The Surgeon's Baby Surprise

by Charlotte Hawkes

  Ridiculous.

  It might be true, but it didn’t seem to make it any easier. Imogen clearly didn’t trust him, which didn’t make him feel any more confident.

  What would Evie do?

  Tentatively he lowered his head and, finding the bare skin on one flailing arm, he blew a brief raspberry. The effect was immediate as the wailing stopped. He lifted his head to let his eyes meet his daughter’s. She was watching him carefully, prepared to give him a chance, but woe betide him if he moved too fast.

  With a little more confidence, he blew another raspberry, on her cheek this time.

  The giggle of response was heart-lifting. Max felt an unexpected surge of pride at the simple achievement of making his daughter laugh. The tentacles of a bond began to reach out between father and daughter, and as his confidence grew so too did Imogen’s trust in him.

  Within minutes, he had her relaxed and ready to be changed, as she happily allowed him to unbutton her Babygro and open the sticky tabs holding her nappy on.

  He’d known babies’ nappies smelled; he’d been around a few. But he’d never been this close to a freshly removed one before. Max wrinkled his nose in disbelief.

  ‘That can’t really have all come from you,’ he teased dramatically, eliciting more giggles. ‘What have they been feeding you, hey?’

  He pulled a handful of wipes out of the packet, paused, then doubled it. He could hear Evie’s soft chuckle of amusement in his head but he didn’t care.

  Then he glanced back at the nappy with concern.

  ‘You’re not coming down with something, are you?’

  His head moved automatically to check her forehead, her tummy. There was no suggestion of a temperature, but still.

  He’d heard of doctors—good, competent doctors—who reassured other parents about their babies every day, but who had to get colleagues to check things when they had babies of their own because they couldn’t trust their own judgement. They’d always claimed it was different when it came to your own children.

  He’d always thought it ridiculous. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  The idea of Imogen coming down with any kind of infection, especially given her additional vulnerability, actually caused his chest to tighten. The edges of a fear he’d never before experienced.

  He thrust the thought away. No, the medical bit was the stuff he could trust; that bit he understood. Reaching for the LCD screen from the wall, Max typed in a search. Then he compared the image on the screen in front of him with the nappy. Definitely the expected colour. Imogen was fine.

  And since when did he panic over nothing? Since when had he ever panicked?

  Even so, it took him several minutes of carefully lifting Imogen’s ankles and methodically cleaning all traces until she was perfectly pink and clean, and smelling of baby wipes, until his heart finally started to slow down. Then, dabbing a little cream in place, he deftly secured a fresh nappy in place, before lifting her up to check his handiwork.

  ‘Pretty good.’ He nodded his head at Imogen. ‘We did a good job there, little lady.’

  Imogen gurgled as if in agreement, then, reaching out her chubby fingers, grabbed his hair and pulled him in, giggling in anticipation of another raspberry.

  ‘There’s a rugby game on TV tonight,’ he told her brightly. ‘I haven’t had a chance to watch a game in years. What say you grab a bottle and I’ll grab a pizza, and we can watch it together?’

  Imogen snuggled down into him.

  ‘Okay, then it’s agreed.’ He dropped a kiss onto her head without thinking. ‘I don’t think this babysitting lark is going to be too bad after all.’

  Although, was it really babysitting if the baby was your own? Max wondered, a half-smile moulding itself to his mouth.

  Forget all his preconceptions and fears about not being a good enough father. His daughter was incredible enough to make him learn to become a good father. The best father he could be.

  And if he was father material then surely that meant he was other kinds of family material, too?

  So where might that leave him with Evie?

  * * *

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Guilty, uncertain, scared. Petrified might be more like it.

  ‘Not bad.’ She dredged up a smile.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Where’s Imogen?’

  ‘Outside. One of your junior doctors jumped at the chance to cuddle her whilst I came to see if you were up to one last visit with her this morning. Apparently I’m to tell you that she’s even more adorable than you made her out to be.’

  ‘That’ll be Richie.’ Evie smiled again, more sincere this time. ‘He’s been great. He has three sisters and a brother.’

  ‘Right.’ Max nodded blankly.

  ‘You don’t know who he is, do you?’

  ‘Should I?’ Max was unconcerned. The hospital was a big place—not everyone knew each other.

  ‘He told me he was on your service for six months a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Come to mention it, he did look familiar,’ Max responded thoughtfully, not a trace of shame at his oversight.

  It was well known that Max never bothered to find out anything about the people he worked with and she knew for a fact that he’d never really considered colleagues’ reasons for getting into the medical profession.

  ‘You know, showing an interest in people’s lives outside the hospital isn’t always a bad thing,’ she told him. ‘Sometimes it reveals traits or skills you can’t learn in a lecture theatre or an operating room, but which can be just as important in boosting a patient’s confidence.’

  ‘It also invites interactions with people which aren’t case or hospital related,’ he argued. ‘And if they don’t further a patient’s treatment or someone’s learning, then they’re little more than a waste of time.’

  ‘You sound so—’ She stopped abruptly. She couldn’t tell him how like his cold, unforgiving parents he sounded in that moment.

  ‘So...what?’ demanded Max harshly, as though he knew what she’d been about to say.

  Wheels spun in her head.

  ‘So jaded,’ she offered, relieved when he seemed to believe her. She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, thanks for bringing Imogen back in this morning. I’ll take any opportunity to spend time with her before the operation.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ he acceded, leaving her room to fetch Imogen.

  Evie blew out a long breath. The transplant team would be coming in soon to start the main pre-op process, getting her into a hospital gown, inserting an IV line into her hand and catheters in her neck to monitor her blood pressure and heart.

  Her eyes pricked the moment Max rounded the corner, Imogen in his arms.

  ‘Say hi to Mummy,’ he told his daughter softly, lowering her gently into Evie’s eager arms.

  ‘Hey, sweetpea,’ Evie choked out. It was illogical but being separated from her daughter, who she’d never been apart from for more than a few hours at a time since Imogen’s birth, seemed like the worst part of this transplant process, so far.

  As Imogen reached out, her chubby fingers locking around Evie’s hair and tugging, it was frustrating to realise she didn’t even have the strength to keep her daughter at bay. The previous day Imogen had been mercifully sleepy and quiet but this morning she was clearly full of energy. When Max reached out silently to take his daughter back, empathy in his gaze, Evie couldn’t hold back the sob.

  ‘Don’t worry, a couple of days and it will all be different,’ he soothed. ‘You’ll have a new kidney and you’ll be strong enough for your daughter to come back and visit you again. Before you know it, your life will be better than you remember it for a long time.’

  She flashed him a grateful smile, watching as he easily shifted his daughter in his arms, sooth
ing her objections at being taken from her mother.

  It was like watching a different man from the one she’d left thirty-six hours ago. Two nights alone with his daughter and already he seemed much more at ease, holding her and chatting with her. Even as he talked to Evie, he was simultaneously distracting and entertaining their baby. Not to mention the fact that Imogen was dressed beautifully, and not in a mismatch of clothes as she’d seen throughout her career when some fathers had been left in charge of their children.

  ‘You mastered the nappy, then?’ She tried for a weak joke, gratified when Max looked proud of himself.

  ‘I have.’ He grinned. ‘She doesn’t see me coming and shriek her head off any more.’

  ‘You look good together,’ managed Evie.

  She knew she had to stay positive, stay focused, but she couldn’t deny that it was a relief to know that, if anything did go wrong, Imogen would still have at least one biological parent in her life. Even though Evie knew that her brother and Annie would always be there for the little girl.

  ‘You’re not getting morbid, are you?’ he chastised.

  ‘Of course not.’ Biting the inside of her cheek, Evie executed the bare-faced lie with grace. He didn’t buy it for a second.

  She wasn’t prepared when, settling on the bed beside her, Max pulled her into his arms. She stiffened, unsure what to do. Then, like a floodgate giving way, she crumpled against him. The silent sobs wracked her body even as Max held her oblivious daughter on the other side of him, comforting her more than she could have imagined with his free hand.

  He dropped a kiss onto the back of her head as she bent forward, holding onto him, her forehead resting on his chest, and she lifted her head to look at him.

  ‘We need to talk, Max.’

  ‘What about?’ he asked her.

  But now wasn’t the time to tell him about his parents. Or about the money.

  ‘Not now. If I get through this.’

  ‘When you get through this,’ Max corrected throatily. ‘We need you, Imogen and me.’

  We? The word sounded so good to her ears, even if he was only saying it to be encouraging.

  For one perfect moment it was just the three of them in a bubble and nothing existed outside them. Not her transplant, not his parents, and not the fact that she and Max didn’t really know the first thing about each other.

  If her operation went well, then all that had to change. She and Max had to find the best solution with their daughter’s best interests in mind. They needed to get to know each other. Spend time together.

  Which meant she needed to tell him about his parents. And the money.

  There was no more making excuses.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAX SWEPT TOWARDS the automatic doors of the transplant unit as he had so many times before as a surgeon. But this time was different.

  This whole week going backwards and forwards with Evie, even before the transplant, had been different.

  He moved down to Evie’s wing, pressing the buzzer for access and sanitising his hands thoroughly even though he’d done it the minute he’d dropped Imogen off at the crèche moments earlier.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked softly as he stepped into Evie’s room.

  ‘Not bad, believe it or not.’

  Her voice was a little scratchy from the intubation during surgery and she was lying on the bed, awake but tired-looking. He was hardly surprised to see she was out of her hospital gown and dressed in soft, loose-fitting clothes. If she’d whipped her packed day case out of the wardrobe he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.

  ‘The nurses warned me that you’d got yourself up and out of bed and made them help you dress the instant the anaesthetic had worn off,’ he rebuked, but there was no heat in his voice.

  ‘I’ve already been through this with them, Max.’ Evie grinned. ‘They encourage you to be active—walking reduces the swelling and expedites the recovery process. They say you should try getting up and around and into a good routine as soon as the anaesthetic wears off if you can. Certainly the day after a successful transplant, like this.’

  ‘Which means gradual exercise only.’ He refused to let her browbeat him the way she clearly was doing with her nurses.

  ‘My creatinine is already down to one point four, my potassium is normal, and there’re no issues from the steroids. Even the sickness is gone.’ She ticked them off on her fingers as though for his benefit. ‘The hardest part is remembering to drink enough water after having my fluid intake restricted for so long. Walking for my health is the least I can do.’

  ‘Whilst still remembering what your body has just been through, and what it’s trying to recover from.’

  ‘My transplant went perfectly,’ she argued.

  ‘Your transplant went very smoothly,’ he was prepared to acknowledge. ‘But that still doesn’t mean you push it.’

  ‘Fine.’ She raised one hand dismissively but it was a half-hearted gesture. She was clearly tired. ‘How’s Imogen?’

  ‘She’s great,’ he replied softly. ‘But she misses you.’

  All other thoughts visibly slid from Evie’s head as a pain welled in her eyes, and Max felt for her. Evie obviously missed her daughter more than she’d even feared she would. It would be a while before she would be able to cuddle Imogen again, probably close to discharge. Evie was still too vulnerable to infection after her transplant, and babies like Imogen seemed to have a permanent cold or some such virus, even though Max was determined to keep Imogen as safe as he possibly could.

  He determined that, after the visit was over here, he’d bring Imogen to the window outside Evie’s room so that they could at least see each other, if only through the glass, as long as it didn’t upset the baby. Knowing Imogen, it probably wouldn’t; his daughter’s resilience and strength of character was beginning to blow him away.

  ‘She’s amazing, you know.’ The words tripped out of his mouth, taking both of them by surprise.

  ‘I know.’ Evie nodded vigorously.

  ‘She’s incredible, and tiny, and beautiful. And she’s my daughter. Our daughter,’ he exclaimed incredulously, pride swelling up inside him. ‘I’d like to be a part of her life. A proper part.’

  Time stood still as she tried to process what Max was saying. Her heart hammered in her chest.

  ‘What do you mean by a “proper part”? How?’

  ‘I mean that I don’t want to be an occasional father.’

  ‘So, weekends? Holidays?’ There was an edge to her voice that she appeared to be unsuccessfully fighting.

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I always hoped you’d have a relationship with your daughter. For Imogen to have her father in her life.’

  ‘But?’ he prompted.

  ‘Nothing,’ Evie muttered, leaving him with the distinct impression there was something he was missing.

  Before she could register, he reached out and took her hand in one of his, his other hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. He didn’t understand what compelled him but it felt so oddly intimate and his chest constricted painfully.

  ‘But how would it work, Max? Would you expect me to disrupt my life, move to be closer to you? Away from my family? The people who have supported me?’

  She was trying to pick a fight with him now, he realised. He was definitely missing something.

  ‘Just think about it, Evie. Okay?’

  It said a lot for how he’d grown to care for Imogen in such a short time. Would Evie try to deny a relationship between them? He already knew he could never accept that. His daughter was already a part of his life. Nothing could change that.

  Another awkward silence settled over them and they both shifted uncomfortably. The room was stifling. He wanted to get th
em both out of there, into a less claustrophobic environment, but he didn’t want to strong-arm Evie.

  He didn’t need to worry, she must have felt the same way as she was pushing herself up and slowly swinging her legs over the side of her bed, wincing as the incision site came under pressure. He was at her side in an instant.

  ‘Here, take my hand.’

  For a moment she hesitated but then reluctantly stretched out her arm and allowed Max to help her off the bed. There they stood, toe to toe, neither of them daring to move, even daring to breathe. Could it be that she did still want him, after all?

  ‘How do you really feel?’ he asked huskily, fire practically crackling along his veins.

  ‘It feels good to be free of the burden of dialysis, free of feeling as though my body was letting me down, free of feeling like I’m too ill to really be...attractive.’

  And Max had certainly made her feel desirable with that kiss only a week ago, in that side room.

  The gap between them was tiny and yet it felt like a veritable chasm. He was tempted to reach down and press his lips to hers, the way he had done a week ago, but he had no idea how she would react.

  Time ticked by and still neither of them moved.

  Finally, almost jerkily, Max stepped away, turning his back on her so that she couldn’t read his expression. Not that he knew what it would tell her. When he spoke he heard the tell-tale hoarseness in his voice.

  ‘Shall we go for a coffee?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’ She tried for an easy smile but it looked tight and uncomfortable on her lips and she gave up before turning away.

  ‘Lead on, Speedy,’ he tried to tease, sounding as awkward as she had.

  At least that might make her feel a smidgen better.

  Making her way out of the room, her body loosening up and appearing less alien with every step, she set the pace down the hallway and to the patient area. The loaded silence slowly gave way to a more companionable peace, as he’d hoped, as they left the confinement of her room behind them.