Burn Baby Byrne: A Secret Baby Romance (Byrne Brothers Book 2)

by Holly Hart

  Kieran and I aren’t married, not yet. I didn’t want to have to grease myself up to slip into my wedding dress. If that makes me a bad Catholic, then so be it. I guess I am. But it will happen, soon enough. Believe me; I’m counting down the days.

  Oh, and did you hear about Ridley? I heard he found himself a woman. But I guess that’s a story for another day.

  My breathing is slow, calm, and steady. I feel like I’ve been through fifteen rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson over the past few days. Hell, over the past few months. Anyone that’s ever said being a mom is easy doesn’t know how wrong they are. Raising a kid is hard enough, but giving birth to one?

  It’s like climbing Everest without gloves.

  Little Claire rests on my chest. My eyelids flicker shut once, twice, a third time. It looks like I’m looking out through a field of wheat waving gently in the breeze. I struggle to keep them open, but it’s hard. I’m still in the hospital, and there isn’t much to catch my attention. It’s a private room, but that doesn’t help. It just means there’s no one on the ward to chat to.

  “You okay, baby?” I croon to the little girl sleeping on me. Claire was inside me, sleeping, for nine months and yet the first thing she does after being born? Take a nap… I don’t know why, but I can’t stop the corners of my lips jerking upward. I find it funny, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just sleep deprived.

  Hell, I know I’m sleep deprived!

  Claire is so light – five pounds, six ounces, but who’s counting – that it’s hard to believe she’s real. I feel like if I was to stop clutching her, even for a second, she might fly away, caught on a non-existent breeze. I look down at her with half-lidded eyes. I could just fall asleep; here, now. I could sleep forever and I would be happy just to have held her once.

  My head tips backwards. I’m just so exhausted. I rest like that for a few seconds: maybe longer; a few minutes? It’s hard to tell. A clock on the far wall ticks, ticks, ticks, until it’s a rhythm in my head, like a heartbeat. I slump back; I imagine that I’m Claire, and on my stomach: everything’s beating; thump, thump, thump.

  I need a nap.

  The door clicks open. It’s so quiet that I almost miss it. I haven’t the energy even to look up. It’s probably just a nurse, come to take more blood, or check my pulse, or something.

  I feel a familiar warmth nearby. I let myself smile. I know exactly who it is. It’s Kieran. I don’t know how, but I can sense him now. It feels like he’s a part of me, as much as I am a part of him. How can I explain it? It’s like knowing that your leg is your leg. Maybe it’s the way Kieran smells, the way he breathes, the way he walks – maybe it’s all of it.

  Or maybe it’s the way I just feel safe the second I know he’s around.

  I feel a momentary brush of fingers on my chest, then a coolness as Kieran lifts Claire’s sleeping, tiny body off me. He’s the only person I would allow to do that without a complaint: without a loud complaint. Instead, I just lie back, just pretending to be asleep, watching out of mostly-closed eyes.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Kieran whispers, as he holds Claire close to his body. Her red hair – God only knows where that came from – is a bright red shock against Kieran’s white shirt. It reminds me of a fox dancing through a snowy field in midwinter – prancing around, light and lithe and happy on its paws.

  “You’re just as beautiful as your ma, you know that?” Kieran continues, still in a half whisper that carries throughout the room. A little sparkle of happiness dances across my skin. I know what you’re thinking – it’s just the feeling of the coarse hospital bed sheets dragging against my aching skin, my bruised nipples – but you’d be wrong. It’s real. For the first time, in as long as I can remember, I’m truly happy.

  “I’d say you were more beautiful, but I know she’s listening,” Kieran whispers.

  My eyes spring open. The thick field of wheat clears from my side, and I see Kieran dressed in his Sunday best, and in full color. Suddenly I’ve got energy again – outraged energy, but energy nonetheless.

  “How did you know?” I whisper, low enough that I won’t wake Claire, hard enough to let Kieran know I’m demanding an answer.

  “Know what?” Kieran grins, bouncing Claire up and down gently on the shoulder. “That ye were awake? That ye were listening to me?”

  I grind my jaw shut. I was eavesdropping, so what? “Yes,” I growl. “Exactly that: she’s beautiful, but I’m…”

  Kieran leans forward, pressing his lips against mine, and Claire against his chest. The second he touches me, I can feel how gently he’s cradling our baby.

  “A hot, sweaty, grumpy mess,” Kieran grins, dragging his lips against my cheek and nibbling my ear. “Just the way I like ye…”

  I narrow my eyes and stare at the man I love. The man I love even when he’s messing with me … Even when he’s teasing me. He never stops. Not even after seventeen hours of labor!

  “You better watch your mouth, Kieran Byrne,” I grunt. And then I stop, midsentence. My nostrils jump and jerk, and I look around. “What’s that –?” I ask.

  “That smell?” Kieran smiles. “Just call me Mr. Perfect.” He jerks his head at a huge bunch of lavender that he’s placed in a vase on the other side of the room. It smells calming, relaxing; it’s everything I need. It’s cutting across that harsh, antiseptic, acerbic hospital smell that I normally can’t escape. It’s making me tired, calling me to fall asleep.

  My eyes well up with tears. I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I’m not normally like this. Kieran never said a word when he heard me moaning about the smell. He hasn’t slept in the last couple of days, not a wink more than I have. And yet he’s gone home, got cleaned up, and brought lavender back with him. It’s a little thing, but I can’t tell you how much it means to me.

  Kieran comes to sit by my bed. He drags the fingers of his free hand through my hair, and I close my eyes again, relaxing into the feeling. “Ye just go to sleep now. We’ll be here when ye wake up…”

  I try to keep my eyes open; try as hard as I can. But no matter what, my eyelashes brush against each other, falling, as if they are weighed down by anchors. The smell of lavender on the air, of Kieran and Claire; it smells like home.

  I whisper something, before drifting off. I think I do, anyway. Maybe it’s just in my dream that I do. “I love you, Kieran Byrne…”

  The End

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