by MV Ellis
I wake with a start to one of the medical team shaking me gently awake.
“London…?” My eyes dart frantically toward her bed. The nurse smiles down kindly at me, giving me a few seconds to adjust to my surroundings before speaking.
“Mr. Jones, we’ve carried out all our observations and are happy with the vital signs both of your fiancée and the babies. We’re moving London to the maternity ward now for recovery.”
I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. ICU is like a Vegas casino—no windows to the outside world, and no way of telling the time unless you actively seek it out—but far less fun. As out of it as I feel, it could have been anything from a microsleep of a few seconds to a few hours passed out. I have a major crick in my neck and shooting pains down one side of my body, while my left leg has gone to sleep completely, so I’m guessing it’s more likely to be the latter.
The staff settle London in her new digs—a deluxe room on the maternity ward—and run a whole battery of tests, including further ultrasounds on the squirts. Seemingly happy with the results, they melt away, leaving me alone with London for the first time since this ordeal began. I don’t know how long I stand beside her bed, one big hand clasping her tiny birdlike one for dear life, the other stroking the absurdly soft and delicate skin of her forearm, my tears of relief splashing onto our joined hands.
I’ve cried more in the last day than in the previous fifteen years, but finally, it would seem I’m done as I cup London’s cheek. I know I should text everyone and let them know she’s out of ICU and they can come up and visit, but I really need this time, just the four of us, before we’re descended upon by the rest of the fam.
I take the time to look at her—really look at her. I’ve done it hundreds, possibly thousands of times before, when she was aware, and more often than not when she wasn’t. Even sick in a hospital bed, her skin still not quite back to its usual rich color, she’s breathtaking. It’s not just that she’s beautiful—which to anyone with eyes, of course she is—but as cliché as it is, when I look at her, I see so much more than just her looks.
Yeah, when we first met, it was her face and body that initially drew me in, but even then, within a few minutes, it was the combination of that and her personality that had me knocked flat on my ass—literally slapping me in the face. Now when I look at her, she still fires my libido more than any woman ever has, or ever will, but more than just admiring her physical form, I see my future. My everything.
As though she can feel me willing her to do so, London slowly starts to open her eyes. She squints, looking as dazed as a newborn puppy. I’m sure the bright lights are responsible, so I reach over for the room remote and dim them. Instantly she relaxes a little, still struggling to open her eyes fully, but clearly more comfortable. When they’re open wide enough to take in a little of her surroundings, I see the confusion set in. Of course, she has no idea where she is.
“Arlo?” Her voice is slightly scratchy but audible.
“Yeah, baby, I’m here.” I squeeze her hand and run my thumb over her smooth lips, then instantly regret it; it’s nowhere near enough. I lean over and brush her lips with the faintest caress from mine. It feels like home. London’s eyes sweep the room again.
“Uhhh…?”
“Ah… yeah. You’re in the hospital.” Her eyebrows shoot upward. Don’t worry. I was as shocked as you not too long ago. More so, even.
“I won’t lie, Tog, you gave me a bit of a scare. A massive fucking scare, actually. Complications with you and the babies. Your body apparently went into ‘mild’ shock, which was horrific. I thought you weren’t going to make it. I was fucking terrified.”
“The squirts?” She yanks her hand from mine, instinctively reaching for her bump.
“Dr. Margolis says they’ll likely be fine, and so will you. Thank fuck. We’re all very lucky.” I choke back the new wave of tears threatening to spill and watch as London’s own eyes fill.
“It’s been hectic. God’s honest? Seeing you so sick like that almost broke me.”
She nods slowly as the tears cascade down her cheeks. I wipe them away with my thumb.
“Jesus, baby, you’ve had me on the ropes from day one with this thing between us, but you’ve outdone yourself this time. You floored me. Like ran my heart over with a steamroller several times over, then threw it off a fucking cliff. I lived the majority of my life without you and did just fine, but now that I’ve had you, there’s no way I can go back to the way things were before.
“I know I’m an asshole. I know I don’t deserve you. I sure as shit know you’ve done nothing to deserve someone like me in your life, but you’re stuck with me. That’s just the way it is. I said I’d give you space, and I tried—you saw, I really tried. But it’s no secret that I’m not a patient man, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m done.”
I’m aware that she’s literally just come out of heavy sedation and probably doesn’t even know which way is up, let alone have the capacity to understand my diatribe, but I can’t seem to stop.
“I’m done waiting. I’m done wishing. I’m done hoping. I’m done pulling. I’m done pushing. I’m done willing. I’m done wondering. I’m done stealing glances at you when I think you’re not looking. I’m done having dreams so hot they’d make a porn star’s toes curl, and waking up to realize you’re not there to act them out with. I’m done knowing you love me, but are too afraid of me, my shit, and yourself to just fucking do this thing. I’m done with having to lie about our relationship status just to be able to see you and our babies in the hospital. I’m done with Netflix, no chill.” But apparently, I’m not done talking.
London’s eyes grow large, with shock, and I note her bottom lip trembling. Shit, this is not how I wanted this to go.
“I’m done pretending that either of us could ever be happy with anyone else. The fact is, if you hadn’t made it through this, neither would I. I told you I was in it for as much or as little as you’re willing to give, but I flat-out lied. There was no point at which I was ever prepared to accept less than everything. I want everything with you and the squirts, and I’m done settling for anything less.”
London continues to look at me in stunned silence. Her and me both. I don’t know where that speech came from, but I meant every word. Shit timing, but that’s me. I go all out and screw the consequences, and there are always consequences.
“Marry me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and one that takes me by surprise as much as her.
“I don’t want to be a hummingbird.”
What?
“What, babe? I don’t….” I don’t have the first clue what she’s talking about. Her voice is so quiet as to be barely audible. I realize the stupidity of laying all that shit on her after the trauma she’s just been through. Clearly she’s still out of it and can’t even process what I just said. Definitely not my smartest move, but it all just came tumbling out of me, like a boulder barreling down a cliff, before I had a chance to think it through properly and shut it the fuck down.
“The hummingbird.” She places her hand on my chest, above my heart, where the tattoo is. “I don’t want to be a hummingbird.”
What does that even mean? She seems lucid enough, although I’m sure she needs her rest, but I’m not following her train of thought. I decide to indulge her and see where it takes us.
“Why not, babe? What’s not to love about them? They’re beautiful. I’m fascinated by them. Their rare beauty and strength reminds me of you.”
“Female hummingbirds are single moms.”
This is some cryptic shit. Maybe I should call someone to come and check her out now that she’s awake. It seems like maybe she’s not quite okay yet.
“They mate, and then the male takes off and the female brings up their babies alone. I don’t want to be like that. I want my babies, our squirts, to have a daddy and mommy, not coparents. I want us to be a real family, not roommates.”
Wait, what?
“So what exactly are you saying, Tog?”
“I’m saying yes.”
“Yes?” I’m so fucking confused.
“Keep up, Arlo, I’m the sick one, not you. Yes, I will marry you. Yes, I will be Mrs. Jones. Yes to everything.”
I’m in shock trying to digest what I’m hearing, because it kind of sounded like London just agreed to marry me, and her delivery seemed legit. Despite my initial skepticism, she was perfectly coherent, but I can’t shake the possibility that maybe it’s the drugs talking. She’s just come around after being heavily sedated—there’s no way this can be for real.
I don’t get to ponder this turn of events for long, as a noise near the open door of London’s room distracts me from my reverie. I look toward the door to be greeted with Luke’s smiling face. And Marko’s. And Jake’s. And Nic’s. What the hell is going on? Luke starts a very slow, very soft round of applause, soon to be joined by everyone we love most in the world as they file into the small room—Stevie, Ryan, London’s Aunt Gloria. My mom. Gramps, even. Jesus wept. Where did they all come from? It’s like one of those clown cars where more of them keep getting out of it, except in reverse.
Luke makes it to me first and gives me the bro handshake before abandoning it and coming in for a powerful hug, the grin still plastered across his face.
“Congratulations, bro. Well fucking played. Finally.”
“Umm… thanks, I think. I’m not even sure this is legit. I mean, she could very well just fall asleep again, and when she wakes up have no recollection of this whole exchange. Or worse still, why on earth she would ever agree to marry an asshole like me.” I bite my bottom lip.
“Don’t stress, man. That’s not gonna happen. Any dumbass can see she’s absolutely besotted by you. She has been from day one. The two of you were always a case of when, not if. The rest of the world could see it so clearly, we were just waiting for the two of you to catch up.”
I shoot him a look that I hope says to shut the fuck up. It clearly hits the mark, as he stops speaking, raising his hands in mock surrender and taking a few steps backward.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“How the did you all know where to find us? I haven’t let anyone know she was transferred to the ward yet.”
“Ah, yes. Marko is ‘friends’ with one of the nurses up here, so he asked her to let him know when London was moved. We figured you might forget to keep us informed.” Being a total man-whore has its perks—like me, Marko clearly has “friends” in many walks of life.
“So you snuck in behind my back?”
“Correct.”
I don’t know whether to slap them or kiss them.
“Well you all need to say a quick hi/bye and then leave. I’m sure Marko’s nurse ‘friend’ would agree that it’s not an ideal situation to overwhelm a patient who has just been through what London has. Even if it was, I want some alone time to spend with my new fiancée without the world and his grandfather crowding around her bedside. Honestly, we love you all and appreciate that this has been a rough time for everyone, but I’m gonna need you all to get out. Stat.”
I look around the room, crowded full of our nearest and dearest lining up to take their turn saying their tearful hellos to London, and my heart swells. They all mean well, and we’re crazy lucky to have them in our lives, even if they do annoy the living crap out of me most of the time.
As if on cue, a nurse squeezes into the room, clearly pissed at the party-like atmosphere in the completely inadequate space. She claps gently to attract everybody’s attention before echoing my earlier thoughts. Not only is it outside of visiting hours, but the number of visitors should be kept to no more than three or four at time, at an absolute maximum. She begins kindly ushering people out of the room.
Before he goes, Luke hands me a weekend bag, telling me it contains spare clothes and a few other essentials to get me through the next few days. He’s right in assuming that as long as London and our babies are here, this is exactly where I’ll be. I know I’ve definitely smelled better in my life, so a long hot shower would be awesome, and I’ll be grateful to change out of the stained sweats I’ve been wearing since London collapsed, and the scrub top someone at the hospital—I can’t even recall who—must have given me to wear at some point.
When the room has emptied, the nurse begins her battery of tests and checks. There seem to be more now that London is no longer sedated, which I guess makes some kind of sense. At some point during the exam, London slips back to sleep. I don’t blame her; I’d love to do the same. The nurse takes the opportunity to give me another rundown of London’s condition now that she’s out of ICU. As before, she declares Mama and babies to be doing remarkably well under the circumstances. However, because of the placental abruption, they will likely remain in the hospital on bed rest for the next four to six weeks.
Holy crap. London is going to flip her shit when she finds out.
When she comes to some hours later, we’re thankfully alone. Again her eyes blink open, and I see the confusion rise and fall in them quickly. Again she reaches for me.
“Arlo?”
“I’m right here, Tog. Always.” I stand up and take her outstretched hand, clutching it to my chest. With the other I smooth her wild curls, fanned out on her pillow, and gently stroke her forehead.
“Do you know where you are?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I know where I am. I’m in the hospital.” She reaches down and rubs her bump again, looking relieved to still find it there.
“I’m in the hospital. I’m fine. The squirts are fine, and we’re getting married.”
She really does remember, meaning it wasn’t the drugs talking when she said yes, it was her. I grin so widely, my jaw aches.
I bend down, bringing my lips to London’s. Gently at first, testing the waters, not sure what she wants or can handle. I hear her breath catch as our lips touch, and she pushes her mouth up toward mine, asking for more. I give it to her and feel her release the breath she’s been holding. You and me both, baby. I press down tentatively, not wanting to hurt her in her fragile state, but any doubts I have about what she needs or can take are swept away when she reaches her hand around my neck and yanks me closer to her, her tongue probing my lips, asking for entrance. I open for her and return the favor by plundering her mouth with my tongue.
We’ve been through so much together in the past thirty-six hours that the kiss is more emotionally charged than any we’ve ever shared. It’s a kiss of promise, of acceptance, of forgiveness. Most of all, it’s a kiss of a new beginning. A future for the two of us where each of us knows for sure that together is where we want to be, where we need to be, and where we’ll always be.
Moments later the intensity level skyrockets. We’re frantic, nipping, sucking, licking; our need for each other is apparently insatiable. Never has first base felt or tasted so good, but if I could do so without being walked in on, I’d gladly take things further. Having said that, if London is going to be in here for at least another month, we’re going to need to get creative about ways to tick off the other bases or lose our minds. Making out like a pair of high schoolers isn’t going to cut it.
With that thought in mind, and as much as I would rather not, I pull back from the kiss, resting my forehead on London’s and allowing us both to catch our breath.
“Yeah, that’s right, Tog. It’s gonna be you, me, and the squirts. No more pushing. We finally get our happy ever after.”
Epilogue
London
One Year Later
As I walk down the aisle, I still can’t believe I’m here. It’s surreal and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. Two years, or even eighteen months ago, if you’d told me that this was where I’d be right now, I would have laughed in your face. Hell, even if you’d told me a year ago, when I was lying prone in the hospital bed with the squirts still inside me, that I was headed for the most blissful period of my life with the most gor
geous man on earth, I wouldn’t have believed you.
I reach the end of the aisle clutching Dad’s arm for dear life. Glancing across to my right, I take in Arlo’s groomsmen, Ryan, Stevie, Jake, and Luke. I don’t think this wedding could be more rock and roll if we set up instruments at the altar and the guys jammed to “Here Comes the Bride” while I made my entrance. As it is, there’s not a suit or buttonhole flower in sight. The guys have all chosen to wear what they’re comfortable in, and they look hella hot as a result. Who needs matching penguin suits when you’ve got four buff-as-fuck rock stars looking sexy as sin in black jeans, tees, and casual jackets? Not me, that’s for damn sure.
As if that wasn’t showbiz enough, instead of the rings, Luke holds Saint, one of our beautiful identical twin baby girls, while her sister Étienne nestles contentedly in Uncle Jake’s arms. I smirk inwardly again at the whole situation. Not content to be the lone person in the family with a “weird” place-related name, which leads everyone to think I’m male, the girls are named after Saint Étienne, one of our favorite suburbs in the city in which they were conceived—Paris. To add insult to injury, Étienne is typically a boy’s name in France, though we absolutely love it for our gorgeous and gregarious baby girl.
What I find even funnier is that the guy who was once one of the world’s most notorious womanizers now faces a life spent permanently worrying about who might be trying to get into his stunning daughters’ pants. They say karma’s a bitch, and now Arlo gets to live that fact every day of this life. What’s more, not only does he have to put up with me keeping his wayward ass in check, but at eight months old, our smart and feisty mademoiselles already keeping him against the ropes. If they grow up to be anything like their mama, he doesn’t stand a chance.
