by Mj Fields
Hurt shows on her face, and I cannot bear it.
“It’s fine.” I hold out my hand for Piper.
When Dad closes the door in front of us, Piper lets go of my hand and walks over to the carrier.
“Hi, butterfly,” she says as she reaches in and tickles her belly.
Hope’s eyes open, and I wonder if she is frightened by all the new surroundings and Piper’s little face less than six inches from her.
Piper smiles and giggles. Then she puts her hands up, thumbs facing each other, and makes her fingers dance. “Butterfly hi’s, baby Hope, and welcome home.”
Hope stares at her and not the light, which is unusual.
Piper giggles again and looks up at Dad and then me. “See? T is okay.”
Dad looks at me like he is expecting me to fall apart.
I put on a smile for her, the first in weeks.
“And you’re all right, too. See?” She puts her hands up again. “Butterfly hi’s.”
I nod, grateful the elevator stops, distracting her, because I don’t know if I can take it while walking in here.
“Hey, Piper,” I say, trying to smile. “I might get sad when I walk in here.”
She shrugs. “I know.”
When Dad opens the door, I take the carrier from him.
“You sure, Ava?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“Follow me,” Piper says as she skips inside.
“Just a minute, okay?”
“Yep, I’ll be in Hope and Chance’s room.”
I set the carrier on the counter and push the buttons on the side of the handle before pushing back the bar. “Welcome home, Hope,” I say as a tear slips down my cheek. I finish unbuckling her and pick her up, holding her tightly against my chest. “Welcome home, sweet girl.”
The house is clean, but there are suitcases piled in a corner. I am not alone, still not alone with my grief. I hope I can continue showing that I am strong when, in reality, I’m a mess. I am glad no one can see that I have no idea how to deal with any of what is going on.
As I start to walk toward their room, the bathroom door opens, and Liam steps out.
“Sorry, I was supposed to stay downstairs. I slipped past security to use the bathroom.” He walks over and leans over my shoulder. “Hey there, little one. You look like your daddy.”
I look up at him. “You think so?”
Despite no one saying that, I have thought it, but I was afraid it was just me wanting to see him in them.
“Eye shape.” He smiles. “Facial structure. You definitely look like your father, little one.” He gives me a quick kiss on the head. “I’ll head down.”
“No, stay.”
“I will, but you better tell the head of security that you okayed it.”
I give him a quizzical look.
“Tessa. She insisted we give you time. She also insisted that we all stay back upstate, and I kind of snuck my way down.”
“I’m glad,” I say, nodding.
He smiles. “That Tessa is keeping everyone away or that I’m here?”
“Both?” I say because my head is swimming in a sea of overwhelming emotions.
He nods. “Okay, both.”
I walk with Hope into the nursery, feeling dizzy, and make my way to the rocker T put together for me to sit in. Piper is next to the one he was supposed to be in, right next to mine.
“It’s beautiful, Hope,” she whispers and giggles.
Hope looks toward the window, seeking the light. She seems content when she finds it.
“She likes it.” Piper also seems content with her summarization of the situation.
After securing Hope in one arm, I pat Piper’s head. “Of course she does.”
She walks away from me and faces the wall that T drew and painted in bright, vivid colors. She stands in front of it and does the same hand gesture, the butterfly one.
“He’s okay, Ava. He’s happy.”
“How do you know?” I manage to croak out.
She turns around and smiles as brightly as day. “He tells me.”
“Pip-Pip, how about we give Ava a minute?” Dad says, peeking his head in. Apparently, I am unable to hide my grief as well as I thought.
He picks her up, and she points to one of the clouds. “Right there. He’s happy.”
“Okay, little one,” Dad says.
“I’ll take her.” Liam holds his hands out.
She shakes her head. “Pop-pop’s girl.”
Dad kisses my head then walks toward the door. “I’ll be out here if you need anything, Ava.”
“Me, too,” Liam says, clearly affected by Piper.
“Stay?” Liam has always had a calming effect on me.
He nods once then sits in T’s rocker, asking, “Want to talk about it?”
I swallow and shake my head.
“Okay, then.”
Piper’s giggle and footsteps break the deafening silence.
“Get back here, princess,” Dad says. I hear him running after her.
She runs in and stops at my feet. She holds up my sunglasses and, with her finger, motions to me to lean in. I do, and she puts them on my head and smiles.
“Sparkle for your big head.”
Dad and Liam both look at me. They look shocked, stunned, and I smile because she’s the absolute sweetest thing.
“My big head thanks you.” I lean down and kiss her cheek.
“Now kiss her.” She grins, pointing to Hope.
So I do.
I look over at Liam as Dad and Piper walk out of the nursery again. He still looks shocked.
“What?”
“She just told you that you have a big head.”
“If the crown fits …” I shrug. “She’s made this mess almost bearable.”
He smiles. “You’ve got this, Ava. I know it’s easier said than done, but you have to believe you do.”
I shake my head and shrug. “I have no idea what I am going to do without him, Liam. I love him so much, and he loved me just as much and for longer than I even knew.”
“I know, but you don’t have a choice, and if you did, I know you’d choose to heal for those babies. It’ll make up for the lag in your noticing his love.”
“I have no idea what God is thinking, but I am not this strong.”
“You are. You just have to allow yourself to believe it.” He stands. “You ready for the troops to arrive?”
“I need to feed her. Can you tell them I’ll be out when we’re done?”
“Of course.”
“Liam.”
He stops and turns around. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Breaking out of upstate and coming.”
He winks. “You wouldn’t answer my calls.”
“I wasn’t answering anyone’s.”
“I know, Ava.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
One of the hardest but rewarding experiences ever — M. Gratton
I wake up with Hope in my arms and Mom next to me, awake. Hope doesn’t sleep well in her bassinet and fusses. When she is on my belly, she sleeps like an angel, and she smells like T, which is the only reason I have been able to sleep.
Mom and Tessa take turns watching me sleep. I don’t mind it a bit. They are helping both Hope and me.
“You okay?” Mom asks, pushing my hair out of my face.
I nod. “I need to wake her up to feed her and get back to the hospital to feed Chance.”
“Your brother is there with him,” she says, trying like she has for two weeks to convince me that I should take just a day to sleep and let them take care of the babies.
“I know, but the doctors will be making rounds, and I want to be there.”
“His heart healed on its own. No more PDA. His NEC is gone—”
“But if it comes back, if he gets it again—”
“Ava, he won’t,” she says, trying to calm me.
I sit up and pull my shirt up
. Then I take the pacifier out of Hope’s mouth.
“Sweet girl, wake up. You need to eat, and then you can sleep the day away.”
“We need to try to get her on a schedule. Her days and nights are confused.”
“So are mine, Mom. At least this way, she sleeps when I’m at the hospital with Chance, and she’s awake when I’m home.”
“But you need to take care of—”
“I’ve got it, Mom, and I appreciate the help, but if it’s too much for all of you, I’m sure I can manage.”
“Ava—”
“No, Mom. No.”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Okay.”
An hour later, I am in the SUV with Dad. Everyone else left last night.
Casey is home with Mom so Mom can sleep, and if Mom needs anything at the store, Casey can go for her or help out in any way she needs. I know they think it’s overkill, two people for one baby, but it’s what I need. It’s what Hope needs.
“How’re you feeling?” Dad asks.
“Like hell,” I admit for probably the first time.
“I know you don’t like the idea of moving back home, Ava, but as you can see, there is a much bigger support system there for you.”
“As much as I appreciate it, I’m staying here.”
“But—”
“Last night, I was able to hold Hope and not worry if shutting myself in the nursery was offending anyone. This morning, I walked through Thomas and my home after a shower and didn’t have to fully get dressed in order to move about. Today, I don’t have to worry about coming home and eating a much appreciated meal so that people know I am not a cold, cruel bitch, but I’m just not that hungry.”
“Ava, no one thinks you’re a bitch.”
“Well, here’s the deal. I am. I am bitter and angry and hurt, and I have not had a moment to grieve the loss of the man who was my everything. As soon as Chance comes home, I may be able to.”
“When he comes home, I’ll still be there.”
“No, Dad, you have a life to get back to.”
“You’re a mother now, Ava. Tell me how you would feel if they said that to you. Better yet, tell me if you’d listen.”
“I would.”
He doesn’t respond.
“And I have offended you,” I sigh. “See? God forbid—”
“Try to offend away, Ava. I’m still here.”
There is no sense in fighting with him. None. So I don’t.
We walk into the NICU, and Logan stands up.
“Dad can take you home,” I say, giving him a hug. “Get some sleep.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“You wanna take a cab, Logan?” Dad asks.
“No,” I insist. “I am fine, okay? I love you both, but look around. There is a ton of people here. I’ll be fine.”
“Give me a minute with Chance,” Dad says over his shoulder as he walks over to the sink and scrubs up.
I bite my tongue and let Dad hold him first. I know they all love them, and they love me, but ten weeks with everyone around is a bit much.
I sit in the rocker, feeding my little man. He is nearly six pounds and nurses just as well as Hope.
“Okay, little rock star”—I rub his cheek to remind him he is eating—“you need to hurry up and heal. Your sister is missing you. I am missing you. And your family—God love them—is driving me nuts.”
His eyes open and his lips curve a bit. I know it’s gas, but I smile back at him.
“I’ll take that as a promise,” I coo. “I will. I’ll hold you to it.”
His eyes are a brilliant blue, and his hair is jet black. Some babies, you can’t tell if they are a boy or girl, but Chance already looks like a little man.
“I wish you looked like your daddy, but you’re stuck looking like me except that dimple. That’s all your daddy’s. That’s all Thomas’s.”
His eyes are wide, and it’s like he is taking in everything I say. I wonder if it’s because he sleeps less than Hope that he seems more alert. That thought hurts me because Chance is awake more since he is poked and prodded all day.
I see the doors open, and Dr. Yoman walks in. He is a neonatologist, and his bedside manner is much better than Dr. Kennedy’s.
“Hey, Chance,” he says, smiling. “Looking good, little guy, or should I say, big guy. Six pounds at last weigh-in.” He gives him an air fist bump. “You know what else is going on? You’re breathing and clearly eating on your own. You have had four out of six nights that your apnea machine didn’t beep, so that means you’re sleeping well. And let’s top that with the fact that your NEC scans are clear. The port still needs to stay put for about ten days, just in case, but if your mom here thinks she can make sure to bring you in every other day for scans and blood tests, I see no reason you can’t be released in say”—he paused and signs a paper then holds it up—“about ten minutes.”
“Are you serious?” I gasp, startling Chance. His little lips quiver around me, and I lean down and smile at him. “You did it, Chance. You did it!”
“Should I give your father a call?”
“Are there car seats here at the hospital? I’d like to do this alone.”
He seems to understand and nods. “I’ll be back.” He sets paperwork on the side table next to me and walks away.
I don’t like having to be wheeled out of the hospital, but it’s policy, and if it takes that to get our boy home, I will sit and stew in silence.
The cab pulls up, and I let out a breath as I stand. Suddenly, I am nervous about letting someone I don’t know drive our son.
“We can do this, Chance. We can,” I say as we get inside, and I strap the base in.
I give the cab driver my address and tell him to please be careful. He looks in the rearview and nods. Then I sit back, buckle my seat belt, and he pulls away from the curb.
When he pulls up in front of our building, he does so in the only place possible to park.
I don’t want to get out. I can’t.
“Can you drive around and pull up closer to the entrance. We’ll get out quickly, I promise.”
He nods again and drives around the block before pulling up beside my Dad’s SUV. I pay him and quickly get Chance and I out and onto the sidewalk.
I walk in and fish through my purse, grabbing my key, then board the elevator. Chance is awake and alert, sucking furiously on his pacifier.
“We’re home. You are going to love what your father has done for you.”
When we get off the elevator, no one is in the open space that is the living area. I take a big deep breath and feel calmness for the first time in over two months.
I set Chance’s carrier on the counter and unbuckle him. Then I hear voices, so I pick him up and walk toward the office that has acted as home base for all of our family.
“You tell her to back off, Lucas,” my mother snaps. I am not happy that she is back to her old tricks.
“I never should have told you a damn thing, Ash. This isn’t about you and me; this is about Ava, Hope, and Chance.”
“Ava, Hope, and Chance will be fine. Jade needs to mind her business and leave it alone.”
I walk a little closer, wanting to hear everything.
“When she saw Luke for the first time in Germany, he asked if the baby was his!” Dad snaps.
“He was drugged and a mess. Who the hell is she to assume that it’s my little girl he’s talking about?”
I step back when the weight of the world feels like it’s on my shoulders. I close my eyes tightly and shake my head, willing it away. These babies are mine and Thomas’s. I will not allow anyone to speculate otherwise. I need to make sure they know it, and I need to do so with the fierce belief that Thomas had in its truth. Clearly, it is true.
“Jade would never do this to Ava without warrant, Ash, and you know it.”
“Lucas, she’s a mother; she’s your friend. She is grasping at straws. Who the hell wouldn’t want Ava to be a child’s mother? She�
��s got her shit together; she’s driven; she’s smart; she’s clearly strong—”
“You are something else,” Dad huffs.
“I’m her mother, and I am telling you that you need to tell that bitch, if she wants to go dragging Ava’s name through the mud, I will make her life hell.”
“Will you, Mrs. Robertson?” Dad laughs. “Or will you throw up your hands and walk away?”
“You know damn well I will. Do whatever you have to do to get that woman to back down.”
“After I ask Ava if it’s a possibility, and she tells me it’s not, then I will.”
“She doesn’t need to be part of Jade’s head trip over her son who is clearly delusional. She needs you to show her support, Lucas.”
“She knows damn well I will support her. I have always been in her corner. You’re the one who ran off.”
“Well, isn’t it interesting that she has made her home here?” Mom says smugly.
“It’s her home because of T,” Dad says defensively.
“And what was it before, then?” She doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Her mother, Lucas, and the fact that she is bigger than that little town or a young man who runs off at any chance he gets to blow shit up.”
Dad laughs haughtily. “You really are a fucking bitch, Ash.”
“You helped make me that way,” she counters.
I walk back to the door, holding Chance tightly to me. I don’t want them to know I heard them. I want to get to Hope and take my babies—mine and T’s—far away.
I have no idea what I will say if Dad confronts me. None. But I pray he doesn’t.
I hear the elevator begin to move, and I assume that it’s Logan. I have to let them know I’m here now before he gets out so they don’t know I heard them.
I take a deep breath, kiss Chance, and whisper, “You are ours.”
I set him in the carrier and yell, “Anybody home?”
They both come out of the room, looking shocked.
“What …? How …? Ava, do they know you brought him home?”
I smile because I have to. “Yeah, Dad, they do. Chance is home, and he is doing great.” I pick him up and smile. “T and my babies are home.”
“That’s great news, Ava.” Mom smiles as she walks toward me.
