From Friend to Father

by Tracy Wolff

  With shame, he thought back to the last months of Sarah’s pregnancy. To the first months of Rose’s life. He hadn’t been there for her. Had been too wrapped up in his selfish grief and petty insecurities to get off his ass and see his daughter. God, would those paltry few weeks living in Sarah’s house be all he’d ever have with Rose?

  Without conscious thought, he opened his wallet to the small wedding picture of Vanessa and him that he kept there. She looked so beautiful in the photo, so pretty and happy. They had both been ready to take the world by storm that day. They’d graduated from college two weeks earlier and had planned to start their new jobs as soon as they returned from the honeymoon. He had a position as an apprentice architect at one of the oldest and most respected firms in Dallas and she was starting as an assistant chef at one of the area’s finest restaurants. They’d had it all.

  For so long, things had been great. Wonderful. Amazing. She’d supported him when he and Matt had decided to open their own firm. He’d been thrilled when she’d been promoted to sous-chef, even though it meant much longer hours—often at night, when he was finished for the day.

  And though it was hard, they’d managed to stick it out. Had managed to keep things nice and relaxed and romantic—up until Vanessa decided it was time for them to have a baby. Then things had gone to hell, fast.

  After six months with no results, she’d dragged them to fertility expert after fertility expert—and each had told them the same thing. Vanessa had severe scarring on her fallopian tubes due to endometriosis and would likely never be able to conceive a child. Surgery might help increase her chances, but even that was no guarantee.

  He’d tried to explain to Van that a child didn’t matter to him. That, while he would love any baby they did have, the idea of not having a child didn’t fill him with regret. He loved her, not her ability to reproduce.

  She hadn’t heard him. She was so crazed to have a baby that he doubted she heard anything anyone had to tell her. Three surgeries and four years later they still hadn’t had a baby and their marriage was in a precarious state. It had grown even more so when she hit on the idea of having Sarah help her have a baby.

  He’d argued against the scheme until he had no words left. But Vanessa had remained determined. Finally worn down, he’d agreed—to keep the peace, and as a last-ditch effort to keep his marriage together. Sarah had conceived, almost effortlessly. Vanessa was convinced it was a sign, that this baby was meant to be. And for a while, he’d let himself believe it. After all, his wife was happy again, excited, like the woman he’d married. He’d allowed himself to get excited—about her, about the baby, about their future together. That excitement had sustained him until the state troopers knocked on his door late one night and told him that his wife was dead.

  Everything had gone to hell. He fell apart and lost himself in a morass of self-pity. He was a failure, a man who couldn’t help his wife get over her obsession. A man who’d agreed to have a baby to keep the peace, not out of any desire to be a father. A man who had been unable to keep his wife alive, even when she’d had everything to live for.

  Oh, he’d gone to work every day. But only because staying home meant staying with the memories of how he’d failed Vanessa. He’d stayed in that emotional void, feeling sorry for himself—hating himself—until the moment he had first laid eyes on Rose.

  He’d never regretted stepping up and becoming her father—he only regretted the delay in making that decision. It had never occurred to him that his precious baby girl might not even see her first birthday.

  He wanted to howl, to beg, to pray—but he’d given up praying when his wife had died. Instead, he stared out the window as the cab whisked through the early-morning streets of San Francisco and thought of Rose.

  Thought of her sweet smell and her even sweeter smiles. Thought of the temper that was emerging and the stubbornness that had been there all along.

  He thought of her so hard and long that he could almost believe things would work out all right. Almost.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT HAD BEEN one of the longest days of Sarah’s life and it was only a little more than half-over. Glancing at the clock for what felt like the fiftieth time, she was disheartened to see only five minutes had passed since she’d last looked.

  But it was still only two-thirty. The boys weren’t even out of school yet, hadn’t had time to miss her or wonder where she was. Thank God. She didn’t know what she was going to do about them after today. Tad had volunteered to take them again with him—for which she was eternally grateful.

  But it was a quick fix. The doctor had warned her that Rose would be in here at least four or five days, more if the virus persisted.

  Sarah couldn’t keep imposing on her brother. He and his wife both worked full-time and it wasn’t right to ask them to take time off to watch her children. When she’d said as much, Tad had laughed at her, told her that this was what family was for.

  In her head, she knew he was right, remembered Vanessa saying the same thing to her more than once when she’d asked her friend for help. But she’d spent the majority of her life not depending on anyone. Not counting on anyone to be there when she faltered. A lesson learned so early in life was not one she was likely to forget.

  Yet she caught herself anticipating Reece’s arrival as if he were a life line. He hadn’t called her back, as promised, to tell her when his flight was coming in, but she wasn’t surprised. Between the rush to get to the hospital and his obvious worry over Rose, she would be amazed if he could still remember his own name.

  She glanced at the clock again—two thirty-seven. If he’d managed to get a flight soon after she’d called him, then he should be close.

  What would she say to him? How could she explain that she had let their little girl get this sick without doing something about it. Without notifying him.

  How did this happen, Sarah?

  She could still hear the disbelief—and the blame—echoing over the phone line. She had told him what the doctor said—about babies getting sick so quickly—but she could tell he didn’t believe her. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it herself. If she hadn’t taken Rose to the doctor that very morning. If Sarah hadn’t seen her little girl playing with her blocks in the middle of the family room mere hours before her breathing had become so labored.

  A sob threatened to escape, but Sarah fought it back. She wouldn’t do this, she wouldn’t break down now when Rose needed her to be strong. Sarah had already had her ten minutes. The rest would have to wait, no matter how sad she was.

  She sought distraction by focusing on the activity in the hallway. She heard the doctor talking to the parents in the room next door, knew that he was doing his rounds.

  Sarah heard shoes squeaking on the tile, telephones ringing, the nurses’ voices blending together at the nurses’ station. Then the heavy thud of shoes rushing closer.

  Reece.

  Jumping up, she swiped at her hair. She refused to greet him disheveled and fragile. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was guilt—she didn’t know and she didn’t care.

  He was here.

  Sarah’s mind shut down as Reece turned the corner into Rose’s tiny room. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Then he reached for her, pulled her against him and held her with one arm, while he reached out the other one to Rose.

  “How is she?” His voice was hoarse as he ran a hand over Rose’s nearly bald head.

  “She’s breathing a little easier, but there doesn’t seem to be much change. The doctor’s doing rounds now, though. He should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Is this the pediatric pulmonologist?”

  “No, they say he’ll stop by later today. This is the regular doctor—the one we got after she was admitted from the E.R.” It took all her strength to lock her knees so she wouldn’t sink into Reece. He had enough to deal with right now—he didn’t need her to lose it on top of everything else.

  But
he felt so good pressed against her, so steady and in control. Everything that she wasn’t. His presence alone made her believe everything would be okay. That Rose would get better.

  “Your daddy’s here, sweetheart.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to the sleeping baby’s forehead. “He came back just for you, so you need to fight, okay? You need to get better so he can take you to the park and—” The words jammed behind the lump in her throat.

  “Sarah.” Reece’s voice—so calm and familiar—calmed her, prevented her from spiraling out of control.

  “Come sit down.” He gestured toward the chair next to the bed. “You look like you’re about to fall down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” He shoved the second chair close and took a seat himself. “Now, sit and tell me about our daughter. I want to know everything that you know.”

  The snap of command in his voice was so unexpected—so shocking—that Sarah found herself staring at him with her mouth open even as she took a seat.

  * * *

  SHE LOOKED LIKE HELL. The thought ran through Reece’s head as he watched Sarah. As bad as she had all those months ago when he’d shown up at her door.

  She might even look worse because today her tired ness ran second to the sadness and worry. Sarah was on edge, close to breaking, and he’d been two thousand miles away, oblivious to anyone else’s needs but his own.

  “How long has she been sick?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Since the day you left. Remember how much trouble she’d had settling the night before? It was because she wasn’t feeling well.”

  He did remember, just as he remembered pausing outside Rose’s door and debating whether to go in. It had been obvious that Sarah was having trouble getting Rose down, but instead of helping, he’d walked away. Too lost in his dilemma about kissing Sarah to think about her or his daughter. Too selfish to put them first.

  God, he really was a bastard.

  But he was here now. That had to count for something. Not much, maybe, but something. “You took her to the doctor?”

  “Of course I took her to the doctor.” If possible, Sarah’s back got even straighter. “I took her to the doctor three times and each time he told me to wait it out. That she would get better, but it would take a while. That she wasn’t getting worse and that was the important thing.”

  “But she was getting worse.”

  “This last time, yes. Which is why he gave me the inhaler and told me to bring her back the next day if there was no progress. But by the time night fell, I knew she couldn’t wait until morning. So I brought her here.”

  Reece nodded, kept his face composed when he really wanted to beg her forgiveness. Beg Rose’s forgiveness. “I should have been here.”

  “Why?” The look she shot him was full of surprise and somehow made him feel a million times worse. She sure knew how to hit a guy where it hurt.

  “I could have helped.” He gestured to Rose. “It couldn’t have been easy taking care of a sick baby on top of Justin and Johnny.”

  “I managed.”

  He gritted his teeth, managed to shove down the impulse to strangle her. Barely. “I know you managed. I was just saying you shouldn’t have had to. I should have been there to help out.”

  “You had work. I understand that. Besides, it’s not like we’re married, right?”

  It was his turn to stiffen. That was a shot Vanessa would have taken. It put his back up like nothing else could have. “Do you really think this is the time for that?”

  “For what?” she asked, her expression baffled.

  “I know you’re mad at me for leaving, but you don’t need to rub it in my face.”

  “Reece, do you really think that’s what I’m doing?” Reaching over, she took his hand, the first voluntary gesture she’d made toward him since he’d entered the room. “I’m not angry with you. I was only saying, I don’t expect you to be at my beck and call. You have a life and I am more than aware of that. You couldn’t have known this would happen. I just hope you’re not angry at me. I thought I was doing the right things for her.”

  “Sarah—” A knock at the door cut him off. He actually felt Sarah sag with relief when she saw the white-coated man standing near the door.

  “How’s she doing?” the doctor asked. “Any better?”

  If this was the doctor shouldn’t he be telling them how Rose was doing instead of the other way around? Because in Reece’s opinion, his little girl wasn’t doing well at all. When he’d left a week and a half ago she’d been a bouncing bundle of energy and life and now each breath she took seemed a torturous, impossible event.

  He wanted to rail at the doctor, to demand that he do more. But seeing as how Reece had just gotten there and had no idea what Rose had looked like the night before, he figured he wasn’t the one who should be opening his mouth. Yet Sarah’s instant snap to attention irritated him no end. The man was a doctor, not a god.

  “I don’t know, Dr. Marino. Her breathing isn’t as labored as it was last night, but she’s exhausted. She sleeps all the time, and she hasn’t wanted to eat, though the nurses and I keep trying to feed her.”

  The doctor nodded as he picked up the baby’s chart and began to read the nurse’s notes. “That’s to be expected, Sarah. Think about how you feel when you’re sick. That tiredness and unwillingness to eat is the same with her—worse, because she doesn’t understand how necessary fluids are for her.” He nodded to the IV. “But she’s getting everything she needs through that.”

  Reece wasn’t convinced. He didn’t like this guy’s nonchalance, any more than he liked the warm way the guy was regarding Sarah. As if the two of them had become friends in the twelve hours it had taken Reece to fly in from San Francisco.

  Part of him wanted to beat his chest and roar. To tell buddy doctor to back off—that Sarah was his woman and Rose was his daughter and that neither were up for grabs. But Reece kept his mouth shut. Liking Rose’s doctor wasn’t a prerequisite. As long as he helped make her better, he could be evil incarnate himself for all Reece cared.

  “So, are you little Rose’s father?” The doctor looked at him as if sizing up the competition—and finding him lacking.

  “Yes.” Reese managed to get out the word through gritted teeth.

  “It’s good to see you here. The flight from San Francisco must have been a long one.”

  Exactly what did he mean by that? Reece had gotten here as soon as he possibly could. But the doctor’s face showed such benign interest that Reece shoved his dark thoughts to the back of his mind, even as he reminded himself—again—that it was Rose who was important.

  “So, how is she?” He nodded toward his sleeping daughter.

  “Her chart looks good. She seems to be responding to the medicine. But I’ll know more once I examine her.”

  He stepped closer to the bed and placed his stethoscope on her chest. Then, to Reece’s surprise, the doctor ran a hand over Rose’s head and murmured, “Wake up, sweet Rose. Wake up, baby girl.”

  Rose whimpered in her sleep, her little fist going to her mouth as it always did when she needed comfort.

  “Why are you waking her? I thought she needed her sleep.”

  The look the doctor shot him was half-amused and half-annoyed. “She does. But I want to see if she’s got the energy to fuss or if she’s as lethargic as she was last night.”

  Reece watched—jaws and hands clenched—as the doctor continued to annoy Rose and she began to whimper. She didn’t let loose with any full-fledged yells, as he’d expected her to, but the soft whines she did produce were ten times as heartbreaking.

  Beside him, he could sense Sarah anxiously watching their daughter, her shoulders sagging a little more with each whimper.

  “She’s not crying,” he said softly, his hand seeking hers unconsciously. He needed comfort as he watched his baby struggle.

  “She hasn’t been able to cry,” Sarah whispered. “Dr. Marino says it isn
’t that abnormal for babies in Rose’s condition. It’s good for her to save her energy for getting well.”

  “Is that true?” Reece pinned the doctor with a look that demanded the truth. He would brook no hedging or half-truths.

  “It is true.” Dr. Marino nodded his head. “But I was hoping for a little more response this late in the day.”

  “What does that mean?” Sarah’s nails dug into the back of Reece’s hand.

  “Nothing terrible,” the doctor answered soothingly. “It simply means that she’s taking a little longer to respond to the treatment than we had hoped.”

  “Is she—” Reece couldn’t voice the question that had been on his mind since he’d received Sarah’s call.

  “We don’t know what’s going to happen,” the doctor said. “But I’m heartened by the fact that her breathing is easier and that she does have some fight in her. The lethargy seems to be on its way out.”

  Relief swept through him at the doctor’s words. So much so that Reece found himself taking a kinder stance on the man’s obvious interest in his wi—in Sarah.

  He wasn’t really thinking of her like that, he assured himself. He was just confused, emotional, worried about Rose. And Sarah was the mother of his child—it was natural to think of her that way. Normal, even.

  Too bad he didn’t believe the lies even as he was spinning them. Things had changed between him and Sarah on that couch nearly two weeks ago. Trying to hide from it, to pretend it hadn’t happened wasn’t going to work. That’s what had brought them here, to this place where he hadn’t even been around when his daughter became so deathly ill.

  They spoke with the doctor for a few more minutes, watched as he closely examined the baby. Then stood awkwardly—looking at everything but each other—as Dr. Marino left.

  “Sarah, I’m sorry.” The words were out before he knew he was going to speak them.

  But she was shaking her head. “We’ve already been through this—”

  “I need to say this.” Gathering all of his courage, he searched for the right words to explain something he himself still didn’t understand. “I was an ass. A blind, moronic ass. Again. I treated you badly and I am so very, very sorry about that.”