Previously on "Here We Go Again" / "Adjusting".

"Well Amy… your results say that you're… pregnant."

"This isn't a bad thing! It's a miracle that life planned that we didn't Amy!"

"RICKKKKYYYY!"

"Amy just went into the bathroom and saw a few small drops of blood.."

"Ricky, we are never eating ground beef again!"

"Ben! Call 911!"

"Why?"

"I think Amy's in labour.."

"That's just the thing Amy, we want to pay for a little wedding for you two. This weekend."

"I now pronounce you, man and wife!"

"I think- this is- it. I'm having the baby."

"Amy push!"

"Ricky.. Amy…I'd like you to meet your daughter."

"Welcome to the world Madeline Underwood."

"Mommy! Maddie's crying!"

"I love you. But not when you act like this…"

"Take care of yourself Ben. The army… it's a big deal… but i know you need to do this. To find yourself."

"Is Ricky there please?"

"May I ask who's calling?"

"The mother of his child…"

"Is Trevor your son?"

"No."

"Maddie's sick! I don't know what to do!"

"Hi! My name is Ricky Underwood and I'm looking to buy a new apartment."

"Our first phone call already? Who could that be?"

"That was the hospital. Bob's dead."

"JOHN! I SAID TURN OFF THE TV!"

"I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"I'm sorry your daddy hurt you."

"You did it! You got into the school you wanted?"

"Leo needs me to fly to Toronto. Today."

"Ricky?"

"Clementine?"

Clementine kisses Ricky.

"What happened in Toronto Ricky?"

"Nothing."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

"You're like my best friend."

"I love you."

"So we're doing it? We're adopting?"

"She did it! Maddie walked!"

"Go away with me this weekend."

"John's sick. We should head back!"

"You are the most trustworthy person I know."

"Yeah Amy.. about that…"

"RICKYYYYYYY!"

A/N What you just read above is a dialogue summary of my two stories that lead to the one you are about to read. Both "Here We Go Again" and "Adjusting" are available to read on my author's page. I strongly recommend reading them before continuing on below.

Wait A Lifetime is a story I have held very close to my heart for many years. It is by far the most intense and beautiful piece of writing I have ever done and I am beside myself in excitement for you all to read it.

This story is not like my others. It is intense. It is sad. It contains graphic scenes and disturbing sequences. It is incredibly true to life.

If you do not ship Ricky and Amy, I will not try and convince you to read this. However, I do ask that you read this first chapter with an open mind, and then make your decision to continue reading or not.

For every person who reads this author's note, this is not the story you are expecting. It is no longer the shipment you love. Things change. People change.

At one time you promise yourself that you will wait a lifetime for someone.. but then… well.. I shouldn't spoil it for you. After all… this isn't my story.

It's hers.

- Riverbkstar

What if I told you that this story, has a happy ending. That the boy gets the girl, and that they live happily ever after. Could you believe it? The thing about this story, like most, is that there is no guarantee. No guarantee of tomorrow. No guarantee of finding love and certainly no guarantee of keeping it. Because one moment has the power to change everything, even the promise of forever.

I warn you though, not to mourn what will be lost, because maybe it never really was. Instead, put aside uncertainty and trust that my love has been true. Trust my love to continue, no matter what.

This story is far from over and let me promise you that it really does have a happy ending. But the thing is that this isn't my story.

It's hers.

2:18am.

The sky was a deep shade of navy blue, sprinkled sparingly with faint specks of white light. Grey clouds drifted along the indigo sky, thin and ghostly, unable to block the moon's yellow glow. From an on-ramp entered a silver hybrid as a eight-wheeled truck further down the opposite side of the freeway began to weave between lanes.

The hybrid picked up speed gradually, but without warning burst ahead as the unstable truck smashed through adjacent concrete barricades and flew into the direction of what would normally be oncoming traffic. Unaware, the small car pressed on, continuing to increase its pace.

The two vehicles came into view of one another, the truck's high beams bathing the silver car in light. The hybrid flew forward, trying to stop. It fishtailed left and the driver's side of the car collided with the large truck that was also unsuccessfully trying to stop. The sound was deafening.

The small car's frame collapsed internally as it flew through the practically cloudless sky and landed on the other end of the road. The truck swerved and crashed into a second set of barricades, this time stopping completely while its victim rolled over once before settling on its deflated wheels.

Broken glass sprinkled the ground and a hubcap forced off its tire spun in small circles. The sound of the crash echoed throughout the empty highway. The hubcap stopped spinning.

2:21am. There was not another sound.

I awake with a sharp ringing in my ears. There's a heavy pressure wrapped around my chest and my side stings painfully as I take my first breath. Opening my eyes, all I see is darkness. My right eye is coated with something sticky, making it even harder to see. Glancing around as my sight adjusts, I find myself tightly pressed into my seat with a deflated air bag lying crippled in my lap.

I'm in a strong haze and can't quite remember what has lead up to this moment. I don't even feel pain until bringing my right hand up to my face, where I feel a stinging sensation above my brow. I'm bleeding. The pain unsettles me, and I carry my attention to my legs, which sit without feeling before me. A strange apprehension develops inside of me. My mind clears and the pain in my side grows stronger as I inhale deeply. I turn to my left. The image that meets me surpasses the description of excruciating. Fear physically courses through me. I'm paralyzed in horror. The memory of moments earlier rushes to my mind and I want to scream.

He sits to my left. Ricky. Crushed between the dashboard and the door on his side of the car. His head rests against the steering wheel and I can faintly see blood trickling from his nose and ear. He is powdered with shards of glass. His arms hang lifelessly from his hunched position while his legs appear abnormally twisted. He doesn't move.

I analyze his appearance for just a moment before allowing an unnatural sound from my throat. My face contorts and I begin to sob.

"Ricky?" I squeak, barely audible. I surge towards him, but catch myself with my seatbelt and have to carefully eject myself from its restraint before again reaching for him. I rest my hands on his shoulder and nudge him lightly as I cry.

"RICKY!" I scream, tears streaming down my face. My sobs are heavy and my breathing has been replaced by moans wrenching their way from my gut.

No matter how loud I scream and shake him, Ricky doesn't respond and for a moment I start to believe he is dead. However the thought is too overwhelming and I force it aside, foolishly just realizing that we need help.

I lean into Ricky once more and silence my wails for a second to kiss his head. I then turn to my right and with shaking hands test the door, which doesn't even flinch when I tug against its handle. My heart pounds faster than I thought was possible. I scream, and begin to flail against the door in a panic until I finally feel it give. Summoning the little strength I have left, I throw myself against the jammed door. The pain in my side erupts from the force and I bite my bottom lip to suppress my howl. I feel the metal shift the second time I attack it, this time careful to direct the blow with my shoulder instead of my ribs. I continue to cry, too focused on escaping to even notice my tears. I have more success with my third and fourth hit and exhale with relief as the door splits open after my fifth attempt. The feeling in my legs has somewhat returned but they are still trapped below my seat. Squinting against the moon light, I try to free myself. I grab my right thigh and pull, thrashing my foot around in hope that it will slip free. Panic once again settles inside of me and I cry out in pain when my shin is scraped by something sharp as my leg is freed.

I let myself fall out of the car, and resting on my forearms, wiggle my left leg out of its confinement. Comparing the condition of both limbs, I find my right leg to be partially twisted. I turn onto my stomach and gripping the ground, pull my legs out of the car. They land harshly on the concrete and I am made certain of my leg's injury when pain explodes up from my foot and into my spine.

Through my blurry vision, I glance into the car once more and see that Ricky still hasn't moved. The image is disabling and I once again have to force myself to breathe. I tell myself to look away and focus on getting help. I pull myself with my arms and push with my good leg, squirming in pain as the glass that covers the ground drives into my flesh. I reach the front of the car where the left headlight still faintly burns and as the pain in my side reminds me of its presence, I suddenly hear sirens in the distance. I smile as my arms give out and I collapse onto the ground. I rest my head against the asphalt, letting more tears slip from my eyes. I lie there helpless and shaking, bleeding and exposed. My last thought is of Ricky. Convinced that he is dead, I close my eyes and beg to be taken too. Everything goes dark.

I wake again at what seems like much later in the day. Although when I first open my eyes, startled by a white ceiling and fluorescent lighting, the clock in the room tells me that it's 8:03 am. I once again can't place where I am or why I'm there and the confusion both frustrates and scares me. I squirm under the several blankets that rest on top of me and my jaw stiffens in pain. Everything hurts.

Out of the corner of my right eye, now strangely fine, I see someone move; I tilt my head to the side to find my dad walking towards me. He is sluggish and hunched forward and as he sits on my bed I can tell that he has been crying.

"I'm here princess," he croaks, beginning to stroke my bangs. "It's okay."

I gape at him, concerned. I still don't understand. "Wh-Where," I try to speak, but my dry throat prohibits me. I try again, fighting the pain. "Where am I?" I'm in the hospital. It's sort of a stupid thing to say when first waking up, but nonetheless, I still don't know how I got here.

"You're in the hospital Amy. You were in a car accident."

My mind recalls an image of paramedics lifting me onto a stretcher, however my first thought belongs to two very important people in my life. My kids.

"The kids?" I squeak, my heart stopping. I can't remember if they were in the car!

"They're fine," my dad hurries to say, aware of my paling pigment. "Your mom has them at home. Do you really not remember what happened Amy?"

And that is it. That's enough to bring it all back. Me yelling at Ricky to move out of the way, him purposefully steering himself into the truck, the sound of the crash, being airborne, trying to shake Ricky awake; all of it. A cry escapes me as I start to shake. My dad pulls me into his arms and I am again reminded of the pain in my side. We hold each other for a minute, but as nice as the embrace is, and as much as I need it, there are still questions I need answered. I push my dad away and stare into his tear-filled eyes, mine own also wet with tears.

"Ricky?" I say flatly, mentally preparing myself for what I expect comes next. My dad looks at me solemnly for a moment but then adverts his eyes. He sniffles, avoiding my gaze. "WHERE IS HE?" I scream. I have to know.

"It isn't good sweetheart," he whispers regretfully.

My lips quiver and the room starts to spin. I force out the next question, feeling physically sick to my stomach as it rolls off my tongue. "Is he dead?"

"No!" he replies strongly. "He is not dead… but they… they can't wake him up. He hurt his head baby. Really, really badly."

The image of Ricky's forehead smashed up against the steering wheel flashes into my mind. "But he'll be okay right? Eventually?"

I want him to say yes. I need him to say yes. But instead he just shakes his head as tears spill from his eyes. And that's when I realize that things are never going to be the same again.

It's almost 9 am by the time my doctor finally manages to come see me. He walks in smiling and introduces himself as Dr. Scott Thompson, the physician who has been overseeing both mine and Ricky's recovery. He is an average height, surprisingly thin for his middle age and his hair is jet black. His grey glasses mask the purple bags sagging under his eyes.

"How is he?" I tremble as we stop shaking hands. "How's Ricky?"

His lips purse. "I would much rather discuss Ricky's condition with you after you have had the chance to see him Amy. He got out of surgery at 6:45 this morning after you were both air lifted here, and he's stable for now, but still in critical condition."

"For now? Wait what does that mean, for now?"

"Let's just talk about you right now okay?" Thompson replies, losing patience.

From his place behind my head, with his hand on my shoulder, my dad clears his throat. "Ames. Just hear him out."

I stifle my frustration and obeying my dad, allow the doctor to continue.

"You hit your head in the crash," he begins without a hint of sympathy in his voice. "You had a minor hemorrhage because of it, so it's going to be normal if you suffer from some headaches or abnormal tingling, numbness or dizziness over the next couple of days."

"A hemorrhage? Like a… brain bleed?" Thompson nods his head.

"You also have a small concussion, meaning you might be in a slight haze or state of confusion for some time. It also means no vigorous activity for a while." I scoff.

"We applied 16 stitches to your forehead," he says, pointing to the cut above my brow. "It was bleeding pretty heavily and we have you on some medication to help with clotting. You're also on a severe sedative at the moment Amy. You fractured your entire right rib cage and it's really a miracle you didn't puncture a lung. However any form of rib injury can be extremely painful, so we want to keep you on the pain killer for at least a couple of weeks."

"How come I didn't feel that much pain when I woke up in the car?"

"Shock," he says, glancing at my electronic patient chart. "It's our body's way of protecting us. It shuts down."

"Oh," I reply.

"In regards to your ribs, we'll keep you bandaged for a week at least and go from there. You also sprained your wrist, so the cast you are in now is going to be there for almost a month so the bone has time to heal. And your leg dislocated in the crash. We re-set it, but it will be sensitive for a little bit. We have you in a brace, but that can come off when you're discharged. You won't be able to walk until then though, which I don't recommend anyways."

"Is that it?" I mumble, both embarrassed and demoralized. It seems like everything that could be wrong with me is, but picturing Ricky lying lifeless in a hospital bed tells me that I'm wrong.

"You were very badly bruised over the majority of your body. Your chest and back especially. My advice? Take this time to heal Amy. Gain your strength. This isn't an easy situation for anybody and you have two small children depending on you to get better as soon as possible."

Dr. Thompson gently pats my knee before smiling up at my dad and turning to leave. He stops in the doorway, choosing to look back at me once more. "Oh and Amy?" He softens his voice. "You are very, very lucky."

"Yeah how?" I sniffle.

"You're alive."

"Amy," I hear through my sleep. Someone is trying to shake me awake. I wave them away with my good hand, just wanting to continue sleeping for the rest of eternity.

I open my eyes when I hear my name again, but have to shut them immediately, as the room's bright light stings my retinas. My head aches, and I have a feeling my pain killers are starting to wear thin. Groggily, I turn to the direction of the voice and slur an irritated greeting.

"Reuben's here Amy," my dad says. "He wants to talk to you."

Shielding my face with my right hand, I open my eyes again slowly. "What does he want?"

"Hi Amy," a smoother voice pipes. I face forward and dropping my hand, find myself staring at Adrian's dad dressed in a grey suit and purple tie.

"I don't want to see anyone," I mumble, hoping I don't come off as too rude. I'm not in the mood for this, but something tells me that what I want doesn't matter anymore.

"He isn't here to see you Amy. Well I mean, he is," my dad rambles, "but he's also here on business."

"Business?" I repeat. Now I'm really confused and my concussion has nothing to do with it.

"If you remember Amy, I'm a District Attorney. I see to it that cases like this are handled," says Reuben.

"Cases like this?"

"Personal injury, drunk driving… manslaughter."

I wasn't even aware that the accident was caused by a drunk driver. It of course makes sense due to the brutality of our accident, but having it confirmed that someone else has put us into this horrendous situation forces my hands into fists. I am almost unhinged in anger at his words. This is just another reminder that Ricky could die.

"Drunk driving huh?" I manage to choke out, fighting tears.

"I didn't know how else to tell you," my dad apologizes.

"Amy…" Reuben says gently, "I have a police officer outside who needs a statement from you about what you remember."

"Who was it? I mean who hit us? Are they.. do…" I can barely get the words out.

"We don't need to do this Amy."

"No. I have to know. Please!" I beg.

Sighing, Reuben takes out a notepad from the briefcase he previously had hanging by his side. "Matthew Felps. 19 years old. Works as a delivery guy for a furniture company. Second week on the job." Reuben pauses before continuing. "Suffered some minor bruising, but not much more. He left the hospital an hour ago. We're holding him downtown for questioning. The police are charging him with driving under the influence."

A swell of hatred and resentment boils inside of me. I can't get my thoughts straight and wonder this time if the concussion is at fault. He's just a kid, I think. Does he deserve this? No. But neither do I and neither do my children, who may never get to know their father. Most importantly though; neither does Ricky. "Are we pressing charges?" I ask carefully.

"It's your decision Amy," my dad replies.

"If you choose to do this Amy, I'll take care of everything," Reuben promises. "The fees, the press, I even have a lawyer in mind."

"Is that cop still outside?" I mumble, nauseous. Reuben nods. "Okay then. Bring him in."

I don't exactly know what I'm going to do when I see my kids for the first time. My forehead is swollen, my lips are cut and my cheeks are purple with bruises. John will barely recognize me, and convincing him that I'm okay is not going to be easy. I don't even know if I'm going to be able to look at my son the same anymore if Ricky doesn't make it.

It's hard to think of Maddie in all of this as well. She just turned one, knows barely ten words and is still breast feeding. She needs me, and I don't know how capable I am of being a mother to her right now.

My mom comes in first. She's crying, and I get the feeling she has been waiting for this moment to break down for the sake of the kids. I'm grateful for having my dad take care of me all day, but when my mom collapses into my arms and I collapse into hers, I finally feel secure. It takes us a while to calm down and all my mom can say is how badly I scared her, how happy she is that I'm okay and how sorry she is about Ricky.

"We can talk later honey okay?" My mom says, finally drying her tears, "but John is very worried. He knows something bad happened, but that's all we told him. I think you need to see him."

"I can't mom," I sob. "I can't let him see me like this! I can't look at him! Not knowing that he might never see his dad again!"

"Listen to me!" my mom speaks sternly, "you can do this okay? You have to. Just like when you decided to keep John and raise him at sixteen. You can do this! It's going to be fine! Ricky needs you to be strong. Do you hear me? He needs you to be strong!"

I nod my head, wiping my eyes. "I know," I whisper. I blow some air up against my cheeks to dry my tears. My mom combs out my hair with her fingers and kisses the top of my head. She stands, walks to the door and wipes her own face one more time before stepping out into the hallway. I shake slightly waiting for her to return with my son and daughter.

John comes in holding my mom's hand. He is still in his pyjamas and his hair is messy. He nervously sucks the tip of his right thumb, looking at me with a type of fear in his eyes I have never seen before.

"Hi John," I say raising the pitch of my voice, "how are you?" My mom leads him towards me, but he stays still, too scared to approach me. "It's okay honey. Mommy's fine see?"

"John, how about we sit with mommy huh?" My mom asks, picking up her grand-son and putting him in my lap. I spread my legs apart, and he falls in between my thighs. I kiss the top of his head and stroke his cheeks, his neck, his back, everything. I love him so much in this moment that it hurts and I can't contain not having my arms around him any longer.

"Can you give mommy a hug John? Please?" I watch John nod his head before he bursts into heavy sobs and wraps his arms around my neck. He convulses against me, his loud cries irritating my headache. I hold him as he shakes and let silent tears spill from my eyes, willing myself to be strong. "Its okay," I whisper into him, "it's going to be okay John. It's okay." I don't know how long I hold him, whispering sounds to soothe him, and I really don't care. Eventually he calms down and no longer distracted by his cries, I can feel my ribs again starting to ache when I breathe.

"They said something bad happened to you and daddy… and I thought… you were dead!" John howls into my hair.

"No sweetie no!" I exclaim over his cries, "I'm never leaving you. Ever. I'm fine see? I'm okay."

John pulls away from me. His wet eyelashes catch the room's artificial glow. "And daddy?" He sniffles, rubbing his face with the back of his hands.

"The doctor's are still taking care of daddy. I don't know yet what is going to happen to him, but he loves you and I am not going anywhere okay?"

"I love you!" John coughs. I pull him against me again, this time wrapping myself around his back so that he can lean against my chest. I stroke his hair and hum softly until he falls asleep.

About an hour later, John sleeps in between my legs with his head on my left thigh. I am propped against several pillows, breastfeeding Maddie underneath a feeding bib. She came in to see me once John had finally drifted off and overwhelmed by the excitement of reuniting with me, had kicked me in the ribs. Twice.

I peek underneath the bib, admiring Maddie as she drinks. She stares up at me with her big brown eyes, Ricky's eyes, and her red hair feels like silk against my finger tips. She looks up tiredly at me and after a few more seconds closes her eyes and her lips separate from my nipple. I take off the bib and pull Maddie up against my shoulder to burp her. I mostly rub her back though, smiling down at her as she too falls asleep.

"I love seeing you with them," my mom says from her spot on the room's couch, "you're such a good mom."

"I don't know about that," I reply, "but thank you."

"How are you feeling?" My mom asks, stretching.

"Like shit. My boobs feel better though. They were sore from not feeding her for so long."

"I've been there," My mom smirks, walking over to sit on the edge of my bed.

"How's Ricky?"

"Margaret and Shakur are with him. So don't feel bad about not being by his side. He would much rather you be with the kids."

"Have you been to see him?"

My mom stalls. "Yes. It's not a pretty picture Amy. I'm not sure you should see him quite yet."

"Mom I have to," I reply forcefully, "it is killing me not being there for him. I can't leave him alone. He needs me. Please."

"Amy…"

"Mom please! Just get the kids out of here okay? I'm awake now. There's no need for you and dad to be here. I need time to think. I need to be with Ricky."

"If that's what you really want from me, I can do it, but I think your dad should stay with you. You're going to need someone."

"Just make sure my kids are safe."

My ribs erupt in pain as I am lifted and placed into my wheelchair by my dad and two nurses. They hook my IV onto a stand and prop my braced leg against the chair's elevated foot stand. My dad waits for the hospital staff to leave the room before unlocking my wheels and leading me out into the hall. My room is a few metres away from the nurses desk and it takes about half a minute for us to reach the elevator. We wait a moment for it to arrive before boarding. We are on the second floor on the in-patient wing of the hospital. Ricky is on the third.

I wait for more people to flow into the elevator and watch as my dad pushes the button pointing up. We start to rise and after ten seconds, arrive on Ricky's floor. My dad waits for two people to exit first before pushing me onto steadier ground. He wheels me right and then left, into the hallway that I believe to be directly above mine. He stops outside room 314.

"Wait for me here," he orders, opening the door to 314 and disappearing inside. He of course shuts the door behind him and returns a moment later. He seems nervous. "Are you ready?"

"No, but I need to see him."

My dad nods his head and steps behind my chair. He pushes me into the door, stretching to unlock it. I'm wheeled inside, where Margaret and Shakur sit in chairs by the window. It's 5 pm by now and still light outside.

Ricky lies on the bed. Both his legs are in casts, suspended in the air. His right arm is in a sling. He is shirtless, with bandages wrapped from his stomach to above his pecks. Suction cups straddle his chest. His face is so bruised and swollen that I can barely recognize him. His eyes have sunk into his head and his nose is crooked. There is a large bandage wrapped around his head, but what alarms me most is his skull. A part of it isn't there. They have cut a whole in his head and removed some bone. He is swallowed by gauze. Small cuts decorate his entire body and almost all visible skin is a nauseating shade of black. His chest rises and falls faintly.

"Dad," I croak, starting to gag. I'm going to be sick. "Can you get me a bucket?"

My dad stares back at me, baffled, but luckily comes to his senses with enough time to grab a small basin and thrust it under my chin as I vomit mostly fluid. He rubs my back as I dry heave and tries to hug me when I start to cry. I push him away.

"Just get me closer!" I cry, feeling as if my heart is about to shatter. My dad pushes me close enough to Ricky's bed so that I am able to touch him. I grab his hand. It's ice cold. I drop it in shock, expecting it to be warm and welcoming like it always is. Swallowing my fear, I pick his hand up again and grip it with mine. I push my forehead against his fingers and start to sob. I shake from grief and as anger and pain, sadness and fear, panic and confusion boil up inside of me all at once, I scream.

"Wake up! Wake up!" I scream, scraping my throat as I yell. "RICKY!"

"Amy stop!" My dad yells, lunging to peel me away from Ricky's side. I shake him away.

"Just get out!" I scream again. "Get out! Please! Out!"

My dad leads Ricky's grieving parents out of the room and I struggle to return to my previous spot beside Ricky. Winded, I grab his hand again and kiss it. "I'm so sorry Ricky," I whisper. "I'm so so sorry. I'll get whoever did this to us. I promise. I promise."