The Boss Baby Daddy (A Secret Baby Romance)

by Claire Adams

  He'd explained to me that the reason she had felt so much better the last time so that she'd been able to come home from the hospital was likely due to the steroids they gave her to reduce the size of the tumors. Hence, making it easier for her to breathe and lessening her pain as well.

  Or at least, that was the way that Dr. Halsey explained it to me.

  We were lucky when we got to the hospital: they were able to put her in a private room, and Dr. Halsey happened to be working that night anyway. He took her in immediately for a few tests and then arranged to have her moved into a room, promising to have a long chat with me later.

  But I could tell, even without the chat, that things weren't looking good. That much was obvious, based on Mom's wheezing and the concerned looks on the faces of all the nurses and Dr. Halsey. I could tell they were doing their best to make her comfortable, and the whole thing made me want to scream. Finally, they adjusted the bed, in the hopes that if she remained more upright, it would be easier for her to breathe, then I asked them all to leave.

  Then, I just sat there at Mom's side, weeping and holding her hand, trying not to think about how this could be the last time I ever saw her. She had to pull through. She just had to.

  At the same time, I felt selfish for wanting that. She hadn't let them put her back on painkillers this time, telling them in no uncertain words that she didn't want 'those strange chemicals' pumped back into her body and that she would get through this just fine on her own. She'd even gone so far as to joke that this wasn't as painful as childbirth and that she'd handled that just fine.

  But I could see the pain etching faint lines around her eyes, creasing her forehead. I knew that wanting her to stay around for longer could mean that she had to deal with this pain for even longer because her body showed no signs of letting her rest this time. I didn't want her to be in pain, but it seemed like the only way she was going to escape her pain, this time, was in death.

  That was something that I didn't want to even consider.

  Mom patted my hand. “Don't cry, Livy, darling,” she said, her voice weak but her grip still firm. “I've made my peace.”

  “Don't say that,” I sobbed. “Don't just give up.”

  Mom managed half a smile and wheezed in another breath. “I didn't want to make myself sicker with treatments,” she said. “You know as well as I do that it would have just been prolonging the inevitable. Once the cancer gets in you, there's no real chance of survival.”

  “But you could have lived a little longer,” I sobbed. “You could have met your grandchild.”

  “I wouldn't want my granddaughter to remember me like this,” Mom said fiercely. “I want you to tell her all the good stories about me, about how strong I was. About how much life I had.”

  I whimpered, and she squeezed my hand even tighter. “Livy, listen to me,” she said. “I've had a good life. Maybe not as long as some, but I did everything that I wanted to do in this lifetime, and I'm ready to go.” Her eyes softened. “I'm going to miss my incredible daughter, but I know that she'll be fine without her mother.”

  I just shook my head, having a hard time getting words out. “How am I going to raise a baby with no grandmother and no father?” I finally managed to ask. I still hadn't told her about the fight that Eric and I had had, not wanting to upset her, but now it all came pouring out. “Eric refuses to believe that it's his baby. I don't know if he's just not interested in being a father again or if he really doesn't believe me, but I don't think he's going to be around for her.”

  Mom gave a rattling cough. “You didn't grow up with a father,” she reminded me when her coughing had subsided. “And I think you turned out pretty great.”

  “But Mom, that was different,” I protested. “You were you.” It didn't make much sense to say that, I knew. Just like I knew things must have been difficult for her, and scary. But somewhere, I still clung to that childish innocence, that naïveté that insisted that my mom and I were different breeds of people. She had raised me by herself because of course she had raised me by herself. I had always viewed her as much stronger than I could ever be.

  Our situations weren't all that different, though. She had to know what I was going through, so why was it so easy for her to refuse treatment, and refuse to be around to help me out? Again, that feeling of betrayal came back. But I couldn't be angry with her now. She had made her peace, that was what she had said. I had to make my own peace and accept that this was the decision that she had made.

  It was too late for regrets now, anyway. It was no longer possible to operate on her. I had already asked Dr. Halsey about that. There was nothing more that we could do for her.

  “I see more of myself in you every day,” Mom said quietly. “I have faith in you; you're stronger than you realize. I have no doubt that you'll survive this and raise a beautiful daughter to carry on our family's legacy.”

  Her eyes closed, and she forced them back open again, smiling one last time at me. This time, when her eyes slid closed, they didn't open again, and it wasn't long after that that her breathing slowed and then stopped.

  “Nurse!” I screamed, frantically pressing the call button on the side of the bed even though I knew that there was nothing they could do.

  When the door opened, though, it wasn't one of the nurses that hurried in, at least not initially. Instead, it was Eric who came into the room, pausing for only a moment to take in the everything. I was still clinging to Mom's hand like if I held it tightly enough, she wouldn't be able to leave me.

  He gently pried my hand away, pulling me into his arms, and I clung to him as though he were my lifeline. I couldn't spare a moment to wonder what he was doing there or to think about how inappropriate this was, my clutching onto him like this. All I knew was that Mom was gone and that Eric was the only person who could possibly understand the pain that was ripping my heart to shreds at the moment.

  Eric scooped me up into his arms and carried me out of the room, down the hallway. Initially, I fought against him, not wanting to be taken away from Mom. Once that happened, I knew it was done and that I was never going to see her again. But Eric held me tightly and maneuvered me carefully, not setting me down until we were in an empty room, the door closed tightly behind us.

  He set me down on the bed, still holding me, stroking my hair and holding my hand.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, as though there was no bitterness or anger between us.

  “I should have done more,” I couldn't help sobbing. “You told it to me again and again, and I didn't listen. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be here.”

  “Or maybe we would still be here,” Eric said quietly. “Cancer is fickle, and it never acts the same, from one patient to the next. We don't know that the surgery would have been effective. We don't know that she would have been responsive to the chemo. For all we know, she lived longer like this than she would have otherwise.”

  I sniffled and shook my head. “I feel like I failed her,” I admitted. “I know you probably don't understand that, but I really feel like I should have done more for her.”

  Eric sighed tiredly. “I felt that with Emily,” he said softly. “By the time I realized that she had cancer, it was too late to do anything about it. That's part of why I was so insistent that you convince your mother to have the treatments that she needed. I've always felt guilty that I didn't realize something was wrong with Emily while it could still have helped her, while we could have saved her. I honestly just thought her back hurt from picking up Emma so much or something like that, even though I knew Emma didn't weigh that much.”

  “I didn't know Emily died of cancer,” I said, shocked enough that I quit crying as I peered up at him. That explained so much about his frustration toward me, about the way that he had tried to distance himself from my mom and me over the past weeks. It didn't explain his reaction to the news of the pregnancy, but it highlighted again how little I knew about him.

  Unfortunately, I couldn't dwell on it at
the moment. “I can't believe that I'm never going to see her again,” I whispered, starting to cry again.

  Eric pulled me into a tight hug, his hand returning to stroke my hair. He didn't have any words to say in response to that one, though. Instead, he just let me cry it out against his shirt until I was utterly exhausted.

  “Let me take you home,” he said finally, pulling slightly away. “You need to rest, and maybe you'll feel better when you're out of this place.”

  I nodded and let him lead me out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Outside, I took a deep breath of the night's fresh air, but I could still feel the sterile air of the hospital lingering in my lungs. Just like the tumors had lingered in Mom's.

  I looked uncertainly toward my car, not sure that I was fit to drive myself home. But Eric steered me over toward his car instead. “I'll arrange to have your car brought back to your place tomorrow,” he promised, and I nodded, trusting him. There was nothing else that I could do.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Eric

  I kept glancing over at Olivia on the ride home, but she didn't dissolve into tears again. Instead, she stared numbly out the window, her eyes barely registering anything. I knew she was exhausted after that bout of crying, but I couldn't help feeling worried about her, wishing that she would show a little more life.

  The first flicker of response that I got from her was when we arrived at her house. She looked surprised when I got out of the car with her. But I definitely wasn't going to leave her alone like this.

  Instead, I guided her inside the house, letting her cling to me as we went. I led her upstairs to the bathroom and sat her down on the toilet lid as I started a bath for her, making sure that it was warm but not scalding. Then, I turned toward her, starting to remove her clothing. She moved mechanically, to the point where it was almost like undressing a doll, or a robot, rather than a human being. But at least she didn't stop me.

  When the tub was full, I dumped in a bath bomb that was sitting along the back wall, nodding a little as a soft, peachy scent rose in the steamy air. The name of the game that evening was 'soothing.' I only hoped that it would work and that she would be able to relax enough to sleep eventually. I could tell that she needed it; those tears at the hospital had worn her out.

  I got her settled in the tub and put some soft classical music on my phone. It wasn't very loud, but I hoped it would work. “I'll be right back,” I told her gently. “You just relax. Cry if you need to. Or give me a holler if you need me.”

  Olivia stirred as I spoke to her, staring at me as though she'd forgotten that I was there. She looked lost, like a small, injured child, and I couldn't keep myself from bending down and kissing her forehead, much like I had done to Emma earlier that night.

  “I'll be all right,” she said as I pulled away.

  “I'll be right back,” I promised again.

  Outside in the hallway, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and counting to 10. I hated to see her like this, in so much pain. I only wished that this hadn't happened to her. But I couldn't think about all of the 'what ifs' and 'could haves' now. It was too late for those; the best we could do was to start looking forward. I knew that Jeannie would have wanted us to.

  With that in mind, I headed down to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets, looking for something simple but comforting for her to eat. I quickly threw together a grilled cheese sandwich and put it on a plate with a couple of chocolate chip cookies. Then, I grabbed a glass of milk as well. I put all of that on the table and went to get Olivia out of her bath.

  She looked just as listless as she had when I had left, but as I helped her out and started toweling her off, she showed a little more life, actively moving with me rather than just standing there. By the time I put her in a pair of soft, flannel pajamas, she was actively helping me do up the buttons, and I counted that as a win.

  “I made you a sandwich,” I told her, leading her down to the kitchen.

  She made a face. “I'm really not that hungry,” she whispered.

  “I know,” I said sympathetically. “But I was hoping you'd at least try to eat a little. For me.”

  She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded, sitting unceremoniously at the kitchen table and taking a small bite of the sandwich.

  “If you want something else, I can make you something else,” I told her nervously. “I just thought maybe grilled cheese was comfort food.”

  Did I see a ghost of a smile on her face at that? She pushed out the chair across from her, and I hesitantly sat down. I wanted to talk to fill the empty silence between us, but I didn't know what to say. I could remember all the things that people had said to be when Emily had died, how they had all seemed like such stupid platitudes: 'everything is going to be all right' and 'you'll get through this.' I didn't want to echo those words at Olivia; I could tell that she wouldn't appreciate them.

  Olivia took a couple more bites of the sandwich, but even chewing seemed to wear her out. “I just want to go to bed,” she finally said, glancing briefly up at me and then looking away.

  “All right,” I said. “Let's get you up to bed.” I moved around the table to take her hand and lead her up there, but she flung herself into my arms again, hugging me fiercely. I hummed softly, rubbing her back and just holding her, letting her know that I was there for her, whatever she needed.

  Finally, she pulled away, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Then, she turned and headed toward the stairs. I trailed after her into her bedroom and tucked her into bed. “Do I need to tell you a bedtime story?” I joked. “I think I still remember most of what happens in Princess Pernilla and the Angry Bee; that's the one I read to Emma tonight.”

  Olivia laughed a little and then started sobbing, and I was reminded of that first night when we'd gone to dinner together. As with that night, my one instinct was to hold her while she sobbed.

  I climbed carefully into the bed and pulled her into my arms. Every tear felt like a knife to my heart as I pondered everything that had happened with Jeannie, wondering if this was all my fault. Even though I knew that it wasn't, that ultimately it was up to Jeannie what she wanted to do with her life, I couldn't help but feel responsible for Olivia's sadness now.

  I knew I couldn't leave her like this. Not alone, not this upset. I held her tightly as her sobs subsided and she drifted off to sleep.

  For a moment, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like if she and I were really in a relationship if the baby was really mine. If every night, I’d get to be here in this room, holding this beautiful woman, with Emma asleep in the next room over.

  I had never really considered having more kids. Emily and I had figured that we'd get through the first one and then see if we wanted more. But we'd never had a chance to discuss having more because by the time we would have been ready for it, she was already stricken with cancer.

  The thought wasn't unpleasant, though. Emma had her tantrums, but she'd make a great big sister. Somehow, I knew that instinctively. But maybe that was how every parent felt about their child. I smiled a little to myself.

  If the baby was mine, then in seven or eight months, we'd be welcoming him or her into the world. I knew from experience that the first months would be difficult, but I also knew, from watching Olivia with Emma, that Olivia was going to make a great mom. She had incredible patience, and she had such a soothing presence.

  When it came down to it, I still loved her. If I thought about it, I could picture a life with her, if we could just manage to put the past behind us. I hated to say it, but now that Jeannie was out of the picture, things would be easier for the two of us: we wouldn't be fighting about Jeannie's treatments and whether or not Olivia or I should be pushing the woman harder to accept the help that she needed.

  But that wasn't the only complication; I knew that. There was also the matter of Buck.

  I sighed, and for a moment, I tightened my arms around Olivia, who shifted in her sleep as thoug
h she could sense my distress. I quickly relaxed my arms, holding my breath and hoping that she kept sleeping. Fortunately, she did.

  Buck. As much as I hated remembering that he was part of the picture, I couldn't deny it. Although Olivia had denied ever sleeping with the man, there was the possibility that she had been lying to me and that it wasn't my baby. What if the thing popped out looking just like him? Even if the baby didn't resemble him, I would always have that doubt, wouldn't I? I supposed I could take a DNA test.

  I frowned. Was it possible that I could look past that and raise another man's child as my own? Could my love for Olivia be strong enough to allow me to overlook that possible indiscretion? If it turned out it was not mine.

  Unfortunately, I didn't have an answer to that question, and I wasn't sure that I would have an answer to that before she had the baby and I held it in my arms for the first time. But it wasn't fair to either of them, or to Emma, or to Buck, for me to go along with this if I didn't know if I was going to be able to be there for her.

  Besides, I didn't even know if Olivia would want me around as the father, whether or not the child was mine. I knew that Jeannie had raised Olivia on her own, so Olivia had to know that she didn't need me around. She could handle the child just fine on her own. And with all the bickering that had gone between the two of us, she might just as well decide that she didn't want any sort of negativity around the baby and that that meant cutting me out of her life entirely.

  I thought back to the way that she had announced the pregnancy to me. She hadn't wanted to come right out and tell me that I was going to be a dad. Instead, she had held me at arm's length, as though I was just the father of the baby and nothing more. As though I might have been the one who had gotten her pregnant, but now I was just her doctor, someone she was telling about her pregnancy because she had to.

  I hated that she might think of it like that: that she might want to let me know that the baby was mine but not want me to have anything to do with it other than making sure that she and the baby were healthy. If the kid was mine, I wanted more than that.