Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2)

by Jiffy Kate

  “My water broke,” I say, trying to sound calm, but feeling anything but.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, grabbing at the tie around his neck and loosening it.

  “I think. Or I peed myself, but I don’t think—”

  “Of course, your water broke,” he says, beginning a ramble. “I’ll, uh, call Annie and then we’ll drive to the hospital. I’ve done this twice before. Don’t worry.”

  One hand is in his hair as he holds the phone to his ear with the other. I watch as he mumbles to himself about no one ever answering their phone when he needs them and wondering why he pays so much money for phone service if no one is going to answer the damn things.

  “Annie!” he yells into the phone when she finally picks up.

  While they’re talking, another contraction hits me full force, practically bringing me to my knees. I bend over and start breathing like the video I watched showed me. I felt stupid going to Lamaze classes by myself. So, my doctor gave me a video to watch at home. And they lied. They all lied because these stupid breathing exercises are not helping.

  I scream out in pain and Sam whirls around to me, still talking on the phone.

  Suddenly, he drops the phone to the ground and ushers me straight into the garage and then into the front seat of his SUV.

  I realize when he jumps in and peels out of the gravel drive, that he’s left his phone.

  Annie’s going to be pissed, but I can’t think about that right now.

  Right now, all I can think about is breathing.

  Whooo whooo wheee.

  Whooo whoo whee.

  “Should we call your doctor?” Sam asks, and when I look up at him, I feel bad. He looks a wreck. Just five minutes ago, he popped his head out of the back door looking like a suave model for J Crew. And now, he looks like the hot version of Nick Nolte’s mug shot. His eyes are a bit crazed, and the top button of his shirt is undone, leaving his tie hanging haphazardly. And his hair. His hair is all over the place. Kinda like Micah’s, but worse.

  “I don’t have my phone,” I tell him, squeezing my eyes together as I feel another contraction coming on.

  He shoves a hand down into his suit coat pocket and then his pants pockets.

  “Outside,” I tell him, losing the ability to form complete sentences.

  “What?” he asks, trying to keep both eyes on the road and me at the same time.

  “Outside. You dropped . . . ahhhhh,” I pause, breathing through clenched teeth. “You dropped it.”

  “Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Sorry.” His hand flies up like he’s going to somehow protect my unborn baby from hearing his profanity.

  “It’s okay. He’s heard worse,” I joke, trying to lighten his mood as the pain subsides.

  “I’m kinda out of practice,” he admits as we fly down the road, making record time getting onto the highway.

  “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m just glad you were home.”

  “Oh, God. Me too.” He pauses and then reaches over to grab my hand. “It’s gonna be fine . . . you’re gonna be fine.”

  His normal, soothing tone is back, and it helps me relax.

  Until the next contraction.

  We continue in that cycle—Sam soothing me, me panting through contractions—until we finally reach the hospital.

  He screeches to a halt under the canopy of the emergency room at the Woman’s Hospital in Baton Rouge.

  “This is it,” he announces, and I think he means more than the fact that we’ve arrived at the hospital.

  This is it.

  This is the day that changes everything.

  This the beginning of the rest of my life.

  This is the day I become a mom.

  I’m unusually calm as Sam runs through the doors and shows back up a minute later with a nurse and a wheelchair.

  The rest of the events happen so quickly. It’s a blur.

  One second, I’m being wheeled down the familiar hallway, the same one I was in a couple of months ago when I got the scare of my life. The next second, I’m in a room, hooked up to every monitoring device available and waiting on my epidural.

  When I got here, I was already four centimeters dilated. My nurse told me I’ve probably been in labor since this morning, but it picked up when my water broke.

  An hour later, everything is calm, and my room is full of all the people I love, except Tucker. His plane is supposed to be in within the hour. Annie flew through the doors about thirty minutes behind us and cussed Sam a blue streak for dropping his phone.

  My dad and Kay had been in Baton Rouge already, running a few errands, so when Annie got here, she called them.

  Deacon and Micah showed up about fifteen minutes ago, and now we’re all just sitting here, waiting on a baby.

  “Guys,” I say, and everyone turns their attention to me, thinking I’m going to make some grand announcement. “Y’all should go find a comfortable spot or take turns or somethin’. We could be here all night.”

  “We’re fine here with you,” Annie says, squeezing my hand from her spot right by my bed.

  “Yeah, I’m not plannin’ on going anywhere,” Kay says. “You’ll have to kick me out.”

  I smile at them. They’ve both been nothing short of amazing the last few months—fielding every question, quieting every concern, and giving me all the motherly advice I could ask for.

  Kay’s never had children of her own, but it’s not because she didn’t want them. She miscarried twice in her early twenties, and she and her late husband stopped trying, deciding to be happy with each other. But she loves getting to be in mine and Tucker’s lives now. And she’s even more excited about this baby getting ready to be born. She already has a name picked out for herself: KayMa.

  I love it.

  Annie wants to be called Nannie.

  Get it? nAnnie.

  Sam and my daddy both say they’ll settle for whatever the “lil’ guy” comes up with.

  Speaking of the “lil’ guy,” as most of my family has resorted to calling him, I have to decide on a name. A few have been floating around, and I’m pretty sure I know what I want it to be, but I want to see him first, just to make sure.

  Besides, I think it’s kind of fun to torture them and keep it to myself.

  “Hey.” Tucker’s voice comes from the crack in the door as he slides quietly inside my room.

  “Hey,” I tell him, reaching a hand out for him. “I was wondering when you were gonna get here.”

  “I got here as fast as I could. I told the pilot to step on it.”

  I laugh lightly, but twinge as I feel a contraction, even through the epidural, but they’re nothing like they were earlier.

  “You okay?” Tucker asks, moving closer and being careful not to wake the two ladies sleeping on either side of my bed.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I can’t believe you’re havin’ a baby,” he says in a low whisper with a small smile creeping up on his handsome face. He looks tired but happy.

  “You’re tellin’ me,” I smile back and squeeze his hand. “I don’t think there’s any backin’ out now.”

  “Nope, only one way out of this thing.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Kay begins to stir when we laugh again, her eyes peeping open and catching a glimpse of Tucker.

  “Hey, baby,” she says in a tired voice. “Glad you made it in safely.”

  “Thanks,” he says, leaning over and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

  “I could use a cup of coffee,” Kay says. “I bet Annie could too.”

  “I’m on it.”

  He slips back out of the room, and I close my eyes for a while longer. The doctor told me to rest up as much as possible because this baby will be here by midnight.

  I hope he’s right.

  I doze off for a while, but even with the epidural, I can still feel the pressure from the contractions. So, when Deacon slips in the door quietly, I’m already
awake but turned on my side to try to get some relief.

  “Sleepin’?” he asks as the bed dips beside me.

  “Tryin’,” I tell him, slowly rolling over to face him.

  He reaches up and brushes the hair out of my face.

  “Shouldn’t be long now,” he says. “I overheard the nurse when she left, and she said just a little bit longer.”

  “Yeah,” I say, unable to keep from admiring his beautiful eyes and the dimple in his cheek when he smiles down at me.

  “You scared?” A look of concern takes over the smile as his eyebrows furrow.

  “No,” I say confidently. “I’m not. Just ready for this baby to be here.”

  “Good.” He goes back to the easy smile as if he was waiting to find out how I felt before he could decide how to feel himself. “I’m gonna go get Mama. She’s down in the waiting room with everybody, but she said to tell her when it was gettin’ time.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, hating it when he stops touching me. I’d ask him to stay, but that’d probably be a little weird.

  “You’re gonna do awesome,” he says.

  It makes me giggle because he sounds like he’s giving a pep talk for a big game.

  “Thanks, coach.”

  Annie comes back in, looking refreshed and happy. She always manages to be a pillar of strength in any situation. It’s one of the many things I admire about her.

  “Ready to have this baby?” she asks.

  “So ready,” I tell her, hearing the fatigue in my voice, but as she grips my hands, it’s like some of her strength is transferred to me and I feel like I can do this.

  Less than an hour later, my feet are in stirrups, and Annie’s hand is planted firmly in mine.

  “Push on three,” the doctor says.

  I squeeze Annie’s hand while she pats down my forehead with a wet cloth.

  “One, two, push,” the doctor instructs and I do. I push with everything in me until I scream out in pain and determination.

  “One more time, Cami,” he assures me. “You’re doing great.”

  I pant and catch my breath, gripping my knee with my free hand.

  “One, two, push,” he says once more.

  At the end of the longest push of my life, a crying baby congratulates me on a job well done.

  “It’s a boy!” the doctor says happily.

  “Ten toes and ten fingers,” the nurse adds.

  I look up to Annie, who is looking from me to the bundle of baby and back to me with tears in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you,” she says, kissing my forehead.

  The nurse brings the baby and lays him on my chest, and I feel like my heart is now living outside of my body.

  He’s perfect.

  He’s everything good in this world.

  After they clean me up a little and my bundle is back in my arms; I ask to see my family. All of them. I want them here to witness this moment with me, because if it wasn’t for each one of them, I’m not sure I would’ve had the strength to get to this point.

  I watch as each of them walks into the room, one by one. Their eyes grow wide, but no one speaks. Each of them moves around the bed until they’re standing in a semi-circle looking down at the baby in my arms with awe and adoration.

  My eyes land on Deacon, and I watch as he rubs his palms roughly across his eyes. The look on his face, the way he’s taking in my sweet baby, I know, deep down in my soul, that he’ll always be there for him, just like he’s always been there for me.

  They all will.

  It’s all I could ask for.

  Except for my mama. I feel her in this room. I know she’s looking down on me and this little bundle in my arms, but I wish she was physically here. I feel like I need her more right this moment than I have in the past sixteen years. Leaning in, I kiss the soft sweet skin of my baby boy’s head and breathe him in, silently promising to love him every day of his life.

  This is what love at first sight must feel like.

  The second he came into this world, my heart followed him.

  “What’s his name?” my daddy asks, emotion thick in his voice.

  “Carter Matthew Benoit,” I say confidently, looking down at his matted-down hair and his cherub cheeks. He cracks an eye open at the sound of his name and lets out a grunt.

  “I think that’s his stamp of approval,” my brother says, reaching down and touching his little arm that flails up out of the blanket.

  “Carter for my mama . . . ,” I begin. My mama’s maiden name was Carter—Jessie Anne Carter. “And Matthew for daddy and Tucker,” I tell them, looking up at both of them with tears of joy in my eyes.

  “I think it’s the best damn name ever,” Deacon adds.

  “Language, Deacon,” Annie chides as she wipes her eyes and nose, never taking her eyes off the baby.

  “He’s perfect,” Micah says, leaning over to get a better look. “A little football player in the making.”

  “Baseball,” Sam corrects. “I need a baseball player.”

  We all laugh . . . and cry.

  And as I sit there, with my baby in my arms, I look down at him and hope he feels this much love every day of his life.

  Deacon

  Present

  “HEY.” CAMI’S VOICE IS SOFT and soothing, just like her hand stroking my arm.

  “Hey.” I can’t help but smile. Her beautiful face is all I want to see every time I wake up.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No, I think I’ve slept enough for a week.”

  “Not even,” she says with a light laugh. “The doctor says your body is still healing. You need all the sleep you can get. Don’t stay awake on my account. I’m perfectly happy watching you sleep.”

  The smile on her face is happy, but I can still see the worry. Her eyes look tired, and even though she’s still as gorgeous as ever, I see the effects of the day. Her hair is a little unruly, and she’s still in the clothes she normally wears when she paints. It’s obvious that she left the gallery and ran to Pockets. That’s when it dawns on me again how scared she must’ve been.

  “What is it?” she asks. “Are you in pain? Does somethin’ hurt?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then why the frown?” Her hand reaches up to my face, and she gently rubs her thumb between my eyes, making me relax.

  “You were probably really scared.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. I can’t imagine if I had been in Cami’s shoes. If I was the one who drove up on a scene like that. How would I have felt if it was her life on the line? “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She gets up from the chair beside my bed and crawls in beside me, burrowing into my side. When her arms are wrapped around my waist, she lets out a deep sigh.

  “You wanna talk about it?” I ask.

  “I just knew I couldn’t lose you. I feel like it’s taken us so long to get here, and all I could think was that I couldn’t lose you now. I wouldn’t.”

  Her voice is so determined that I believe her. I believe Cami’s sheer determination was enough to keep me alive.

  “You still want to marry me?” I ask, teasing and trying to lighten the mood a little. There’s been too much heavy for one day. Actually, there’s been enough to last a long time.

  Her hold on me tightens. “I want to marry you even more than I did yesterday and I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “I’m glad. I’d marry you tonight if Father Damon were available.”

  Cami laughs. “Your mama would kill us.”

  “And Kay.”

  “Yes, and Kay.”

  We lay there for a few minutes just holding each other. I’m glad it’s my leg that’s banged up and not my hands or arms.

  “When the doctor finally came out to talk to us,” she starts, her voice low as her fingers trace circles on my chest, “he asked for the Landry family, and it dawned on me that I legally wasn’t a part of your family. I want to be attached to you in every way possible. I want
to be yours, and I want you to be mine.”

  “I am yours. I always have been.” I kiss the top of her head and breathe in her familiar sweet scent.

  “I want Carter to be yours too,” she says softly.

  “I want that too. Next to marryin’ you, there’s nothing I want more.”

  “One week,” she sighs.

  “One week.”

  In one week, Cami will be a Landry, and I’ll be the happiest man on the planet.

  Deacon

  Past

  SUNDAY MORNINGS AT GRINDERS ARE my favorite.

  The restaurant is closed, but Micah and I still come in and work. Saturday nights are always crazy here, especially now that LSU football season is upon us, so we like to come in on Sundays to make sure everything is cleaned and restocked for when we open for lunch on Monday. It also gives us a chance to catch up on our paperwork in relative peace, which is practically impossible to do during the week.

  Other restaurant owners I know around town told me I was crazy for keeping Grinders closed on Sundays, but that wasn’t an option for Micah and me. We were raised believing Sundays are for the three big F’s: Faith, Family, and Football, and even though we spend most of our time in Baton Rouge now, we’re still expected to come home for church, lunch, and the game, as often as we can.

  I’m in the office looking over the staff’s timesheets when Micah sticks his head in.

  “Hey, Janie is at the door. You want me to let her in?”

  Even though Janie and I have been together for a few years now, she knows I don’t like to be bothered by anyone when I’m in the office on Sunday mornings. I glance down at my phone and see that I’ve missed a few texts from her, warning me that she’s on her way.

  “Nah, I’ll go talk to her,” I say, getting up and stretching my arms over my head. “I could use a little break anyway.”

  Micah knows that my relationship with Janie hasn’t been going well for a while now, and I appreciate him asking before allowing her in, even though I know she’ll be pissed about it.

  Micah goes back to restocking the bar while I unlock the door for Janie. She flashes me a glare before breezing past me and heading straight for the office.

  Well, this should be fun.