What Mattered Most

by Linda Winfree

  With the towel wrapped around his waist, he leaned down and lifted Sonny from the carrier. The baby tucked against his uninjured shoulder, he lifted the carrier and took it through with him to the bedroom. Sonny screeched, his entire body scrunched up. Like always, the level of need in that cry unnerved him. How could he ever be what Sonny needed? He’d let Lanie down. What would keep him from failing his son?

  After depositing the carrier on the bed, John headed for the kitchen, talking to the baby all the way down the stairs. He brushed his mouth against the wispy hair on the tiny head. Warmth flooded his chest. He wouldn’t fail with Sonny. He’d make sure of it. No matter what else happened, this kid would always have a dad who cared about him, who put him first.

  “All right, what’s the matter? Hungry?” The heartbroken wails subsided a little. John didn’t glance at the unpainted drywall patch in the hallway. He’d had someone in yesterday, filling in the hole left by Lanie’s shot that didn’t find its target. The memories the patch aroused turned his stomach—he didn’t need to see it to be reminded how close Lanie and Sonny had come to dying or how close to death Lanie remained.

  The rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the kitchen, and as he pulled one of Sonny’s bottles from the fridge, he sent a yearning look at the coffee maker. He couldn’t bring himself to risk trying to juggle a mug of hot coffee, the baby and a bottle. Coffee would have to wait since Sonny had no intention of doing so.

  “Just a second.” He dropped the bottle in the warmer and rubbed Sonny’s back in light circles. He disentangled the baby’s clutching fingers from his chest hair. “Guess what we’re doing today? We’re going to see your mom. She’s not awake yet, but I’ll bet she’ll know you’re there, Sonny Buck.”

  The nickname sent a grin quirking at his mouth, as it always did. Out of desperation, he’d started calling the baby Sonny, as in my son, not wanting to officially name him until Lanie awakened. Somehow, Buck had ended up attached to the Sonny and seemed a natural addition.

  The act of getting out of the house took much longer than John was used to. No more tossing on jeans and a sweater and heading for the car. He was still trying to master the art of dressing his son—just keeping socks on his tiny feet was a major feat. He lived in fear of snapping a fragile arm or leg while easing it into a garment. Once he had Sonny dressed, the formula bottles, diaper bag and car seat remained to be tackled.

  The absolute worst was driving with the baby in the back seat. John found himself driving ten miles per hour slower than he ever had before, watching each intersection for crazed, drunken drivers.

  When he finally reached the hospital parking lot, he released a relieved sigh. The exhalation resulted in a wave of pain across his still-healing ribs. Waiting for the soreness to recede, he watched his fingers tremble on the steering wheel, a trembling that had nothing to do with physical pain and everything with fear.

  He remembered this helpless apprehension from childhood, born from long hours of gauging his stepfather’s moods and later from those two short days spent praying with the fervency of a child that his mother would live. Only waiting for Lanie to wake up clenched his gut with two warring fears—panic that she wouldn’t, dread that everything was over when she did.

  When he stepped out of the car, a cold, salty breeze tickled his ears and nose. He lifted Sonny’s car seat from the back and made sure the blanket protected him from the wind. With his collar flipped up against the chill, he jogged across the parking lot as fast as his ribs would allow.

  At the front desk, John picked up a visitor’s pass, glad he’d cleared this visit with Sheila. Early in the morning, few people walked the halls, and the waiting room area on Lanie’s wing was empty. Eerie silence hung in the disinfectant-laden air.

  John pushed Lanie’s door open and stepped into her room, greeted by the steady pulse of her heart monitor. The puffiness under her eyes had receded, the bruising fading from red to purple with tinges of yellow at the edges. He eased Sonny’s carrier to the floor and sank into the chair by the bed. “Lanie? It’s me.”

  As always, he waited for a response that didn’t come. He touched her hand, a careful caress designed to avoid the IV tube. He glanced up at the bag of fluids and antibiotics. “Honey? I brought Sonny with me. I thought if he was close…maybe it would help. You’ve got to wake up, Lanie. He needs a name, and I…I don’t deserve to be the one to name him. Sheila helped me get around that for now, but he can’t be Baby Boy Falconetti forever, hon. We’re getting on okay, I think. I haven’t dropped him yet, but he needs his mom. He needs you.”

  With cautious movements, he leaned over and lifted Sonny from the car seat. The baby made a hiccuping sound in his sleep, and John smiled, turning his head to look at Lanie’s still form. “He doesn’t like to be picked up when he’s asleep.”

  He settled the baby in the curve of Lanie’s right arm, away from the IV tubing and monitor cords. His hand cupping his son’s head, he stroked Lanie’s face with his other. Guilt raked at him. It shouldn’t be this way. She should be awake, enjoying the first days of her son’s life, falling in love with him the way John had.

  He didn’t deserve to be falling in love with Sonny. He deserved to be the one lying in that bed, adrift. Eyes clenched shut, he leaned close. His lips feathered across her cheek, the skin warm under his mouth. His nose brushed her temple. The sharp, stinging aroma of Betadine had replaced the sweet scents of vanilla and cinnamon. “I’m sorry, Lanie. For everything. I know I keep saying that, but I am. More than you’ll ever know.”

  Before when he’d been this close to her, the sexual need had always blindsided him. Now, he still yearned, but the wanting was different. He wanted her awake, with him. He wanted her to look at him the way she had before, with love in her eyes. Again, he cursed himself for being too blind to see what had been right in front of him all along. What he felt for Beth—that hadn’t been love.

  The attraction, the overwhelming need he felt for Lanie—they had nothing to do with sexual fulfillment. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her because she’d filled the holes in his soul that being with Beth never had. Clinging to his hopeless infatuation for Beth had been a futile effort at self-protection, keeping him from seeing how empty his life would be without Lanie.

  Now he couldn’t miss it. He lived it, every second. The house echoed with her absence. At night, he woke and reached for her, his hand closing on vacant air. The heaviest emptiness lay in his heart.

  Sonny stirred, his tiny face scrunched in a grimace of displeasure. John lifted him before the cry started. With his son cradled against his shoulder, he took the chair by the bed again, the warm weight of Sonny’s small body his only real comfort.

  Bright morning sunlight bounced off the hospital’s wide, white steps. John squinted, glad the outside air had warmed while he’d been with Lanie. He glanced down at Sonny, who blinked at the brightness like Mr. Magoo. A rusty laugh rumbled through John’s chest, and he winced, regretting the lapse.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you not to laugh with broken ribs?” Burnett asked from John’s left. “It hurts.”

  “No kidding.” John wasn’t surprised to see him since he’d met Caitlin in the hall on his way out. She’d been chillier than the weather outside. He joined the other man against the railing and set the carrier on the low brick wall that ran the length of the steps. John tucked one of Sonny’s hands back under the blanket and quirked an eyebrow in Burnett’s direction. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cait’s car wouldn’t start. Gave her a ride over. Hey, have you eaten yet? I skipped breakfast, and I’m starved.”

  During the conversation, Sonny’s eyes had drifted shut. John watched his son’s mouth purse in a suckling motion and remembered that cup of coffee he’d never gotten. He shrugged. “I could eat.”

  Within minutes, they settled at a sunny corner table near the windows in the hospital’s cafeteria, but when John looked at his plate, his appetite vanished. How the hell could he eat
when Lanie still hovered where no one could reach her? He laid his fork down and took a long sip of coffee.

  “You know, your guilt isn’t doing any of you any good.”

  At Burnett’s matter of fact words, John’s head jerked up. Coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup, scalding his fingers. Anger sizzled along his nerves. “What the hell do you know about it?”

  Burnett picked up his own cup. “Probably more than you think.”

  “Sure you do.” John reached for his jacket. He didn’t need this.

  “I know it eats you up inside until there isn’t anything left for you to give to someone else.” Burnett indicated the baby with a glance. “I know you’re not responsible for Mitchell’s actions.”

  The words slammed against his chest. John closed his eyes. “Yeah, right. I put her in that situation just as surely as I did Beth. I am responsible for what happened to her. I should have—”

  “What? Kept Mitchell from getting to her? The way you did Cameron?” The questions hit John like punches to the gut, and he glared at the other man. He wanted to get up and leave, tell Burnett to go to hell, but something held him glued to the chair. “Come on, O’Reilly. Think like the cop you are. What could you have done?”

  “I don’t know.” John pushed out the words between clenched teeth.

  “The fact is, some people are just plain evil.” Burnett stabbed the tabletop with his index finger. “Mitchell is one of them. The question is this—how long are you going to let that evil run your life?” He tilted his head towards Sonny, still sleeping. “His life? Lanie’s?”

  John continued to glare at him, but the awful weight around his heart lifted, just slightly. “Are you done, Burnett?”

  “Yeah.” Burnett grinned and pointed his fork at John’s plate. “Now eat your breakfast.”

  Vanilla and cinnamon wrapped around him; hot fingers skimmed over his stomach. John reached for the hand, encircling the wrist and pulling those teasing fingers to his lips. Desire rippled through his abdomen, but he wanted more than physical release. “Lanie.”

  “What?” Her teasing laugh warmed his skin, her lips feathering along the edge of his ribcage.

  “Come here.” He tried to pull her up, into his embrace, but his leaden arms refused to work. “I need to tell you—”

  His eyes jerked open, and he stared at the living room ceiling. Nerves quivered under his skin, and he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. On the television, Jay Leno poked fun at a politician embroiled in a scandal. John shot a glance at the baby monitor on the coffee table. The absence of lights and sound told him Sonny still slept.

  God, that dream had been so real. He could still feel her touch on his skin, still smell her. Head thrown back, John rested an arm over his eyes. The urge to shout pushed against the lump in his throat.

  The phone’s shrill chirp shot through the room, and John startled, pain freezing his chest for a moment. The phone was on its fourth ring before he was able to grab it. “Hello?”

  “John, it’s Sheila.” Elation bubbled in her voice, and hope lifted in his chest. “She’s waking up.”

  An unfamiliar prayer of thanks flitted through his mind, and he reached for his discarded shoes. “How is she?”

  “She isn’t fully conscious yet. Cait’s with her now.”

  “I’m on my way.” He cradled the phone between chin and shoulder, tying his shoes with clumsy fingers. The awkward position compressed his screaming ribs, but he didn’t care. She was awake.

  “Would you like Tristan to stay with the baby? She’s getting ready to go off duty and said she wouldn’t mind staying the night over there so you could be here.”

  He was on his feet, searching for his car keys. “That would be great.”

  Impatience crawling under his skin, he met Tristan at the front door ten minutes later. When he paused to give her instructions, she laughed and pushed him toward the car. “I know what to do with a baby, John. Just go see about Lanie.”

  Doubt shadowed him during the drive to the hospital and along the quiet corridors. The memory of the angry hurt in her eyes rose to taunt him. What made him think she’d want to see him? He’d screwed up, destroyed everything. An icy lump of dread settled in his stomach, warring with the warmth of hope around his heart.

  Sheila met him in the waiting area. A hopeful smile lightened the tired lines of her face, but she shook her head at him when he entered the room. “She’s sleeping. She came around for a couple of minutes, but she wasn’t very coherent.”

  John jerked a hand through his hair. “I want to see her.”

  Her smile widened. “I thought you would. You can go in. I sent Cait home. She needs to get some sleep before she falls out from exhaustion.”

  Nerves holding his stomach in a vice grip, he eased into Lanie’s room. She lay with her eyes closed, one hand resting on her stomach, but there was a difference to this unconscious state. John couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it, could feel Lanie in the room with him again.

  Taking the chair by the bed, he folded his hands around hers and settled in to wait.

  Lanie drifted into awareness. Pain came first, a dull thud in her brain and a stinging in her arm. The detestable scent of hospital disinfectant followed, with an odd, rhythmic beeping noise trailing behind. A shiver sent fiery discomfort slicing through her abdomen. An urgent question nudged at her mind, but she was too tired to put the disjointed words together. Her teeth chattered, elevating the thud to a sharp roar.

  Warmth. The one warm spot on her body was her hand, and she focused on that sense of comfort.

  She opened heavy eyes to find John slumped in a chair by the bed, her hand in his loose grip. She blinked. What had happened to put that lost, tense expression on his face?

  His presence made her uncomfortable, sadness squeezing her heart. She tried to think past the pain and fuzziness, the fingers of her free hand tangling in the sheet. What happened to his nose?

  Her fingers moved in slow motion, brushing her thigh before resting against her lower stomach. The slight pressure increased the burning tenderness. Under her questing fingers, her stomach was soft and rounded, nothing like the hard bulge she knew should be there. The baby.

  A deluge of memories rushed in—blood, pain, a madman’s voice. What had happened to her baby?

  She moved her hand, trying to pull away. The only sound her raw throat produced was a weak mew. The effort drained her strength, and black dots hovered in front of her eyes. Weary, she let her lids drift shut. The darkness offered forgetfulness, and she reached out for it, let it take her.

  Fingers shifted, pushed at his grasp. That was enough to bring John to screaming awareness. He lifted his head. Lanie’s eyes were open. His fingers tightened around hers, and he rose to lean over her. “Lanie?”

  Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled. “Go…”

  Tears made her eyes glitter, and her fingers moved again. He stroked her forehead, a gentle caress. Joy tightened his chest, and his own eyes burned. “Hush. Don’t try to talk.”

  The tip of her tongue touched her chapped lips. “Baby?”

  Pride and love curled through him. A wide grin tugged at his mouth. He wished Sonny were here, that she could see the boy they’d made together. “He’s fine. The most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, next to you. Lanie, baby, I need to tell you—”

  “Cait.” Panic colored the word, and dread settled in his gut.

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight. She’ll probably be here soon.” He smiled at her, his fingers touching her cheek in a tentative caress. Her eyes narrowed. Foreboding shivered over his nerves, and he swallowed hard. He recognized that look. The same expression had iced her eyes when she’d cuffed him to his hospital bed. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Get…out.”

  He stilled, the smile wiped from his face. Desperation rushed through him in a sickening rush. “Lanie, baby, please. Don’t-”

  “Beth.” She spat the name at him, the heart rate
monitor jerking to a higher speed. The single syllable said everything.

  John pulled his hand from her face. Was this it? How everything between them was going to end? Damn it, he wouldn’t let her go this easily. He had to find a way to make her listen, make her see how wrong he’d been to think he still loved Beth, had ever loved her. “Baby, I know I screwed up—”

  “Don’t…want you…here.” Her lashes dipped, and a pair of tears shimmered across her cheek.

  “Lanie.” He took her hand again and felt the tension singing in her body. This couldn’t be good for her, but he had to try one last time. “Listen to me. Please.”

  Her wet, spiky lashes lifted. The florescent light glinted off her wet cheeks. John stared into golden eyes that before had always held warm desire for him. This time he saw nothing but ice—a cold, dark lack of emotion. She was lost to him. Her lips moved, and he leaned closer to catch the raspy word.

  “Out.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I can’t believe you’re defending him.” Lanie wrapped her fingers around the foam cup, willing them to work. She lifted the cup, and the weak trembling attacked her hand. Rivulets of icy water sloshed into her lap, and she winced. The urge to cry tickled at her throat. She hated being weak, so the last few hours had proved torturous. At least she could sit up, if resting against the elevated bed counted.

  Caitlin reached out to help her steady the cup. “I’m not defending him. All I’ve said is that he’s haunted the hospital the whole time you’ve been here.”