboard and tilts her head to one side. “Your blood pressure is dangerously elevated.”

Rosie’s relief falters. “How elevated? How dangerously?”

“High enough that I’m not comfortable discharging you,” Dr. Patel replies. “Especially given that you’ll have to travel home by plane.”

Shaking her head, Rosie insists, “I– I can’t stay here.”

“I understand this is inconvenient–“

“It’s not that,” Rosie cuts in. “There are things I need to take care of. Tell me what I can do to bring those numbers down so I can go.”

Dr. Patel studies her for a frustratingly long moment. “This isn’t something you can power through. Your body is under too much stress. What you need to do is relax.”

“I don’t have that luxury right now.”

“We’re going to monitor you, run a few more tests, and see what we can do to bring those numbers down. We will get you out of here as soon as possible, but this is for your baby’s safety. And yours.”

Rosie’s other hand grips the thin hospital blanket tightly.

“My husband,” she says. “Has anyone called him yet?”

The doctor consults her chart. “The nursing staff spoke with your mother. She said she would notify your husband. Are they both in Washington state?”

Rosie nods.

“We’ll get you set up for those remaining tests,” Dr. Patel says. “I’ll be back to discuss the results with you as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Rosie says, already reaching for her phone on the nightstand. The doctor lets herself out of the room, leaving the door open.

—–

Travis lowers the phone slowly, his grip still tight around it. Juanita watches him from across the tight foyer of the Jimenez house. She does not speak, instead waiting for him to offer up information.

“He’s trying to get in touch with the judge to ask,” Travis says. “But he says not to get my hopes up.”

She nods once, like she expected that.

He exhales and then begins pacing over the creaky floorboards. “This is insane. I need to be there with her. Did you get her on the phone?”

“It went straight to voicemail,” Juanita explains. “It might be turned off — or maybe they won’t let her use it in the hospital–“

“No, they will. Maybe it was damaged in the… the fall. Or lost.” He sweeps a hand over his hair.

“But I spoke to the nurse. A doctor was going in to see her.”

Travis feels his phone buzzing in his hand. He freezes, then looks down at the screen. The expression on his face tells Juanita everything she needs to know.

“Rosie,” he gasps into the phone as he answers.

“Is she okay?” Juanita exclaims.

From the other end, her voice comes through — thin, but steady. “Hey.”

“How are you? How is–“

“The baby is okay,” she says. “I am, too. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“My blood pressure is elevated. They want to keep me here.”

Travis lowers the phone and tells Juanita, “Her blood pressure is high. She and the baby are okay.”

Juanita clasps her hands together in a silent prayer of relief.

“I’m trying to get to you,” Travis says into the phone. “Conrad is talking to the judge.”

“Travis — you have court. You need to be there.”

“I’m not choosing this trial over you and our baby.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I need to be with you,” he insists.

“I will go,” Juanita declares. “As soon as possible. That way she isn’t alone.”

Travis looks to his mother-in-law with surprise. “Are you sure? I’ll buy the plane ticket.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Your mom wants to come this evening,” Travis tells Rosie.

“I’m not even going to argue with that,” Rosie replies. “That should tell you a lot.”

“It does. God, I hate this.”

“So do I. But I’m okay, Travis. So is the baby. I promise.”

“I’m coming, mija,” Juanita calls out.

“Did you hear that?” Travis asks with a laugh.

Rosie’s voice reveals a hint of amusement, too, and even that small touch gives Travis the tiniest sense of relief.

“I definitely did,” she says.

“I’m so glad you’re both okay,” Travis says. “And I’m going to be with you soon — one way or another.”

END OF EPISODE 1297

Will Travis be able to go see Rosie?
Do you feel bad seeing Lucy so hurt?
Should Natalie let go of Spencer?
Talk about it all in the comments below!

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