by Cora Kenborn
“Jesus, Julian!” The calmness in his tone gave way to panic. “That means no one’s coming? It’s just me.”
“Is Faith still not answering her phone?” I glanced sideways at Zane, his eyes narrowing as he listened.
“No, and trust me, I’ve called her. I’ve called Mom, Chloe, Ty…hell, I even called Kristina.”
“Oh Christ.” Kicking a booted toe out, I slammed it into the chair in front of me, causing it to skid backward and tip against the wall. “You told Kristina?”
“Calm down, bro. It doesn’t matter anyway. Mom and Chloe won’t make it in time. And because of the security you put in place, Ty and Kristina aren’t even allowed on the floor, much less in the room. It’s okay, though. I’m doing all right. I mean, I think I am.”
“You think?” I gripped the counter as Zane stood, the look in his eyes telling me he wouldn’t hesitate to punch me again. “This isn’t a summer job you can fake, Ry. This is my wife and kid!”
A whooshing sound sucked through the line as if Ryker walked through automatic glass doors. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m doing the best I can.”
I leaned my elbows onto the counter and dropped my head between them. “I’m sorry. I just—I’m doing everything to get there.”
“Good. I’m going back in there and telling her I talked to you. She’s scared, and at times possessed by some sort of demon, but she’s okay. She just really needs you.”
I paced in circles as Ryker spoke, suddenly coming to a complete stop. “Tell her I love her, and I’m on my way.”
“Yeah, got it. Call me when you land.” I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye before he disconnected the call.
In the next few hours, I’ll be a father.
I lightened my grip on my phone and punched numbers again. She answered, and before I could say a word, she broke in with a rushed tone. “Phoebe’s in labor!”
“No shit.” I didn’t hesitate. “I know you talked to Ryker. I need you to go to the hospital and tell them your name is Chloe Michaels. Tell them you’re her sister.”
“Or, you could listen to me, because I’m the manager here.”
“Fine.”
“Risa and I have been calling and working flights nonstop since we texted. The only solution is a flight out of Portland International in three hours. I can book you and Zane on it, but you have to haul ass.”
My voice amplified. “To Portland?”
“It’s your only option, Julian.”
I glanced over at Zane and sighed with resolve. “Fine, we’ll get a rental and leave now. Book the flights. And, Kristina, do what I said and go to the hospital.”
“Are you crazy, Julian?” Her voice rose with condescension.
“No, I’m not crazy. Get in the fucking car or get a new client.” Pulling the phone away, I quickly cursed and lifted it back to my mouth. “Thank you.” Shoving it into my pocket, I grabbed my carry-on and my guitar case. My lowered eyes connected with Zane’s.
“You got a plan?” Zane never minced words.
Turning to my left, I glanced up at the dark sky. “Nope.”
He nodded. “Good plan.”
***
Sitting in the Portland airport, the ring of my phone made me jump out of the chair. I’d been fidgeting with my hat, my growing beard…anything to keep in motion. Zane drove like Mario Andretti the whole way, and my nerves were shot. The fans had been relentless. One after the other asked for a picture, an autograph, and everything in between. Ever since, I’d pulled the bill of my hat over my eyes and dropped my head into my palms, praying no one else recognized us. I couldn’t handle anymore tonight.
I glanced at the caller ID as I raced to answer it. “How is she?”
“You need to pay someone off and get here now. I’m being serious. I can’t lie to her for much longer about where you are.”
My stomach rolled. “Ry, I’m in Portland.”
“Jesus Christ, Julian! Why are you—”
“Damn it, I’ve been trying to get out of here for over six hours! They grounded the plane in Seattle, and all the other direct flights are full. Kristina had us drive to PAX and I’m connecting. I’ve been beating my brains out trying to get out.”
“Okay, calm down. When’s your flight?”
Every loud pulse of blood in my ears sounded like a steel drum adding to the headache brewing behind my eyes. “We should board in a few. All I know is I’m stuck in this goddamn airport. Do you know what that means, Ry?”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“It means I screwed her over again! It means the biggest moment in our lives, she’ll have to do on her own. I won’t…” I stopped as emotion clouded my vision. “I won’t be there to see my kid.”
I wasn’t a crier. Outward emotion wasn’t my thing. But damn if I couldn’t wail some tears right now.
After minutes of complete silence, Ryker spoke softly. “There’s still a chance.”
I raked my hand across my eyes. “Are you telling me Phoebe can hold out?”
He hesitated. “Maybe an hour…two at the most. She’s going fast and the doctors aren’t taking chances with the baby being early.”
I hadn’t stopped to think about the timing. Phoebe still had nearly nine weeks left. It was too early.
Rubbing the back of my hand against my eyes, I spoke the only words left inside of me. “I need you to do something for me, Ry.”
“Julian, it’s not—”
“Please, just listen. I don’t know how much longer I can do this without losing it.” Stopping only for a deep breath, I forged ahead. “I want you to be there for Phoebe. Whatever she needs, you do it.”
“Of course, I will but—”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to be there when the baby is born. I want you to tell him or her that its dad loves it. You say that, Ry. You promise me.”
“I promise,” he agreed, his voice cracking.
Phoebe was giving birth, but it felt like death. “I’m trusting you with my family. Do me proud.”
His tone picked up in optimism. “Wait, Julian, I have an idea! What if I just call you when…”
My heart beat at an irregular pace as I frantically called his name. “Ry? What if you call me when what? Ryker?” The next sound was a click and then silence. “What the fuck?”
I held the phone up to my face, and the world crashed down around me.
A black, cold, silent screen looked back at me. My phone died, and my charger was plugged into a wall in the Stone Acer studio. All I had left was a promise by a brother who I’d trusted with everything that meant anything.
In a crowded airport full of people, I’d never felt more alone in my life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Phoebe
“Holy shit, is it over? I’m about to split in two.”
“Stop being so dramatic. The little number thingy only went up a couple of degrees.”
Lifting a foot from under the covers, I shoved my heel into his ribcage. “It’s not a thermometer, Ryker! I’m not basting a fucking turkey!”
He shifted toward the bottom of the bed and leaned away. “Damn, Pheebs, don’t get all violent. I have no freaking clue what I’m looking at.”
I opened my mouth to spew a new round of insults when the second contraction knocked the wind out of me. The pain felt like a hand reached inside of me and crushed every internal organ I had.
“Jesus, Phoebe, breathe! Your eyeballs are going to pop out of your head.”
Air escaped through chapped lips as beads of sweat dripped from my forehead. “You’re not helping, Ryker.”
“Look, I’m like the pregnancy pinch hitter here. I’m totally pulling this coach shit out of my ass.”
“Just don’t yell at me. I need you to be nice to me because yelling at me makes me crazy…crazy, Ryker!” The vein in my temple throbbed way before the alarm on the blood pressure monitor started beeping.
It wasn’t
supposed to happen this way. It was supposed to be nine weeks from now. Julian was supposed to be here holding my hand. Instead, I sat with his brother, who I’d eventually stab with the forceps.
I’d been transported upstairs to the seventh floor and strapped to a cable box of wires. My impending emotional breakdown was inevitable. “I’m all alone.”
A timid hand slid over mine. “You’re not alone, Pheebs. I may be freaked out, but you’re not alone.”
“Ry…”
“I never expected to be in this room. I’d planned to be in a bar down the street getting drunk.” A small laugh migrated through my tears. “Okay, maybe not a bar. I may’ve been planning stealth shots in the men’s room, but I knew I’d be here. I wanted to see the look on my brother’s face after he became a dad.” He audibly swallowed. “I don’t know anything about labor, or delivery, or babies, but Julian would expect me to man up. So, here I am, manning up.”
My mouth turned up with affection. “I’m sorry I called you a ball-less douchebag when they put my IV in.”
“Douche dick.”
“Excuse me?”
“You called me a ball-less douche dick.”
“Oh, sorry.”
An amused twinkle centered in his eyes. “Don’t be. Ball-less douche dick was creative. I mean, anyone can call someone an asshole.”
I chuckled and wiped my eyes with my free hand. “Thanks for being here. Whatever I say in the next few hours, I swear, it’s the pain talking.”
“Did you just give yourself a license to abuse me, Mrs. Bale?”
“You know?” Shock stilled me.
“You’re a terrible liar. If you wanted to hide something like that…take off your wedding ring, dumbass.” He reached over and tapped my finger.
Moments passed with his hand still tightly wrapped around mine and no desire in my heart to remove it. I needed his strength. I sensed the same thing resided in both of our heads, and, eventually, I voiced it. “Ry?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s never going to forgive himself if he misses it.”
He glanced at our joined hands. “I know.”
“Why can’t things go smoothly for us, like they do for everybody else?”
He sat for a moment with his lips pursed. “Maybe it’s not supposed to?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, think about it, Pheebs. Every day, people fall in love, get married, and have kids. Do they ever truly appreciate what they have? When things are handed to you, you wonder if there’s something better around the corner. With you and Julian, that’ll never happen. It’s like that British dude said, ‘Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.’ You two are like those fucking characters in that story. Minus the poison and dying thing.”
A widespread grin overtook me. “Ryker Bale, did you just quote Shakespeare?” I watched with hilarity as redness dropped from his forehead to his neck.
“I remember a few things from English lit.”
I stared at him with a transfixed smile. “So, Romeo and Juliet, huh?”
Pointing an accusatory finger at me, he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get all girlie on me. There were a lot of good fights in that play. I carried a sword.”
“It must have gone well with your tights.”
“Stretchy pants,” he screeched. “They were not tights.”
“They were tights, Ryker. The only thing better would’ve been if you’d worn ballet shoes and a feathered hat.” I’d never let him live this one down.
He dropped my hand and crossed his arms. “I was Mercutio, Phoebe, not fucking Peter Pan.”
I covered my face, attempting to hide the snickers that seeped through my fingers. “Oh god, stop. The image of you with wings and pointy-toed shoes…it’s seriously making,” I winced as the tightness ensnared the lower half of my body, “it’s making…oh god, not again!” I latched onto his hand. The faint sounds of the monitor escalated into one long, continuous buzz.
“Shit, are you okay?”
The tightening continued and darkness blinded my vision. “Go get someone…now!”
The weight of the bed lifted as he ran from the room, the heavy wooden door slamming behind him. With both hands gripping the hand rails, a sudden and intense pressure forced my knees together in protest.
Oh god, no…not yet.
Tears stung my eyes and I silently prayed for a miracle.
***
An hour later, I’d managed to doze off when a barrage of hands descended upon me.
“Dilated between three and four. Side shift for forty-five minutes until the fetal monitor stays above the second tier. After that, we’ll start the Pitocin and deliver within the hour.” Snapping off his glove, he walked toward the door.
Every nightmare imaginable ran through my mind. “Wait, what does that mean?” I glanced at Ryker and silently begged him for help. The doctor opened the door, and Ryker’s hand shot out, blocking his way.
“Get out of my way, son. I’m needed on another floor.”
“She needs you here,” Ryker countered, his jaw tightened defiantly.
“I have competent nurses who can take care of your wife. Please move.”
Without bothering to correct him, Ryker shifted his body in between the door and the doctor. “She asked you to explain. Man, can’t you see she’s scared to death?”
The doctor adjusted his glasses. “Miss Ryan, you’ve progressed to four centimeters. With that last contraction, your baby’s heart rate decelerated so quickly, it set off an alarm. Too many of those concern me, especially with the premature age of the fetus.”
Ryker broke in impatiently. “What does that mean?”
“Resting on her side will take the pressure off and hopefully alleviate the danger.” He glanced at me. “At that point, we’ll adopt a wait and see method. When you arrived, we gave you a shot of Betamethasone to mature the baby’s lungs. We also started a round of magnesium sulfate to slow your labor.”
“What happens if the drugs don’t work?”
He remained stoic, delivering the words I dreaded. “Then we’ll resort to a bag of Terbutaline. It’s our last resort. If your baby shows signs of distress, we’ll induce birth.”
“He’s not here yet!” I screeched, balling up the blanket in both fists. “I’ll do whatever I have to do. I’ll stand on my head, but I won’t do this without him.”
“Miss Ryan, waiting for whoever ‘he’ is to get here increases the chances of a stillborn.” His words drove a knife into my heart.
Stillborn.
Ryker stood, uncharacteristically authoritative. “He is my brother, and he is the baby’s father. Women have babies every day without medicine like that. She can do it on her own—on her terms.”
The doctor faced him, their eyebrows lifted in some sort of alpha male challenge. “Son, unless you can pull out a PhD from that back pocket, I suggest leaving the decisions to me.” He reached around Ryker to grab the door, and once again, Ryker leaned against it, pushing it back into place.
“How about we leave the decisions to her?” His voice rose in volume. “Are we understanding each other?”
I watched them carefully. Even the gaggle of nurses that had been adjusting everything from my IV to my pillow froze in place. Everyone watched the confrontation with bated breath.
With a lowered voice, the doctor turned toward the nurse closest to him. “Keep her on her side. Report to me in an hour.” He pushed his falling glasses upright onto his nose. “Any sign of fetal distress, start the Pitocin.”
A smile struggled to break free from the corners of Ryker’s mouth. He stepped aside, shoving his hands in his pockets as the doctor exited the room. “Uh, I’m going to call Julian again.” Anticipating my rebuttal, he cut me off. “Don’t start, I get a better signal in the hallway. I’m sure he won’t answer anyway because he’s driving. I just want to leave him an update.” Reaching for the door, he abruptly turned around. “Are you going be okay until I get bac
k?”
As the pain subsided, I nodded. “I’ll be fine.” With a ghost dimpled smile, he stepped out into the hallway. “Ry?”
Stopping mid-stride, he twisted his chin over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Julian would be proud.”
For a third time, heat stained his cheeks. “Yeah? Whatever.”
I smiled long after he closed the door. When the nurses finished with their probing, one by one they exited the room and left me alone. Silence amplified my thoughts.
The world fawned over Julian. It pushed Ryker to the sidelines, knowing how he’d stepped in to fill the hole Tanna’s betrayal left in a band of brothers. But, in this instance—in this hospital room—the younger brother showed a star quality all his own.
I just hoped I didn’t have to tell Julian about it after the fact.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julian
My head felt heavy, my eyes burned, and my stomach growled. When had we last eaten? For that matter, when had we slept? I rubbed my unshaven face for the hundredth time and hated my job.
My dream job—the one I’d struggled to achieve—had become my entrapment.
Thankfully, no one had recognized me. If they did, they had the decency to leave me alone and not ask for anything. After a fifteen-minute tirade from me about leaving his phone in the limo in Seattle, Zane had wandered to the Portland VIP bar, leaving me at their mercy.
Pulling my hat down lower, the whispers of a mother and daughter behind me interrupted my thoughts. It was just a matter of time before one of them got the balls to come over to ask for something. I held my dead phone in my hand, still disgusted at its lack of functionality.
“Stupid piece of shit phone.” About to shove it back into my pocket, a voice from beside me distracted my jumbled thoughts. The person cleared their throat, and I closed my eyes, waiting for either the mother or daughter. Instead, a deep tone startled me.
“Yeah, I hear that. I have a T6 too. The damn thing gives me an error message every half hour. Don’t think I haven’t contemplated accidentally dropping it in a toilet somewhere.”
