Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  This day was far too hard.

  But something made me stare at the lid, really studying the name that was written on the top in black marker.

  And I traced my finger over it and whispered, “Mom.”

  Honey

  Summer 1988

  “Andrew, I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Honey said as she paced the small room in the Manchester hospital.

  When they had been told where the birth mother was going to be delivering and they were given permission to be at the hospital, Andrew had arranged a private room for the two of them. Since they wouldn’t be watching the delivery or meeting the mother, father, or any of their family, this gave them their own space.

  It also gave them their own restroom, which was specially important because Honey was pregnant, her nerves sending her to the toilet every twenty minutes or so.

  “You’re just hungry.” Andrew went over to the table by the bed where he’d placed their cooler. Knowing how terrible hospital food was, they had brought their own.

  “Hungry.” She walked to the window. “Anxious.” She went past the bed, rubbing her palm across her belly, haunted by thoughts of that teenager in the delivery room and what she was experiencing. Now that Honey was pregnant, she was on both sides, and they were emotional places. She paused by the door and looked at Andrew. “What if she changes her mind?” She took a breath, air ricocheting through her chest. She was facing her biggest fear, feeling it move through her throat. “What if she wants to keep it, Andrew?” Her voice softened. “I’m already so in love with our child.”

  “Baby …” Honey saw his eyes turn heavy, pleading with her to stay positive, and then he held out his arms. “Come here.”

  She swallowed, her head still moving in so many directions, but the one thing she saw clearly was the food he had been trying to get out of the cooler for her. She smiled, her emotions swinging again, to the point where she was even giving herself whiplash. “Please feed me.”

  He laughed and placed a cold tinfoil-wrapped sandwich in her hand.

  “Thank you.” She brought it over to the window with a small container of apple juice and used the ledge as a table. “We still haven’t even decided on a name,” she spoke behind her hand, alternating bites of ham and swiss with sips of juice.

  “I thought you loved Jessica?”

  Honey shrugged. “I just don’t know if that’s what we’re supposed to call our daughter.”

  “Are you settled on naming him after my grandfather if it’s a boy?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t sound convincing. “I mean … I really don’t know.”

  Andrew walked over, standing in front of his wife while she ate. “Remember what Stephanie told us during our meeting last week. This is all going to feel extremely overwhelming, and it’s okay if we don’t have all the answers right now. That includes deciding on what we’re going to name our baby.”

  Since her second trimester, Honey hadn’t been able to make a single decision. Everything was open-ended, and resolution felt like something she just couldn’t grasp.

  She put her sandwich down, her hands dropping to her sides. The reality of where they were and what they were talking about was hitting her. And with it came wave after wave of emotion. “Will you ever tell me you’re scared to death?” Andrew didn’t have time to respond before she added, “On second thought, please don’t. I need you to be the strong one, especially right now.”

  He moved closer, his hands going to her waist. “I know.”

  She didn’t speak right away. “What if the baby hates us?” Her eyes locked with his. “What if we can’t handle two children at the same time? What if we’re so sleep-deprived that we accidentally leave a bottle on the stove and burn down our condo?”

  He wiped her hair away from her face, keeping his fingers there. “We’re going to be new parents to two infants born pretty close together. Versions of all three are going to happen, but we’re going to handle it. We’ll take one day at a time, and we’ll do it together, like we’ve always done.”

  Honey put both hands on her stomach—one at the very top where the bump protruded, the other at the bottom where she could usually feel the most activity. And she stared into Andrew’s eyes, trying to find a way to tell him how much he meant to her. “What did I do to deserve a man like you?”

  He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers.

  Honey had just felt the tip of Andrew’s tongue when someone came into their room and said, “Excuse me.”

  The couple quickly backed their faces away and looked in the direction of the voice.

  The nurse in the doorway said, “We know you’ve been waiting a long time, so someone from the delivery room sent me here to tell you that your baby has been born. They’re finalizing the paperwork right now, and your attorney should be in here very soon to bring you your baby.”

  “Oh my God,” Honey gasped.

  Andrew clutched his wife so tightly. “Do you know what she had?” he asked the nurse.

  The nurse paused. “I think she said a boy.”

  Honey shrieked once they were alone again, covering her face behind her hands. “Andrew,” she sobbed. “They’re bringing us our baby. Our baby. Our son.”

  “Son …” he breathed, still holding his wife.

  She dropped her hands from her face to look in her husband’s eyes. “I can’t believe it’s happening.”

  “I can.”

  Gradually, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging her body against his, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. She stayed there, in an embrace that was so safe, until she heard Stephanie say, “Congratulations, Honey and Andrew.”

  Honey glanced over her shoulder, seeing their attorney walk into their room, holding a bundle in her arms.

  She continued turning her body, moving until she and Andrew were next to each other, both of them heading toward Stephanie at the same time.

  “Baby …” Andrew said, grasping his wife’s hand.

  Tears streamed down Honey’s face with each step they took. The emotions in her body were almost too much to bear, the sensation of Andrew clutching her fingers only adding to the intensity.

  When they were feet away, Stephanie looked at them and said, “I’m so proud to introduce you to your daughter.”

  “Daughter?” Honey asked, looking toward the blanket, which was hiding most of the baby’s face.

  “A nurse came by and said she had a boy,” Andrew replied.

  Honey continued moving forward, her arms extended in front of her.

  When Stephanie was close enough, she set the baby on top of them and responded, “I witnessed the signing of the birth certificate. It’s a girl, I assure you.”

  Honey couldn’t speak as she felt the weight of their baby on her arms. As she took in her child’s sweet little face, as she inhaled her warm, powdery smell. As she pressed her lips against her daughter’s skin that felt as delicate as butterfly wings.

  “Honey …” Andrew cried, his face on the other side of their little girl, doing the same thing as his wife. “I can’t believe she’s ours.”

  Honey felt a tear drip onto their child, one that had come from her own eyes. “I can.” She continued to breathe in their baby, her lips not moving from her tiny cheek, and suddenly, it came to her, like she had wished for it all along. “Andrew, I know what her name has to be.”

  Billie

  I pulled my finger off the lid of the crate and lifted the top, setting it behind me. Then, I turned my attention to all the contents inside.

  My father kept everything. He was meticulously organized, all items labeled and dated like the inside of a restaurant’s walk-in cooler. But in here, there were newspaper articles and medical reports. My name was listed on some.

  So was my brother’s.

  And my mother’s.

  Layer after layer of records and clippings and details.

  When I got to the last article, that was where the pictures started. There had
to be over fifty. Every angle was captured.

  Close-up shots of stitches.

  Bruising.

  Open lacerations.

  That wasn’t the hardest part.

  What hurt the most was seeing all the blood.

  Honey

  Winter 1989

  Honey looked down at her ten-month-old daughter who was sleeping in her arms. She couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. She had full, arched lips with the most stunning, longest lashes. Eyes that were bright and emerald.

  She was the sweetest, most thoughtful little girl, and she made Honey and Andrew so rich in love and happiness. Even though she wasn’t made of their blood, she was a perfect mix of the both of them. She had Honey’s personality and Andrew’s intelligence. She loved to be outside, and she had a hearty appetite. To Honey, it felt like she had birthed this precious baby, that she’d felt every bit of growth within her tummy, the same way she had felt her son.

  Her husband held little Andrew on the other side of the nursery, rocking that silly boy, who had finally calmed a few moments ago. On the evenings Andrew was home from work early enough, this was how they’d put their children to sleep. They would each have a child in their arms, nursery rhymes playing from a boom box on the dresser, and they would rock in their chairs, swaying back and forth until the babies fell asleep.

  Once that happened, Honey and Andrew would have time for themselves.

  “How was your shift?” Honey whispered from across the room.

  “Someone brought in a goat.” He laughed and glanced down at little Andrew, making sure he didn’t wake up from the sound.

  “Well, what happened?” Honey chuckled. She could be louder with their daughter since she could sleep through almost anything. “Did you treat the goat?”

  “I’m happy to report, he now has a cast on his left leg.”

  Honey burst out laughing much louder than before, knowing she was shaking the baby, but she couldn’t help it. “Oh my goodness.”

  “I couldn’t turn the poor thing away. It was in pain.”

  Honey stared at her husband, taking in his handsome, devilish grin. And as he gazed back, she was sure he didn’t see the spit-up on her shoulder or the banana smeared in her hair. He wasn’t turned off by the milk that dripped from her breasts when he cupped them during their intimate moments.

  She loved him.

  In a way that only he could understand because what they had was different.

  They’d both known it from the very beginning.

  “Andrew Paige,” she said so softly, but it was the loudest the emotion would let her speak, “you’re an incredible doctor, but you’re an even better daddy.”

  Billie

  I held the entire stack of pictures in my palm, and as I finished looking at one, I would set it on the desk and move to the next. Hands and faces and cheeks—I saw them all. And even though I looked at the photos every year, each time felt like the first.

  Because seeing these snapshots was like replaying a period of my life that I’d never gotten to watch. And each time the reel spun, I would see something different. A detail I hadn’t captured before or one that was ready to reveal itself or one I wished so badly I could forget.

  When I reached the last picture and my hands were empty, I was able to wipe my fingers over my face. I wasn’t surprised by how wet it was. This was what happened to me on May 20. Even though my family celebrated, we cried too.

  Tears were a part of it, a messy side effect when you’d experienced what we had.

  As I pulled my fingers away, I felt my phone vibrate, and I glanced down at my lap where I must have placed it. There was a text on the screen.

  Jared: I miss you.

  He always seemed to know when I needed him.

  I just wished he had been able to come.

  Still, I smiled, feeling the warmth of Jared’s words, and I turned my focus back to the desk, seeing the piles of photos and the medical records and the articles.

  They were all of my life …

  Before you.

  I shook my head and collected all the photographs, putting them in a neat pile again. As I was sticking them back in the tote, I saw a small photo that was upside down on the plastic bottom, not part of the stack.

  It never was.

  I knew the picture well. I’d seen it as many times as all the others. It was always the last one I looked at right before I closed the lid on the box for another year.

  I lifted the picture into my hand and stared at the face looking back at me.

  At the eyes.

  The lips.

  There was something …

  It took me a second to place it.

  And then …

  I sucked in all the air my lungs could hold, my hand slapping over my mouth before a scream came shooting out of it.

  It couldn’t be.

  No.

  There was no way.

  But the more I blinked, the more I saw the truth. A detail I had missed up until right now.

  I closed my fingers around the picture, holding it against the inside of my hand, and I rushed down the stairs, hunting for my father.

  “Dad,” I said when I spotted him in the kitchen, standing next to my aunt and cousin. “Come here.”

  He looked concerned as he took the few steps to approach me, his fingers going to my forehead. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  I held my hand out and slowly opened my palm, showing him the picture that sat in the middle. “What’s his name?”

  I knew.

  Everyone in this house knew.

  There was no reason I needed to hear him say it.

  But I did.

  He looked at the photograph and back at me. “That’s Casey Rivers.”

  There were no three words that hurt more.

  I fell to my knees.

  And my father was the first person at my side.

  Honey

  Spring 1989

  “I know, sweet baby boy,” Honey said as she bounced Andrew in her arms. She was also holding the phone to her ear, waiting for her husband to pick up. “I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make you feel better.”

  Her son had been running a fever since bedtime, and she had given him medication, which had worked for a little while. But as the hours wore on, his temperature had risen again, and she didn’t like the sound of his cough.

  “Emergency room. This is Meghan.”

  “Meghan …” Honey said, knowing the nurse well. She was one of the RNs who often worked with Andrew and had helped with Billie when she got swimmer’s ear. “It’s Honey. Is Andrew free?”

  “Hi, Honey. He just took a patient in for surgery. Is everything okay?”

  As she held the phone with her shoulder, Honey pressed her hand against her baby’s forehead and cheeks and chest. “It’s my son. He was running a fever earlier, and Andrew suggested I give him liquid Motrin. But his fever is back, and the poor thing is burning up, coughing. I’m getting worried.”

  “How long ago did you give him Motrin?”

  “Four hours.” She wiped her thumb under the bottom of his nose, cleaning it, and that was when she saw the redness. “There’s a rash on his neck.”

  “Can you bring him in?” the nurse asked. “When I tell Dr. Paige, I’m positive he’ll agree.”

  Honey’s gut had been telling her something was definitely wrong, and that was the reason she had called in the first place. Now, she just had to get little Andrew to the hospital. And because they lived so close, she could walk there faster than she could drive.

  “I’m going to leave in two minutes,” Honey said, thanking her and hanging up.

  She went into the nursery and placed Andrew in his crib while she got herself dressed. She then packed everything she needed into the diaper bag, hanging it on the side of the stroller. She lifted Billie into her arms, kissing the warm, sleepy princess on the forehead while she zipped her in a coat. Her daughter never even stirred when Honey set her in the
stroller. When she returned to Andrew, she wrapped him in a large, puffy jacket, cooing in his face to distract him from squirming. Then, she held the baby against her chest and tied a scarf over him. Even with the afternoons being warmer, it was after one in the morning, and it was going to feel chilly outside. She certainly didn’t want the wind to hit his face, and she felt fortunate she had made that decision once she stepped outside.

  Portland was quiet at this hour, the streets mostly bare. The lamps provided plenty of glow, lighting the path extremely well to give Honey the visibility she needed. There were a mix of homes and commercial spaces on both sides of her, all so dark and quiet.

  Honey squeezed Andrew as they neared the end of the block, pausing at the Stop sign. His nose was dripping and bubbling, making him more uncomfortable as he cried. She wiped it, and he started to wail harder, turning his head to each side.

  “It’s okay, my love. We’re almost there. Daddy is going to put his magical hands on you and make you feel all better.”

  She rocked her body, trying to soothe him, while she checked on Billie. Her daughter’s head was resting to the side with her mouth open, sleeping soundlessly. She returned to the handle of the stroller and pushed it across the street. Once they were on the sidewalk, she was able to see the hospital, the large brick building that was multiple stories high.

  It was the same place she had rushed herself to when she felt sick, the place where her husband had fixed her, where he would heal their son as soon as she got him there.

  She’d been on this path countless times. She knew the potholes, the places in the sidewalk where the pavement cracked and grass grew in between, so she weaved the stroller, avoiding the bumps and dips.

  As she got closer to the end of the block, she noticed a car on the cross street, coming over the top of the hill. Since the car had a red light and the signal on the crosswalk was telling her to go, she began to walk across. With each step, she kept her hand tightly squeezed around the stroller, holding Andrew with her other arm, where he was fussing under the scarf.