by Bromberg, K.
“I have a feeling this victory lane is closed for business for a while,” I say.
“Good thing I just claimed it in Alabama.”
“You better be talking about a trophy, Ace.”
“Nah. That’s right here in my arms.”
NOT THIS TIME. NO FUCKING way.
That’s the only thought that runs through my head on constant goddamn repeat as I stand in the doorway and push away images burned in my mind from that night so very long ago: the blood everywhere, the baby we lost, finding Rylee lifeless like a Raggedy Ann doll.
Not this time, I repeat as I step into the room and release the breath I feel like I have been holding since I hopped on the chartered plane after the race to get back here when I see Rylee. She’s asleep in the bed, bands are around her belly, the baby’s heartbeat owning the silence of the room in the most comforting of sounds.
Everything that is important to me is in that bed and yet I did this to her. The race. The video. The stress of it all has put them both in jeopardy.
I don’t want to disturb her, wake her from the rest I know she desperately needs, and yet I can’t resist—never can when it comes to her—so I move to the side of the bed and just stare. The curls of her hair on the pillow. Her dark lashes against her pale skin. The rise and fall of her chest. The glitter of my ring on her finger. The shine on the skin on her abdomen from being stretched with life beneath it.
Damn it, she still scares me. Unnerves me. Every damn hour of every day and yet there’s a part of me that needs that. Fear drives a man to go places he’ll never venture, to push himself beyond his reason, and here I stand scared shitless with a woman I can’t live without and a baby soon to be born when I swore those were two things I was never capable of.
Goddamn fear. I love it and I hate and yet I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it because I’m looking at the result of it right in front of me.
I shake away to overage of emotion that I’m still not good with. I’m just tired, worn the fuck out from the race and the sleep I should have got on the plane but couldn’t because I was too damn busy looking out the window hoping the scar tissue holding my heart together would hold fast until I was able to see her again and know she is okay.
And here she is, whole and strong and so beautiful and my fingers itch to touch her, but I hesitate even though she’s so much stronger than I ever give her credit for. It’s me I worry about now as I lift my eyes to watch the baby’s heart monitor on the opposite side of the bed.
My mind flashes back to a father I’ve never known. Doubts creep into my resolve and make me question if I’m going to be able to handle this. A little fucking late to ask myself, I know, and yet did he stand next to my mom at some point and wonder the same thing? Did he start out wanting to be a good man and then not make the connection with me so he left without a second thought? Or did he not know I existed at all?
The notion sticks with me as I stare at my whole goddamn world lying on the bed in front of me and that fear takes hold again. I just hope the fear will continue to make me more of a man this time around because I’m petrified I’m going to fuck this up.
I need to call Kelly and decide whether I want him to continue the search for my biological dad or not. The jury’s out on that one. I have enough shit churned up right now that I don’t need to muddy the already murky waters.
Drawing in a deep breath I know the only way to silence the disquiet in my head is to hold onto the one person in my life who never seems to doubt me, Rylee. Giving into the urge as inherent as breathing, I sit gently on the bed beside her making sure not to disturb any of the wires she’s plugged into. When she doesn’t stir, I shift so that I can lie down behind her, my front to her back. I breathe her in as she snuggles her back against me in her sleep like she knows I’m here.
We lay like this for a few minutes, the scent of her vanilla in my nose and so many thoughts, so many emotions, flood through me and yet I can’t put concretes to any of them. How can I even concentrate on them when she’s like this with me: Finding comfort when I’m the reason she’s so stressed out in the first place.
But I’m here now and I’m not going to let anything happen to her.
I hold tight to that truth with her body against mine, calming my nerves. I’m about to drift off, the ease of being right where I need to be pulling me into sleep, when her arm reaches back to grab my hand and pull my arm around her. Our fingers lace together and we sit in the silent comfort for a few moments.
“Hey,” I say, pressing a kiss into the back of her head, my voice thick with emotion.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she murmurs drowsily when I feel like the same words should be falling from my mouth.
“You two scared me,” I say, trying to put words the fear that lodged in my throat when my dad told me she was having contractions.
“Everything is fine now,” she explains. Her words do nothing to abate the fear that held me hostage as I was suspended on a plane in the air, helpless with only the warnings Dr. Steele has given us over the course of the pregnancy to occupy my thoughts. The high risk. The damaged arteries from the accident. The scar tissue from the miscarriage that could cause heavy bleeding during labor. The pressure on her fragile uterus that will increase the bigger the baby gets.
But I shake them away right now because I’m here and she’s okay and the baby seems content to not meet us just yet.
“Why was your blood pressure through the roof?” I ask although I already feel like I know the answer.
Because of me…
“There’s a lot going on,” she states softly and there’s something in her tone that makes me think I’m missing something, but I can’t see her face to know for sure.
“What haven’t you told me?” I ask hating the vague answers she keeps giving me.
“They gave me some type of steroids for the baby to help lung development,” she says, avoiding my question and fueling my temper.
“Rylee.” Her name is a stern warning not to fuck with me because I’m tired and worried and now I definitely know something is going on. “Whatever it is, let me help. Please. I’ll fix…” and my words fade off because the last time I said I’d fix it, I failed epically so why would she trust me now?
The silence stretches between us and I hate that it feels uncomfortable when we are body to body, our heart beating as one. I wait for the other shoe to drop when I had no idea there was one dangling by a shoelace.
“Someone wants to foster Zander,” she says causing my body to freeze in a war of emotions. The unwanted kid still lingering inside of me stands at attention knowing the worth that this must be instilling in Zander right now. And yet at the same time a part of me knows that as much as Rylee’s life mission is to give her boys a home and better life, she has to be dying inside with the fear she’s going to lose a boy that really never was hers to keep.
The stiffness in her posture confirms my assumption without her saying a word. “It’s his uncle. Ex-con. Druggie,” she states evenly when all of my senses revolt at the very idea that some piece of shit like that gets to even have the honor to know a kid like Zander.
“Money.” It’s my only response, and yet I know it’s the right one because I hear the uneven rattle as she draws in a breath.
“Zander called me, upset, scared…asking me to help him and I had no clue what was going on.” I can sense her getting riled up and pull her tighter against me.
“C’mon. Calm—” I stop myself from telling her to calm down since last time it was followed by a melt down worthy of global warming. And then I hear that damn hitch in her breath the same time I feel her body shudder and I know I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy, keep the baby safe, and make sure that Zander is taken care of regardless of what that might be.
“How can I calm down?” she says as I hear the sounds on the monitors begin to pick up their pace in the room around us. “Teddy didn’t tell me and Zander is scared and there’s nothing I ca
n—”
“We’ll adopt him,” I blurt out, my own comment surprising me because while adoption is something we had spoken about before, it had never been in this context.
“No, we can’t.” Her voice breaks and the sound pulls at every chord within me. “I couldn’t pick just one boy. That’s just…But thank you for saying it. The fact that you’d even consider it means the world to me.”
The sound of the baby’s movement on the monitor refocuses my mind to the here and the now. To what it might take to make sure Rylee and the baby remain safe and healthy. But as the sound of Rylee’s heartbeat slowing fills the room, I wonder just how I’m going to accomplish that without taking care of things for Zander too.
Her boys are her heart.
And she is mine.
So how do I prevent either of them from breaking?
At least in the hospital I can hear it beating, know it’s healthy. I hold onto that thought as the gentle staccato of her heart soothes the still erratic one within me.
“I shouldn’t have called and worried you…taken you away from your victory celebration,” she confesses, “but I was scared.”
Me too.
“As long as you promise to take it easy and listen to the damn doctor then we’ll get you home and have our own celebration,” I tell her, the notion not lost on me that as always she is thinking about me when she should be thinking about her.
“Ha. And you expect me to keep my blood pressure down with how you like to celebrate,” she teases as she wiggles her ass against my dick causing me to muffle a laugh into the back of her head. “I have a feeling this victory lane is closed for business for a while.”
“Good thing I just claimed it in Indy.”
“You better be talking about a trophy, Ace.”
“I NEED YOUR HELP, SHANE,” I say, sounding desperate and not caring a single bit that I do.
“Rylee.” He chuckles, sounding so much like a grown man rather than the awkward teenager that once came to me alone and traumatized. The irony I’m now turning to him for help is not lost on me. “Colton said you were going to call and try to bribe me to help you escape your house.”
Damn it! He’s thought of everything to keep me stuck at home where the walls of this house feel like they are closing in on me more and more every day. Sure paparazzi have died down but they are still present, still perpetuating the sensationalism. They might not all be sitting outside, but the covers of the rags still show the grainy image of me in the garage. However, now it’s next to one of me leaving the hospital in a wheelchair two days ago with titles that are equivalent to the conversation Colton and I had on our first date: Chupacabras and three-headed aliens.
“I’m not trying to bribe you to escape. I’ll sit here, not be stubborn, and listen to doctor’s orders so long as I know Zander’s okay,” I confess. “I’ve talked to him and he seems fine, and Colton and Jax are telling me he’s fine, but Shane, he’ll talk to you.” The last words are emphasized so he understands I’m referring to the brotherly bond they’ve formed over the years. The connection between two battered souls that have healed together, shared experiences no one should ever have to, and came through it on the other side, is something that has allowed them to be the odd couple of closeness in The House.
And I’m hoping I can call on that bond right now to help find out how he’s doing.
“On one condition,” he says, throwing me for a loop.
“Mm-hmm?” I respond, curious if Colton has anything to do with this one condition.
“That you let me handle this. I don’t want you stressed out and back in the hospital. I’ll tell you everything I find out as long as I know you’re going to put you and the baby first.” I hear his words, and as much as I’m irritated with the ultimatum, pride overrides it and allows me to listen to what he’s saying. To the concern in his voice, the compassion in his words, the remarkable man he’s become.
It tells me I’ve done my job. And I hold tight to that idea since right now I can’t continue to care for them. I have to trust in the time I’ve invested thus far with both of these boys and that their bond will remain steadfast when one needs the other the most.
“Can I trust you to do that, Rylee?” he asks, breaking through the emotion clouding my mind and clogging my throat.
“Yes,” I say, feeling like a scolded child and yet it’s hard to feel anything but love for him.
“He’s struggling. He’s scared and worried. We’re the only good he knows. He fears going back to that constant life of not knowing what’s next . . . and I can understand that,” he murmurs, no doubt lost in his own memories.
He tells me exactly what I assumed but what no one else would confirm.
“Thank you for telling me.” My mind races, wanting to rush over and see Zander face to face to reassure him, and wanting to beg Teddy to get back to me even though I know he’s waiting on the caseworker to get back to him.
“I’m coming home next week for a few days. I’m going to stay at The House, already talked to Jax about it, and hang with Zand to make sure he’s okay.”
“Thank you,” I say softly into the phone with my eyes closed and my heart full of love. “That’s a really cool thing for you to do. He’ll like hanging with you.”
“He’s family,” Shane says. In my mind’s eye, I can see that boyish smile on his face and the casual shrug that’s typical of him. All I can do is smile and acknowledge that, yes, I’ve done a good job.
“He’s family.”
It seems so surreal to be folding baby clothes. Yes, my belly is so big I can’t see my toes and a mountain of yellow clothes surrounds me, but with everything going on, it still feels so very far off and just around the corner simultaneously.
“While the idea of you being tied to the bed is rather hot, I’d prefer to do it with you as a willing candidate and not because you won’t listen to the doctor,” Colton says from the doorway. I turn to find a smirk on his face but the warning loud and clear in his eyes.
“Cute. Very cute,” I say drolly.
“Well, you’d be even cuter flat on your back in our bed.” We stand, a visual battle of wills war between us, and when he finally breaks eye contact and looks around, I notice his startled expression. “You put stuff away?”
“I figured it was about time,” I murmur, slightly embarrassed at how long I’ve let my anxiety hold this process up. “It’s safe enough that if he’s born now, she should be okay.”
“Nice change of pronouns there,” he says with a laugh as he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on the curve of my shoulder.
“I couldn’t let you think I knew BIRT’s sex.”
His laugh rings out, the vibration of it going from his chest into mine as I finish folding some of the receiving blankets I had pre-washed. “BIRT, huh? You’ve come over to my dark side and are calling him that now?”
“I’ve always liked your dark side,” I say, intending one thing but when I feel his hands that have slid over my belly falter in their movement, I realize he took it in a completely different way. We stand there in silence momentarily as I let him shake the ghosts off his back that my comment caused to resurface.
“Did you feel that?” I ask, my hands flying to land on top of his so I can direct them to where the baby has moved beneath his palms.
“It’s so bizarre,” he murmurs. There’s a sense of awe in his voice that tells me the darkness in his thoughts has passed for now. He presses his hands against my belly to try and will the baby to move again.
“BIRT likes his daddy’s voice,” I say softly, absorbing this moment we’ll never get back once he’s born. He presses his lips to the side of my neck and holds them there. It’s almost as if he knows what I’m thinking and feels the same way, so he is trying to suspend time to make the here and now last as well.
“I have something for you. Will you come with me?” he asks.
“Is that something handcuffs and restraints?�
� I tease.
“Not unless you want them to be.” With a laugh, he takes my hands and leads me down the hallway and into our bedroom.
I give him a look as he pats the bed for me to hop up. “And I fell for it,” I say as he helps me up onto the mattress, my mind already wondering what exactly is going on since Dr. Steele said to hold off on sex for a bit. And as strict as Colton’s been following her rules, he’s either going to force me to rest or plan to exert himself.
I vote for the exertion.
“It’s not what you think, you nympho,” he says as he props pillows behind my back and under my knees before leaning in and brushing a kiss to my lips. And of course, because I can never resist him, I bring my hand up to the back of his neck and hold him there so I can steal one more from him.
“A girl can hope,” I murmur against his lips. When he pulls back, a smile lights up his face and a mischievous glimmer is in his eyes.
“Not until this girl gets clearance from the doctor,” he says. He walks around the edge of the bed and grabs something off his nightstand, holding it behind his back so I can’t see it. And the cutest part about the action is that in the sequence of movements, I’ve watched my confident, demanding husband morph with discomfort so I know whatever is behind his back pushes his comfort zone.
“So I have something for you,” he says and then stops with a shake of his head that’s reminiscent of when one of the boys is embarrassed. It tugs at my heartstrings and gives me an exact picture of what BIRT will look like if he is a boy. He looks down at a crudely wrapped rectangular box in brown paper as he reaches it out to me. I close my hand over his and don’t let go until he looks at me.
“Thank you, but I don’t need anything.”
“I thought it was a good idea at the time . . . but now I feel like it’s lame so you can laugh at me all you—”
