“Thirty-four weeks? That’s still so early.” I don’t even recognize my own voice.
Blinking back the tears, I try to focus on what she’s saying.
“It is. But we can give you steroid shots, to develop the baby’s lungs. We can give you other medications to keep him as healthy and developed as possible before his delivery. I’m going to warn you, though. You’re right, thirty-four weeks is still early. That means your son could require some NICU time. We are going to do everything possible to take care of you and your baby. Our goal is to bring your son into the world, healthy and able to thrive. I know this is a lot of information. I’m going to give you two some time to digest. You have a call button on your bed, you use it anytime you need someone. If you’d like to talk further, they can page me.”
The doctor gives us a small, meant-to-be reassuring smile. It’s not. At all.
Then, she leaves the room, and the sound of the shutting door is like a gunshot to my heart.
Sinclair is up and holding me in two seconds flat, pressing his lips to my face. I’m numb, unable to move.
And then it’s like a dam bursts, and everything I’ve been holding at bay floods my entire system.
“I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him.” I sob into Sinclair’s shirt, clinging to him.
He holds me up, and I hear him break himself, sniffles reverberating against my cheek and tears from his face leaking onto my hairline.
“We won’t. You heard her. They’re going to do everything possible.” But he’s not saying that our little boy will be okay.
The only thing I keep repeating, whether I’m saying it out loud or in my head, is that we can’t lose him. The only other thought that can penetrate my mind is that we haven’t given him a name yet. Nothing can happen to him when he has no name.
Even though Sinclair is holding me so tight I can barely breathe, trying to console me, all I see is darkness.
I feel like I’ll never be able to see the light again.
39
Frankie
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The machines bump, beep, and buzz around me, and I track their progress. I’ve gotten pretty good at that, knowing what levels and heart rate and contractions to look for.
For the past two weeks, I’ve lain in this hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, waiting for the floor to fall out from under me. It almost has a couple of times.
There was the night that I awoke to a searing pain in my side, and the nurses came running when they realized the baby’s heart rate was way too high. They had to push a bunch of medications into my IV, and I waited with tears streaming down my face, expecting them to tell me they couldn’t save him.
But he’d pulled through.
Then there was the time, about five days ago, my OB had come to check my placenta and told me there was basically no liquid left inside. I was starving my baby from inside my body. But it was still too early, we had one more round of steroids they had to pace out, and she said we could push a little further.
I felt like I, and the baby, were living on borrowed time.
Visiting hours mean nothing, not in this room. The staff seems to understand that, or they’re just looking the other way because I’m associated with the Callahans. Either way, I’ll take advantage of the family name if it means I don’t have to spend a single second alone in here. If I did, I think I’d go crazy with worry and fear.
Hannah, Colleen, even Walker at times, and Sinclair’s own mother … they come and visit me at least twice a week. Seth has been here, as has Whitney, a Callahan cousin I’m not close with, but she has children and was a source of calm and knowledge.
Then there is Sinclair, who barely leaves my bedside.
He looks exhausted as he sits here tonight, breaking open the hundredth container of takeout we’ve eaten together over the past weeks. I want to tell him to go sleep in a comfy bed instead of the futon sofa in the corner of this room or to go grab a decent shower. But I’m too selfish. He makes me feel anchored, like I won’t float away into the abyss while he’s here.
“You doing okay, baby?”
He strokes my hair, and I lean into the touch. It’s been so long since he could properly hold me.
I remove the oxygen mask from over my face. “I’m just sad. I never thought I’d be this upset during the days or weeks before I brought our son into the world. This just puts a damper on everything. And … I thought we’d have more time. We only just got back together. After this is over, we won’t have much time for us.”
Sinclair covers my hand with both of his. “Hey, don’t say that. I know it will be an adjustment, but being a family will be even better than being just the two of us. This baby, our son, will only enhance our lives. Our love. I’m still head over heels for you, that’s not something you need to worry about being a constant.”
Gulping, I try to calm my overanxious nerves. “And the nursery, we don’t have anything set up! We’re just going to bring a baby home to an empty room?”
Again, Sin just smiles like this is the calmest situation in the world. “Hannah and Colleen are breaking down boxes and setting us up with the most tricked out of all nurseries as we speak.”
“They are?” I blink.
“Of course. That’s what family does.” He nods.
Family. That’s what they’re doing for me.
I’m just hoping I can keep my own little family safe.
“I knew. I felt it for weeks, that something wasn’t right. But I chose to ignore it. What kind of mother does that?” I choke out a sob, and tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
“A first time mother who doesn’t know what to look for, that’s who. One who is determined in her work, and thinks her body can overcome all obstacles, because it’s always been able to. None of this is your fault. It’s just how your body worked with your placenta. That’s what the doctor’s said, you know this.”
He leans over me, gathering as much of my body as he can in his arms, and I try to imagine us out of this hospital room. My mind drifts to his big king bed and getting lost under the eight-hundred-thread count sheets with him. I drown out the noise of the beeping machines and try to get myself in a headspace of calm and happiness.
“Don’t you remember what I told you? I won’t let anything bad happen to our son,” Sinclair whispers in my ear. “It’s us against the world.”
How do I deserve this man? He’s been my champion these past few weeks. If I didn’t already know he was going to be a great dad, this would have proven it.
“I’m sorry we argued, it was so dumb and irrational, and—”
Sin presses a finger to my lips. “Hush. None of that matters anymore. We were upset and confused by those complete morons coming into my house.”
“Who the fuck does that, by the way? Whoops, sorry little guy.” I smooth my hands over my belly as if the baby could or comprehend my curse word.
“People who are too far gone in their addiction. Who don’t realize the wonders life can hold when you get your shit on track and find out what really makes everything worth it. I used to be like them.” He pulls back, and I know he’s thinking about that night.
“And now you’re my rock. My everything. You’re what makes all of this worth it. And our son. I love you.”
It’s my turn, for the split second I can muster it, to be brave. I know in the coming days I’ll have to gather all the courage I can. What we’re about to go through could rip us to shreds depending on the outcome.
“I love you. I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen.”
Sinclair sounds so sure, so sincere, that I almost believe his words have the magic to make that sentiment come true.
40
Sinclair
Colleen was the one visiting with Frankie when she went into labor, and I was the boyfriend on the phone about to die in a car crash.
Fitting, how a car crash somewhat started the ball rolling in my life to get me to this point.
But with the
speed I was going to get to the hospital, even though the nurse told Colleen it would probably be hours before my son arrived, it’s a miracle I’m here in one piece.
I wind through the halls, knowing this place like the back of my hand at this point. I probably look insane, but then again, these doctors and nurses have seen far worse.
Finally, I make it to her room, where I’ve spent much of the past three weeks. Taking one last calming breath, because I need to be strong for Frankie so she can be the one to freak out, I push it open.
She’s lying on her side, and her exhausted violet eyes brighten a little as I walk through the doorway.
“I’m here. Baby, I’m here.” I kiss her head, rushing to her side and practically pulling her into my arms.
“Ah!” A yell rips from her throat, and I immediately back away as if I’ve burned her.
“No, it’s all right, she’s just having a contraction. A real one. This baby is coming,” the nurse who attends to the machines Frankie is hooked up to tells me.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for what seems like eons. I always thought I’d get here and start freaking out, that the nurses would have to escort me out of the room and feed me ice chips. But now that I’m here, a full-body calm washes over me, every part of me at peace and ready to be her warrior through this if she needs one.
“Okay, baby. I’m going to hold your hand the whole time. We’re doing this. Just think, at the end of this, we get to meet our son.” I try for reassuring and even flash her a small smile.
“But I’m only thirty-three weeks.” Frankie’s voice is pure panic.
“Almost thirty-four,” I remind her gently, because that was the goal. She’s just two days shy of it.
“The steroid shots should have developed his lungs, and we’re going to try to get him out as healthily as we can. I can’t make promises, you both know that. But I’m hoping to place your son in your arms and keep him there.” The doctor who met us when we first came into the hospital walks into the room.
Dr. Nina has become quite familiar to us and is the hospital’s ob-gyn. She rounds on all the pregnant patients while the private practices visit with their respective laboring mothers. She’s become a source of great comfort to us, always answering our questions and explaining in detail what is about to happen and the possible outcomes.
“Thank you. For everything up until now,” I say quietly to her as Frankie clutches my hand, another contraction rippling through her as I watch it on the monitor.
For two hours, she endures the pain ripping through her. And finally, when I ask for the umpteenth time if I can do anything, she demands I go get the anesthesiologist to give her an epidural. I almost kiss the man myself, because whatever he shoots into her spine makes her as relaxed as a house cat lounging in the sun.
Another two hours of deep breathing and what feels like a ton of waiting, and Frankie’s OB comes in.
“Well, folks, it’s time to push,” she says, as the nurses glove her up.
Frankie looks up at me, and I don’t see an ounce of fear in her eyes. There she is, the brave, bold woman I fell in love with. She’s going to rock this.
“I love you.” I impart those words before she turns her full focus on bringing our son earth side.
“I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, and then the nurses are shifting to hold her legs back.
Her OB sits on a tiny chair between her legs, and I stay up by her head. She squeezes my hand until it goes white and I can’t feel it, but I don’t even care. Watching her push, hearing her groans and yelps as she gives birth to our child, is the most miraculous thing I’ve ever seen. There is nothing I’ve been a part of in my life up until now that has been so earth-shattering.
But then … I hear him cry, and they’re saying he’s here, and, and …
The minute I see him, my entire world shifts. The plates rearrange themselves under my feet, as if everything is clicking into place. Everything I’ve done up to this point, all the bullshit and the bad. All of the good, the recovery. Every second up to meeting Frankie and all we’ve struggled with.
It all makes sense. I look at my son and it all makes sense.
He’s red and crying, annoyed at being pulled from the cozy home his mom made for him. But the minute they lay him on Frankie’s chest, he stops. He nuzzles in. And then just stares up at her.
I almost can’t see past my own tears, they’re falling of their own free will now. I’ve never been a guy who cries, but apparently, my son is about to change everything.
Frankie is crying, sobbing, just touching every place on our son that she can. I’ve never seen her so overwhelmed with emotion, and it’s breathtaking.
When she can finally catch her breath to speak, she blinks up at me and says, “Easton?”
I look down at our baby, with his head full of thick black hair and eyes, that when he blinks open, are the same shade as his mother’s.
“Welcome to this crazy Callahan world, Easton.” I bend down to kiss his tiny button nose, and he scrunches it.
It’s the most freaking adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“Is he okay?” Frankie asks as she runs her hands over Easton’s head, ruffling his dark, wet locks.
Easton is small, his limbs tiny and so fragile looking. He’s a fighter, tears leaking from his crying when he came into the world.
Dr. Nina has appeared out of nowhere, smiling down on us and pressing her stethoscope to his back.
“His heart and lungs sound strong. Much stronger than thirty-four weeks,” she assures us. “He can stay here for now, they’re going to do some more checks and tests.”
Easton lies on Frankie’s chest for almost an hour as the nurses bustle quietly around us, taking his Apgar score and checking his lungs further. He’s tiny, only five pounds, but after an agonizing amount of time, they tell us he won’t be taken to the NICU.
As I walk next to Frankie’s bed to our postpartum room, I can’t take my eyes off of her. She’s so goddamn beautiful, ethereal. She’s holding our son’s naked body to her naked chest under the blankets, and they are simply perfect.
I’ve never seen a more incredible sight.
I thank my lucky stars that almost two years ago, I was granted my life in this hospital. Because it means I get to witness this. I get to be a part of this.
41
Frankie
“Is there anything else to do in a day than stare at him?”
My whisper doesn’t disturb the baby. Easton lies on the big, fluffy white comforter of Sinclair’s king bed, softly breathing as he sleeps soundly in his red Pistons fleece footie pajamas. Sin and I are on either side of him, our faces lined up with his, watching our baby boy. To anyone else, this would be the most boring thing in the world.
But we’ve been doing it for half an hour, and I could watch him sleep the rest of his life if he’ll let me.
“Nope. Schedules are cleared. This is it,” Sinclair whispers.
It’s what we’ve been doing for the majority of the first week Easton’s been home. We lie in bed all hours of the day, one of us holding the other, who then holds the baby. It’s like the three of us can’t stop touching for one second or the spell will be broken. I want to stay in this bubble for as long as possible.
Giving birth to Easton is the single greatest moment of my life. Watching Sinclair hold him for the first time is the second.
I had no idea what I was in for before that season of spring training. I was just a single woman, focused solely on my career. There was no one I had to account for, no feelings I had to sort through. My life was completely uncomplicated, and I preferred it that way.
Oh, how so very wrong I’d been. Because all of these complications were the best things that had come into my life.
Along with the love of my life, I got a child. A perfect, adorable little boy who I can’t wait to watch grow into a man. With those two things came a family I never expected to have, a whole brood of Callahans and their extended
members. I’m a part of this group now, a piece of their puzzle.
My life is intricately more now, and even on the days where the emotions are overwhelming, or I can’t get a moment alone, I love it. I crave it. I thought I felt alive when it was just me, when I could do as I please with no one to answer to. But that wasn’t living, that was just getting by.
Looking at Sinclair and Easton, I know now that this is where I’m meant to be. Packton is my home, as is this house. Well, for now.
Sinclair won’t hear of me going back to my little rental ranch, and I have no qualms about that. I want the three of us together at all times. I want to wake up each morning with them and several times through the night if Easton has his way. I want to celebrate holidays under one roof and cook dinners, and plant a garden.
This is our life, and for as much as I said we would figure out our living situation after the baby came, it just became a no-brainer. Of course, we’re going to live together. Maybe in this house, maybe in one we eventually find together. But I was foolish to think we’d live separately. There is no way I’m letting either of my boys out of my sight.
They’re my family.
My mom has pictures of the baby, and I placed a phone call a couple days after he arrived. She is happy, though her same distant self. I offered to fly her up here, and she’s seeing if she can get the time off, but I’m not counting on anything. It doesn’t affect me much, though I see how different of a mother I want to be for my son. I will never go one second without thinking of him for the rest of his life.
Speaking of moms, “I talked to your mom yesterday, and she’s coming over in about an hour with your dad.”
Check Swing (Callahan Family Book 3) Page 18
