by Zoe York
“To be clear, I’m not licensed to provide medical advice to a grown-ass man, and I think you should go to a hospital and see a doctor.”
“Advice heard, considered, and politely declined.”
She laughed gently. “Politely?”
“I stand by that.”
Touching his fingers again, one by one, she silently considered his request. “Do you care about a scar?”
“Nope.”
“Then yeah, probably steri-strips are fine. I don’t have any glue in my kit, but that’s another option—”
“At the hospital, I know.”
“Just had to get that in there.”
“Seems to me that when Bailey didn’t want to go to the hospital, you were just fine with that.”
“And yet…” She tipped her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “Where did she end up going?”
“Touché.”
“The bleeding has basically stopped. I don’t see any reason not to let it heal on its own. Off the record, I think you’re fine to tape it up.”
“Would you do me the honours? Not in any professional capacity, of course.”
She laughed. “Of course not. How about as a friend?”
He jerked his head up. Her gaze was warm and locked on his face. “As a friend,” he repeated. “That sounds pretty good.”
“So…” Her touch was feather light as she tended to him. And she didn’t elaborate on that single, trailed off word. So.
He could imagine a lot of sentences that started that way, and most of them weren’t great. Instead of letting his imagination do its worst, he prompted her. Might as well get it all out on the table. “So?”
“I think I need to tell Becca about this, just to be completely transparent with her.” She lifted her head. “Also, because I’m not a medical professional tending to your hand, just a friend, I want you to know you don’t have any expectation of confidentiality here.”
He laughed out loud. She was so damn earnest. “Okay.”
“And if we’re friends, I need to remind you that your daughter is my patient, and she does have confidentiality—”
“I remember.” He barked it out, then his cheeks flushed. Why was he always so rough with her, so clumsy with his tone and his words, when she was just being nice? He ruined every conversation they had.
A knock on the window interrupted their conversation. Kerry rolled the glass down and accepted their lunch from the waitress.
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he admitted.
“You might change your mind in an hour. Are you going home or back to work?”
“Work.”
“My advice—as a friend—is to take it easy with that hand.”
“Will do. I’ve got paperwork to get through, that’s all.”
She nodded. “Can I drive you over? Or at the least follow you to make sure you get there okay?”
He looked at his truck. Thought about how scrambled his brain felt at the moment. “You know what? I’d love a drive back to the station. I’ll walk back at the end of the day, or get someone to drop me off.”
It was the longest conversation they had ever had. It had taken a deep laceration to his hand to make it happen, but as Owen settled in at his desk, with his untouched lunch and his stack of work in front of him, he was calm and settled for the first time in months.
Friends. Maybe he’d been barking up the wrong tree before. What did he know about women anyway?
Chapter Eleven
July was a heatwave that never stopped, every day as relentlessly scorching as the one before it. Becca had a false alarm at early labour—Braxton-Hicks contractions that convinced him they needed to go to the hospital in a panic—at the start of the month, but then kept going. She worked through the rest of the month without complaint, and Owen made sure there were popsicles in the freezer for when she got home from her shifts at the golf course. As the weeks went on and her appointments with Jenna and Kerry got closer and closer together, it was clear that it wouldn’t be long before everything changed.
And yet, like with everything else around his daughter having a baby, it still took him by surprise when his phone lit up on his desk on the first day of August.
“It’s Rachel.” Becca’s mom sounded out of breath, and Owen’s pulse jacked up. “We’re on our way to the hospital. She’s having contractions non-stop, and they’re different this time.”
In the background, he heard Becca crying, and his heart tore in two. “I need to find someone to cover off the rest of my shift. But I’ll meet you guys there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks.”
He paused a beat. “Rach?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell her good luck. And that I love her, and I’m proud of her.”
“Yeah.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I will. Me too.”
As soon as he hung up the phone, his fingers itched to pick it up again and call Kerry, to make sure she was on her way. But of course she was, and of course that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to hear her voice, to have her tell him in her calm, confident way that this was going to work out just fine.
He rubbed the scar on his palm, the faint white scar evidence of her excellent care in the face of him being a terrible patient. Then he pulled up the schedule. Time to figure out who he could call in without disrupting the rest of the week. He had a waiting room to go and pace in.
An hour and a half later, he parked in front of the hospital. On his way through the front doors, he checked his phone. Rachel had sent him updates every fifteen minutes, and the latest one was that Kerry had arrived and Becca was waiting for an epidural. And Hayden hadn’t replied to her texts.
Owen thought about sending Adam to pick the kid up and drag his sorry ass to the hospital, but one thing at a time.
He’d already done this trip to Labour & Delivery once before, on the Braxton-Hicks false alarm, so he knew where to go. He found Becca’s room easily, and when he pushed the door open, he was relieved to see his daughter smiling—but it didn’t last long.
Becca was in a hospital gown, sitting on the side of the bed, and half way through him greeting her, her face tightened up and her gaze lost focus.
Kerry set down the chart she’d been writing in and hustled to his daughter’s side, giving her quiet instructions to slow down each breath and focus on the contractions doing good work.
Rachel curled up right behind Becca, his baby, their baby who was a woman now, but still so little to him, and something fractured deep in his chest. A crack in his heart that splintered and spread as Becca’s whole life flashed past in silent memories. Her first cry, her first steps, her first words. The way she sprouted while he was gone, growing so much between his visits that it physically hurt to say goodbye, knowing he wouldn’t see the same little girl two weeks later.
His desperate need to get back to her, to make a home for her half as good as the one her mother was making.
But in the last few years, he’d found himself itching for her life to speed up and fast forward? And now it had, suddenly.
Where had the time gone?
When the contraction passed, Rachel gestured for him to join her. “She likes pressure here,” she said, pointing to the small of Becca’s back. “You want to spell me off?”
“Damn straight.” Owen washed his hands, then got into his station before the next contraction.
Becca leaned back against him when that one ended. “Hey, Dad.”
He gave her a half-smile. “This is pretty real, eh?”
She laughed. “Oh yeah.”
“You’re doing great.”
“They say it’s too soon for me to get an epidural,” she whispered. “First timer, I’m going to be here a while.”
“We’re all here for you. Do you want some music?”
They’d been working on a playlist for her labour ever since she found him with his CDs. They both had the list on their phones, but he didn’t see hers anywhere. “I forg
ot.”
“Where’s your phone?”
That answer had to wait until after the next contraction.
Rachel held up Becca’s bag. “In here?”
Becca nodded. Rachel found it, then plugged it in and set it on the window ledge. A Billie Eilish song was the first one—a Becca pick, without a doubt. That rolled into a Suzanne Vega song Owen had suggested, and then a song from the Lonestar album which Owen had added, but he was pleased and surprised Becca had kept on the final iteration of the list.
The next two hours rocked by with some laughs, and a lot of breathing. They were all relieved when the anesthesiologist showed up, and then Kerry and Jenna switched off so Kerry could go have a nap to be fresh for the night shift.
But even with the epidural, Becca found the contractions intense. As the light started to fade out the window, while Rachel was out in the hall calling her younger kids to say goodnight, Becca started to cry.
“Dad…”
He wrapped his hands around hers and let her squeeze the ever-loving shit out of his fingers as the contraction took over her body. “That’s my girl. You’re so strong.”
“I wish Hayden was here,” she whispered, like a confession.
He didn’t want that to break his heart. He didn’t want to want that for her, too, because he wanted to hate the kid. But he couldn’t, because she was sharing her secret heart’s desire with him. “I’ll give him a call.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No.” He smoothed his hand over her damp forehead. “But I want to. As soon as your mom comes in, okay?”
Becca nodded.
He called his brothers first. Adam wanted to come and hang out in the waiting room. Will promised to corral him and only show up once their niece or nephew had made their debut into the world.
After Owen made the next call, he hoped he’d be kicked out of the birthing room because Becca had too many support people. That would be a gift he’d love to give to his daughter, but at the same time, he wouldn’t be the best of company for anyone while he prowled on the outside looking in.
He didn’t know if Hayden would pick up. He didn’t know if the kid would even recognize his number. It’s not like they were texting buddies. Owen only had the number because Becca had put it on call tree list—almost as if she was pretty sure he would be here.
And she’d been right to worry about that, but if Owen could talk some sense into him…
He hit dial while his heart was in that generous place, and listened to the rings. One, two, three—
“Hello?”
“This is Owen Kincaid.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know why I’m calling?”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I…”
“Hayden, now is not the time. Get your ass to the hospital. Becca needs you.”
“I’m here.” He sounded embarrassed. Good.
Owen blinked. “Where?”
“Outside.” What the hell? “I—I’ve been here for a bit.”
Owen swore. “Get inside.”
Then he hung up and swore again before stalking to the elevators. It didn’t take long for Hayden to appear, all six feet of him. He was wearing khaki shorts and a t-shirt that looked expensive. The kind Adam wore clubbing. “Where is she?”
Owen led the way.
Hayden cleared his throat. “Thank you for calling, sir.”
Owen shrugged. “It wasn’t for you.”
“I understand.” The younger man hesitated. “I got a job for the summer. Did Becca tell you that? I’ve been working as a line cook at Mac’s during breakfast.”
No, Becca hadn’t said a word. And Owen rarely went there for breakfast anymore, since they’d leaned so heavily on Mac’s for dinner due to her aversion to meat cooking in her vicinity. “Have you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did your coach say about that?”
“He wasn’t thrilled.” Hayden’s throat worked, like he was going to say something more about how important it was to focus on conditioning over the summer.
Owen didn’t need to hear that, but luckily they’d arrived at Becca’s room. “Shall we?”
Hayden almost pounced forward. “Yeah.”
Inside, Rachel gave Hayden a hug, then got out of his way so he could sink down onto the bed next to Becca.
“Come on,” she said to Owen. “Let’s give them a minute alone.”
“He dressed up,” Owen muttered once they were in the hallway.
Rachel gave him a look.
“What?”
“If he’d shown up in his usual basketball shorts and a tank top, you’d have groused that he was underdressed for the occasion.”
He snorted. “So he was just sitting outside, apparently. Waiting in his car.”
She sighed. “At least he came inside eventually?”
Owen scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Listen, do you want a coffee?”
“Sure.” She hesitated and glanced back at the room.
He pushed her back toward their baby. “Go sit with them. I’ll go to the cafeteria and come back in a bit.”
Rachel gave him a grateful look, then threw her arms around him. They weren’t touchy-feely together, but Owen let out a rough exhale and sank into the embrace. “You should lie down and get some rest,” he whispered. “It might take all night.”
She gave him a been-there, done-that look.
He coughed. “Sorry. I know you know that.”
“No, it’s strange and surreal to see her go through it for me, too. I will get some rest. That’s good advice.”
He took the long way around the hospital to get coffee, stepping outside for some fresh air and another call to Will before his brother fell asleep.
“How’s Bec?”
Owen grunted. “The same.”
“Oh no, what’s happened?”
“Hayden showed up.”
“That’s good.”
Owen didn’t immediately reply.
“Isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” Owen rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out the muscles along his spine. The freakout muscles, they could be called. “I know that in my head.”
“And in your heart?”
“I don’t want my baby to be hurt.” Owen sighed. “Which we’ve talked about a hundred different ways. I know what you’re going to say.”
“Is it easier if I say it, rather than you saying it to yourself?”
“Fuck off.”
“Happy to help.” Will chuckled. “Can we bring you breakfast in the morning?”
Owen stopped in the shadows of the hospital and looked up at the lit up windows. He was turned around, and wasn’t sure exactly which one was his daughter’s, but it didn’t matter. He’d been head-down in survival mode for too long, and he’d had this conversation with his brother more than once. Every single time, Will kept moving him forward.
Tomorrow, God willing, his brothers would show up and bring his grumpy ass a breakfast sandwich or two from Mac’s Diner, and he’d be a grandfather.
Hell, he felt like crying in the worst and best way. “Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For breakfast?”
“For everything. For prodding me along the last six months, for kicking my ass constantly when I harp on Adam and Becca. For knowing my bark is worse than my bite.”
Will made a noise that Owen couldn’t decipher. Then he sighed. “You know we love you. To the moon and back, just like you say to Becca. But you can’t lean on the bark is worse than your bite bullshit. Barks are bites.”
Ah, double hell. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Be nice to Hayden. And Becca. And Adam.”
He wanted to protest that he was nice—at least to Becca and Adam. But nice wasn’t enough. He didn’t want his grandkid to think of him as the grumpy grandpa.
After thanking hi
s brother again, he went inside and grabbed two coffees. He didn’t have a text update from Rachel, but he still took the more direct route back to Labour & Delivery—until he spotted Kerry sitting at a table in a nook, halfway down an empty hallway. She was nursing a coffee of her own.
He stopped in front of her. “Can I join you?”
She gestured to one of the chairs. “Be my guest. I just got off the phone with the charge nurse upstairs. She says Becca’s having a cat nap.” She beamed at him. “She’s progressing well. The baby will be here by morning.”
“I just promised my brothers that, so that’s good to hear.”
“Everyone’s excited.”
Everyone was excited, even him. Especially him. But Owen also felt alone in his worry. Rachel had shared it in the early days, but then she’d gotten on board and was Team Baby the whole way. Why hadn’t Owen been Team Baby?
Because he’d been Team Great Bachelor Plans, and full of resentment. Resentment and worry took up a lot of space inside a human body, even one as big as his.
Kerry tipped her coffee cup at him. “How are you doing?”
“Hanging in there.” He shrugged. “You know.”
She shook her head. “I don’t.” He blinked in surprise, and she smiled. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Emotion clogged in his throat. “Uh…”
“Come on, Owen,” she said softly. Teasing. “Don’t be a Neanderthal.”
He grunted for effect, then shrugged again. “I think I worry too much. I’m excited, of course I am, but I’m scared for her, too.”
“She’s a rockstar.”
“They’re so young.” It wasn’t anything he hadn’t said before, but this time it sounded to his own ears like more of a confessional moment.
Which meant, of course, that Kerry’s pager had to go off in that moment. She glanced at it, then stood up. “She’s awake again, let’s go.”
His heart pounded in his chest as he grabbed the coffee cups.
“I like the labour playlist, by the way,” Kerry said as they got on the elevator. “I’m guessing the old school country songs are your influence?”
“She was humouring her old man. Besides, it’s so easy now. Any song you want at the touch of a button, so I think the playlist is like ten hours long. Once upon a time, I agonized over the exact number of songs to fit into—”
