Coming Home (Friends & Lovers Book 2)

by PE Kavanagh

  Lucas barely moved from the edge of the bed, watching her as if something dramatic could happen at any moment. “How are you feeling now?”

  She swallowed, the world coming into greater focus. “So much better. Wow.”

  He shifted a few inches closer to her and touched her cheek. “God, Mo, I’ve been so worried. I’ve been Googling if this sort of sickness and fatigue was normal, but there weren’t any articles on what happens if at the same time you’re grieving a loved one, so I had to extrapolate, and I wasn’t sure what to do-”

  “It’s all right, love.” She held his palm over her mouth, inhaling him, then brought it down to her chest. “I’m sorry I was so useless. I didn’t want to worry anyone. Especially my Dad. He’ll-”

  Lucas’ grimace preceded her recognition by a fraction of a second. Before the dam of her composure broke, his arms were around her, his hand stroking her hair.

  Tears stopped flowing well before the feeling of crying passed. Perhaps she’d overused her crying ability. Running out of tears was poetic. Maybe it really happened.

  She lifted her head off his shoulder. “I’m going to lie down, okay?”

  “Mo, sweetheart, of course. I’m here if you need anything.”

  “Will you stay with me?”

  He didn’t hesitate before crossing over to the other side of the bed and enveloping her in his body. She released herself into his hold, their palms stacked on her belly. Where their baby was busy trying to kill her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ramona looked between Connor and Lucas huddled in the entryway, grumbling in their man voices. She could have tried to discern what they were saying, but that would have required focus. And giving a shit. Whatever it was, she’d find out soon enough.

  The change of scenery, from darkened bedroom to bright living room, was pleasant, for the moment. The late afternoon sun streaked pinks and purples across the sky, softening the bare branches of the dark trees. It had been days since she’d left the house and she wondered if it was as cold as it appeared.

  She curled her legs underneath her and settled into the corner of the couch. She considered reaching over to the other end to retrieve a blanket, but it was too much effort. Her morning, mostly spent over the toilet, had zapped her energy.

  Connor raised his voice. Again, something unintelligible. Had they forgotten that she was sitting just a feet away from them? Maybe they thought she was as delirious as she had been all week. She hadn’t quite decided if this newfound awareness was a good thing or not.

  She’d agreed that Lucas could tell Connor about the pregnancy. It wasn’t her first choice, considering how early it must be. For whatever reason, she knew that announcements weren’t supposed to be made until twelve weeks. Too many of those medical shows, probably.

  It’s not like this was a real announcement, anyway. More like an explanation for her incapacitation. Connor would probably think it was great news, although the scowl on his face didn’t quite support that theory.

  Something about this supposedly impromptu family meeting had the veneer of an intervention. Less Lucas’ posture than her brother’s. Connor stood as if he was preparing to deliver a stern lecture. Lucas threw his hands up and turned away from her red-faced brother.

  Both of their expressions flipped when they noticed her appraising them. Lucas sat next to her and Connor took the seat on the other side of the coffee table. She took a sip from the lukewarm tea Lucas had made for her. The taste had initially made her gag, but she was used to it now, and it did help with the nausea.

  Her brother spoke first. “I’m really worried about you, Mo.” He turned toward Lucas. “We both are.”

  This was not off to a good start. Worried about you was her brother’s code for I’m going to tell you what you’re doing wrong. “Really?”

  Connor continued. “Yes, really. You need to see a doctor. You’ve been out of commission for a week. This isn’t normal.”

  She looked over at Lucas to see if he was buying this bullshit. He turned his attention to his lap.

  Ramona forced herself to sit up, a defensive posture forming over her weakened body. “I see.”

  “Lucas told me you haven’t even confirmed the pregnancy yet. I think you need to do that. To know how far along you are. And to rule out anything else.”

  She glared at her brother. “Anything else? Like what, Connor?”

  He cleared his throat. “You’ve been having a hard time, Mo. You can’t deny that. Sometimes the body can play tricks on us-”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I’m having some hysterical grief pregnancy? Maybe you’re the one who’s not in their right mind, Con.”

  Lucas brought his hand to her thigh. “That’s not what he meant, Mo. That’s-”

  “You two have some nerve. While I’ve been nursing my dying father, you,” she turned to Connor, “were pretending to be politician of the century, and you,” she turned to Lucas, “were trying to be Bob the Builder. I was the one, day and night, taking care of him, taking care of everyone. And now that I’m legitimately ill, that I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been, that I cannot grasp that my father is dead, you think it’s okay to tell me that I’m not behaving appropriately? Fuck you. Fuck you both.” She would have stood up for dramatic effect, but she was fairly certain her legs wouldn’t hold her.

  Connor rose and marched toward the door. Ramona was surprised, but not unhappy, that he was ending this discussion so abruptly. When he turned back and walked toward her, she realized he was pacing. The Barrett signature move.

  “I’m not sure why you’re so angry with me. I’m really trying to be patient with you. I know everything’s intense for you right now.” Connor stopped, turned his body to face her, but kept his gaze down toward the floor. “Yes, Dad getting sick was the impetus I needed to go after what I wanted. It’s my way of making a difference.”

  She couldn’t grimace hard enough. “Yeah, the Barrett political legacy really makes a difference.”

  “What the fuck, Ramona? You think you’ve got the monopoly on doing good? Where is all this coming from?” His four paces toward the door didn’t fool her this time. She knew he’d be heading right back. “You seem to forget, little sister, that I came back. I’ve been here, all these years, while you stayed as far away as possible. I’m the one who took care of Dad through every fucking crisis. You come in at the end to make a grand appearance and think that you’ve got a lockdown on caring? Well, that’s just as selfish as you’ve always been.”

  Lucas got to his feet. “That’s enough, Con.”

  “Is it? Because you know as well as I do that she didn’t even come back for Dad. She came back here for you, so you could shack up and play house, and now she’s pregnant, and everyone’s acting like it’s a huge fucking tragedy.”

  In two steps, Lucas had placed himself between Connor and a disintegrating Ramona. “You need to stop.”

  Ramona wished she could say something, but opening her mouth at this moment felt incredibly risky. For many reasons.

  Lucas grasped his best friend’s shoulder. “Everyone’s suffering here. But now is not the time to be-”

  Connor jerked out of his grip and glared at Ramona. “I came here today to help. To be there for you. But I see you’re still running the same game - run away and condemn. Are you going to shun us all like you did to Dad? Like you did to Lucas? Is it my turn to get the blame for everything?”

  Ramona curled into herself as Connor loomed over her. She squeezed her eyes shut but knew exactly what expression had taken hold of his face. Their grandfather’s fury in a different voice.

  “You need to go.”

  She didn’t understand how Lucas’ voice had remained so calm. Grumbling voices, shuffling feet, and a door closing flashed in her awareness, but the shell around her was hardening by the second. The next sensation was Lucas’ arms around her, lifting her off the couch.

  She held on. “I’m going to be sick. Again.”


  He walked faster.

  * * *

  After cleaning herself up in the bathroom, Ramona slid into bed. It took several minutes to still the hard beating of her heart. She would have been angry if it didn’t take so much damn energy.

  Lucas slipped in beside her. “I’m sorry, babe. That went terribly wrong. I didn’t know…” He touched her arm so lightly she could hardly feel it. “It wasn’t right to do that to you. I was desperate, and Connor convinced me he needed to talk to you.” He fiddled with the sheet. “I want you to know that I trust you and I’m here for you. And you need to go to the doctor.”

  She opened her eyes enough to catch his. “Do you think I’m crazy, too?”

  “Absolutely not. But you’re suffering and we need to find out… confirm… what’s going on.”

  So many emotions swirled underneath the fixed line of his brow. One day, she’d have to find out what he’d been going through while she was incapacitated. For now, there was one thing she needed from him. “Doctor Sanchez’ number is in my phone. Can you call in the morning?”

  “Of course.”

  She fell asleep.

  * * *

  Something about having to get up and get ready to leave the house filled Ramona with more energy than she’d had in days. Or maybe it was her brother’s rage-filled voice, playing on a loop, that electrified every movement. It was as if someone had turned on the power to her brain. Sure, Connor was going to get an earful from her as soon as she had the chance, but in the meantime she let it go. Lashing out was the Barrett way, especially when cornered or frightened. He was hurting, and maybe even felt abandoned. Neither she nor Lucas had been available to him. Ramona, the mediator, might have to make an appearance.

  The cold hit her as soon as she stepped out of the house, but it felt glorious, as if she was coming back to life. Lucas wanted to carry her to the car, but she insisted on walking. Every step reinforced her intention to be strong. To be capable. To be the woman who handled whatever came her way.

  She stroked his arm while he drove. He’d never mentioned it, but worry was carved into his face. Maybe it wasn’t fair to have asked him to hold everything up while she collapsed into a pool of uselessness. He carried his distress so differently than she did. Hers was the armor that either shielded her or weighed so heavily that it dropped her to the ground. His was like a child in his arms who he vowed to protect and yet, touched with unbounded tenderness.

  He was going to make an amazing father.

  * * *

  Lucas never let go of her hand during the multiple examinations. He might have even been shaking. But aside from the plastic bucket that never moved a few inches away from her, Ramona felt like herself again. All of this emotional collapse, of this poor me nonsense, had to stop.

  “Yes, you’re about eight weeks pregnant.” Dr. Sanchez smiled and paused. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you sooner. Especially considering the extent of your morning sickness.”

  “Sorry, doctor. My father just died and I’ve been having trouble coping.”

  Lucas squeezed her hand. “It’s been a really hard time. I’ve never seen anyone this sick. Is there anything you can do?”

  “There is a condition, called hyperemesis gravidarum, which might be indicated considering the intensity of your sickness. I’m going to hold off on that diagnosis just yet, as there are several other factors at play. Right now, we have to address the dehydration. It’s at a dangerous level, Ramona. I’d like to admit you, just for a day or two, to give you IV fluids and nutrients. Will that work?”

  She looked up to Lucas’ face, concern darkening his eyes. Don’t be scared, Ramona. “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll call down to get a bed. As for helping with the nausea and vomiting, there are several medicinal interventions. None without risk, unfortunately. We’ve had great results with a B vitamin regimen. Many women also find relief from natural remedies, like ginger, and slight shifts to their diet. And it all goes away around twelve weeks for many of us. I can prescribe you something, if you need.”

  Ramona shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I’ll be fine. I think the combination of things made it much worse for me. I wasn’t taking care of myself, but now I will. I promise.”

  Dr. Sanchez had the best bedside face, all soft and pretty and full of compassion. Ramona thought they might have been good friends if they had met socially. “Ramona, there’s one more thing. Grief is a powerful emotion. And it often takes much longer than we expect to work its way out of us. I would recommend getting some support. I can give you a list of referrals for therapy. It’s your choice, of course, but you might find it beneficial.”

  Ramona wasn’t quite sure why her breath quickened. It almost felt like fear. “No, thank you. I’m feeling much better.” She tried to smile convincingly, but a jumble of anxiety and despair pressed against her cheeks.

  “Maybe we could just take the list anyway. In case you change your mind,” Lucas said to the doctor.

  “Good. Let me put it together.” Dr. Sanchez turned back before stepping through the door. “You can get dressed now.”

  Ramona slid off the vinyl exam table, the crinkly paper sticking to the backs of her legs. Lucas’ hand on her back stopped her from reaching toward her clothes, folded on a chair.

  The look on his face - watery eyes, a twitch around the edge of his lips - was not at all what she expected. This situation was scary as hell, but at least she didn’t have a huge tumor.

  “Lucas… what’s going on?”

  He rubbed a palm up and down his face, then huffed out a few breaths. Someone had turned the fear knob all the way up.

  “Say something. Please.”

  His arm dropped to his side. “We’re having a baby.”

  She nodded, waiting for him to continue. It took an excruciatingly long time.

  “You,” he pointed to her belly, “are carrying our baby. What I want to do is jump up and down, howling and singing. I want to go hug every nurse, doctor, and patient in this place. I want to run into the street and announce it to the world. This is a day I won’t ever forget.”

  She put her hand on his chest. “Yes, honey, I understand.”

  He stepped back, out of her reach. “No, I don’t think so. Because I look at your face and what I see is sadness and pain. What I feel is you pushing me away, when all I want is to pull you in as tight and close as I can get you.”

  “I… I’m not… I’m trying to be strong. To feel okay. To take all of this in and… “ The struggle between protecting him and telling the truth stole her words.

  “It’s fine, Mo. I don’t want you to fake happiness. I want you to be happy.”

  She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, dropping her head onto his chest. His ragged breathing was hard enough. She couldn’t watch him cry.

  The opening door startled her, nearly causing her to lose her balance.

  “As soon as you’re ready, I have your papers. The bed is waiting. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  Ramona dressed without speaking or even looking at Lucas. There was nothing she could say that would convince him that it was going to be okay. Probably because she didn’t know if it was.

  * * *

  They walked in silence to the parking lot and drove the short distance to the main part of the hospital campus. Registration was surprisingly smooth, and she was in a small curtained room within a few minutes. Lucas held her hand as the nurse set up the IV.

  “I’ll be fine here tonight, honey. I know it’s a busy night at the restaurant.”

  The line of his lips hardened before he spoke. “I’m not going anywhere, Ramona. Luis is running things tonight.”

  “Oh.” She shifted in the small bed as he reached back to pull a chair closer to where he stood.

  The distance between them created a cavity in the center of her body. “Will you lay down with me?”

  “I don’t think we’ll both fit in that tiny bed.”

&
nbsp; She slid all the back to the far edge, back against the guard rail, leaving an open space for him. “Please.”

  He laid down, careful to avoid the tubes leading from her arm to the hanging IV bag. She curled herself into him and closed her eyes. “I love you, Lucas.”

  “I know.”

  It wouldn’t have been hard to say to him, “I am happy.” To ease his worries of rejection or fatherhood or whatever else it was. She could have done it, but those words wouldn’t come.

  * * *

  Ramona bargained and pleaded with the doctors to let her leave the next night. All she wanted was to get home, back to her own bed. Maybe at home, in their home, she’d be able to find something to say that would fix all the hurt.

  Lucas walked her to their bedroom, tucked her into bed, then excused himself to his office. Paperwork was his reason. She knew better. Although the extreme nausea was gone, and her head was clearer than it had been in weeks, there was no satisfaction in being home. Just like that night, after their argument about Connor, the one she needed closest to her was moving farther and farther away.

  The slight jostle of the bed as he got in woke her. She hadn’t even realized she’d dozed off, waiting for him.

  She snuggled in next to him.

  “You’re awake.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased.

  “Will you be my awake friend?”

  He didn’t hesitate to pull her into him, their bodies fitting together as if they were formed that way. “Of course.”

  “I know you’ve had to deal with so much. I’ve been useless for weeks, and instead of being grateful, I’ve just been…” There really wasn’t a word.

  His chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry that I’m ruining this for you. It’s just hard to imagine that this is happening. We just became us, and now it’s going to be so much more. I’m not sure I’m ready.”