Exposure

by Ember Dante

  “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “You may want to call and tell her to get a morphine drip ready for Mason so he doesn’t die of a fucking aneurysm.”

  Punch-drunk from being awakened at that hour, I collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter, a shoe in my hand. Ian sat beside me, laughing with me as he slipped on his own shoes. “Will I need to do the same for you when we have our first baby?” The words hit me as soon as they were out of my mouth. “Ian, I—”

  He sobered and sat up so he could look me in the eyes. His mouth opened, then closed, his eyes searching mine as he reached up to cup my face, his thumb caressing my jaw.

  “You’re right. I would probably be freaking the fuck out right now, imagining all the worst case scenarios.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it…”

  “No, I know that. I’m just saying you’re absolutely right.” He leaned closer and kissed me, a lingering peck on the lips. “I’m still gonna bust Mason’s balls for being a pussy, though.”

  Standing with him, I laughed and pulled my hair into a ponytail. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Grinning from ear to ear, he waggled his eyebrows. “Because you know me well.”

  “You are such a goof-ball,” I snickered, pushing him ahead of me as we left the bedroom.

  He turned, pulling me against him to kiss me on the forehead.

  “Yeah, but I’m your goof-ball.”

  A thrill ran through me, and I stretched to twine my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his.

  “Yes, you are.”

  He returned my hug, his hands roaming down my back to grasp my backside.

  “We better go or we’re going to miss Mason’s meltdown.”

  Bailey was already settled in a room by the time we arrived at the hospital and got our visitor badges. She was propped up in bed and her green eyes sparkled with excitement. Her hands, however, were restless, fidgeting with the bed covers and the television remote. Mason was sitting in the chair beside her, twitchy and pale.

  “Hey, guys,” Jules said, looking up briefly from her clipboard as she checked Bailey’s vitals. “I’m worried about your brother, Ian. We may need to get an extra bed for him.”

  “He’ll be fine. He just needs to man up. Fuck, he’s had nine months to prepare for this day. That’s more time than he gets for some of his trials.” He joked.

  “Asshole,” grumbled Mason, but Ian’s comment had the desired effect of pulling him from his stupor.

  Bailey giggled at the exchange until another contraction hit, making Mason forget about his brother’s barb.

  “Shit. Bay, are you okay? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” she spit out between gritted teeth. Her eyes drifted to Jules. “They’re getting closer.”

  Jules nodded and checked the monitor beside the bed. Her brows and nose crinkled in concern, an expression I’d become familiar with over the years. “Lean back and relax. I’m going to check you again, then I’ll get the doctor.” She pulled the privacy screen around, shutting us out so she could check Bailey’s progress. A few moments later she pushed the drape out of the way. Mason was turning green. “We’re getting closer. You’re a six. I’ll let Dr. Thompson know how you’re doing.”

  Ian looked at his brother, all teasing forgotten. “Mase? You okay, dude?”

  Mason nodded absently, his attention focused on his wife.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Mason. Women have babies every day,” scolded Bailey. She looked at us. “You two may as well have a seat. This may take a while.”

  There was only one other chair in the room, and Ian nudged me into it before leaning against the wall beside me. We both shifted our focus between Mason and Bailey. Mason definitely looked like he could keel over at any moment.

  “Dude. Do you need to get some air?” Ian asked.

  “No,” grunted Mason.

  “Where’s your mom, Bailey?” I asked, trying to diffuse some of the tension.

  “She and Dad were supposed to be back yesterday, but their flight was delayed because of the weather. They’re trying to get on another one as standby.”

  “Mason, did you call Mom?” Ian asked.

  Another contraction hit before he could respond and Bailey screwed her face into a grimace.

  “Snoogie ... I want to push. I need to push,” Bailey panted. “Fuck, it hurts.”

  Ian and I shared a look. Snoogie?

  Mason pressed the call button several times in quick succession, then sprung from his chair and darted out of the room. I stood and moved to her side. “Bailey? Can I do anything?”

  Without speaking, she grabbed my hand and squeezed. Now that hurt. I grunted in pain, but just let her hang on while she rode out the latest contraction. Mason rushed through the door with Jules hot on his heels.

  “Em, I need you to step over there so I can check her again,” Jules said.

  “I’d love to, but she kind of has a death grip on my hand.”

  “Fuck it,” she sighed, closing the screen and blocking us from Ian’s view. She moved between Bailey’s legs, positioning her feet in the stirrups so she could check her dilation. “Holy shit. Bailey, don’t push. You need to wait just a minute. I’ll go get the doctor.”

  Bailey started panting heavily. “I need to push. I need to get her out of me.”

  “Bailey, sweetie, just hang on,” Jules pleaded, then sprinted out of the room to return with the doctor in tow.

  I managed to free myself from Bailey’s iron grip and returned to my place beside Ian outside the privacy screen. He motioned toward the door, and we stepped into the hallway. I shook my hand in an effort to revive some feeling and Ian began massaging it, continuing up my arm.

  “Holy shit, that was intense.”

  “I should have warned you. The girl’s strong. She punched me once, shortly after she and Mason started dating. We were all horsing around—I think it was Thanksgiving or some holiday. Anyway, I smarted off and she reared back and punched me in the arm.” He raised an eyebrow. “She’s tough.”

  Knowing it could be a while before the baby made her entrance, we wandered down the hall to the waiting room. A woman I recognized as Ian’s mother arrived as we approached.

  “Mom,” Ian said, giving her a quick hug. “I wasn’t sure if Mason called.”

  “Oh, he did. In a panic.” She giggled.

  “Where’s Finn?”

  “I talked to him last night. He said he’s sick with a nasty stomach bug, poor dear.” She shook her head. “How’s Bailey?”

  “Fully dilated and ready to push,” I said.

  Ian released his mother and gestured toward me. “Mom, this is—”

  “Emmy.” Mom beamed. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  “You too, Mrs. Walsh.”

  “Pfft,” she said, flicking her hand before drawing me into a tight hug. “Call me Ginny. Mrs. Walsh was my mother-in-law.”

  Ian chuckled and smoothed a hand down my back to settle at my waist. I had been nervous to meet Ian’s mother, though based on everything he’d told me about her, I should have expected the warm greeting.

  “Okay, Ginny,” I smiled as I backed out of the embrace.

  Ginny gestured toward a small cluster of empty chairs. “Come and sit. It’ll be a while before we have a baby.” She sat and patted the seat of the chair beside her. “Tell me about yourself. Ian’s told me quite a bit, but he’s been stingy and kept you all to himself.”

  Ian groaned at her comment, a typical guy response to a mother’s admonishment, and I released a nervous giggle. I really hated talking about myself, but Ginny made it easy. She was very welcoming and attentive, making me feel as though we’d known each other for years rather than minutes. I was grateful that such a caring, gracious woman would be my mother-in-law. Someday.

  The first rays of the early morning sun were just beginning to warm the sterile walls when Mason walked into the waiting room, grinning from ear to ear.

  �
�She’s here,” he exclaimed, holding his arms to either side, palms up. “Seven pounds, ten ounces. Twenty inches long.”

  We rose and rushed toward him.

  “Oh, Mason, honey,” gushed Ginny, wrapping him in a tight hug. “A little girl. I’m so happy for you.”

  After Ginny released Mason, Ian shook his hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “Congrats, man.”

  “Thanks.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m a dad.”

  I stepped closer and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

  Mason smiled. “You want to meet your niece?”

  I teared up when Mason said the words, touched that he considered me his daughter’s aunt. Blinking back tears, I nodded. “I’d love to.”

  We followed him back to Bailey’s room and he pushed the door open, allowing us to enter before him.

  Bailey looked beautiful—tired, but beautiful—with flushed cheeks and bright green eyes. The fringe of hair surrounding her face was sticky with sweat, but it made her look like she had just finished yoga rather than birthing a baby. Joy radiated from her as she beamed at the bundle in her arms.

  “Sorry about your hand,” she whispered, lifting her head as we approached.

  I waved her off. “No worries.”

  She crooked a finger at us. “Come meet Sophie.”

  We drew closer, and my hands covered the lower half of my face, awed by the tiny human swaddled in a pink blanket. “She’s beautiful, Bailey.”

  “Do you want to hold her?”

  I couldn’t speak, so I simply nodded. My first instinct had been to say no and let Ginny hold her first, but it was quickly silenced by my own biological clock. Bailey transferred the sleeping baby to my arms, and once again, I was awestruck. But as I held baby Sophie, an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling slithered down my spine—jealousy. And I hated myself for it. Emotion overwhelmed me, and I began to cry. I tried to hold it together, hoping that everyone else thought I was crying from happiness for Mason and Bailey. I was happy for them, but I also cried for what could have been—for what I’d lost.

  Ian moved closer and rested a hand on my shoulder. He bent slightly and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Are you okay, babe?”

  My gaze met his, and I forced a smile, but knew he could see the turmoil in my eyes. “Yeah.”

  Sophie picked the right moment to get fussy. “She wants her momma,” I whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the baby’s head as I gave her back to Bailey. I inhaled deeply, and her sweet baby smell filled my nostrils. My hand stroked over Sophie once more, and I gave Bailey a half hug. “She’s perfect.”

  Bailey beamed up at me and mouthed the words, “You’re next.” Her gaze shifted behind me. “Your turn, Ian.”

  He was about to decline, but Mason was the deciding factor. “Don’t be a pussy, bro.”

  A low growl rumbled in Ian’s chest, and I nudged him forward, earning a sharp look for my trouble. I maintained the playful ruse, lifting my shoulder and giving him my best innocent smile. Ian gave me a half-smile as he bent and allowed Bailey to place the once more sleeping baby in his arms. He returned to his full height with Sophie cradled close to his chest, his eyes fixed on her small form.

  He looked up, a sad but hopeful smile on his face, and held my gaze for a few moments before giving the baby back to Bailey. “She’s beautiful, Bailey. Thank God she takes after you, or else you’d have to give her up for adoption.” He gestured toward Mason. “You wouldn’t have any choice if she had his ugly mug.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Mason laughed, and Bailey joined him.

  “That’s what older brothers are for,” Ian grinned, draping an arm across my shoulders. “We’re gonna take off. I can tell Mom’s dying to get her hands on her.”

  Ginny giggled and stepped beside the bed to take the baby into her arms. “She’s such a precious little girl,” she cooed, gently stroking a finger over Sophie’s cheek.

  Mason and Bailey watched with rapt attention, giving us the perfect opportunity to make our escape. We stepped into the hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the door closed behind us. The room had become stifling, though I knew it was only in my head.

  Ian linked our hands and lifted them to his mouth, placing a kiss on my knuckles. I looked into his eyes and saw the same sadness that filled me. That was when I knew he had been doing the same thing I was—putting on a happy face for his brother’s sake, to be there for Mason when he needed him.

  We remained silent during the walk to our vehicle and the ride home. I didn’t really know what to say, because everything seemed so trivial compared to Sophie’s arrival and the heaviness in our hearts. It seemed as though both of us were unwilling to bring that up, but what was there to say, really?

  Exhaustion set in and we barely took the time to undress before falling into bed. Ian pulled me against him, spooning behind me, and placed tender kisses along my neck and over my shoulder. Wrapped in the circle of his arms, I finally allowed the grief to wash over me and gave in to the jealousy, the pain, the desperation—all those things I couldn’t express earlier in front of his family. I let it all out, and the tears spilled from my eyes, soaking my pillow. I cried until blackness claimed me, releasing me—temporarily at least—from my sadness and pain.

  Epilogue

  Emmy

  Christmas

  Time passed, as time does. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The wheels of justice moved slowly, but once Blaire was indicted, the story was out. Every news source in the Metroplex carried it, and speculations about the truth abounded. The authorities handled Connor with kid gloves, but it didn’t matter. He was left with no choice but to resign and was eventually disbarred. That wasn’t as harsh a penalty as Ian would have liked, and I couldn’t blame him, but from what little I knew about the man in question it was devastating—probably worse than imprisonment would have been. Most people would call that Karma.

  As for Blaire, her trial began at the end of September and dragged on for over a month. In the end, she was convicted—no surprise there—and sentenced to sixty years. I couldn’t believe it, but a small part of me almost—almost—felt sorry for her. Her actions were as reprehensible as Connor’s, but ultimately she was extorting him for the way he’d treated her sister. Being an only child, I couldn’t understand her feelings exactly, but I could definitely understand wanting to protect someone you love. That was as much sympathy as she’d get from me.

  I slipped on a pair of yoga pants and a light hoodie before padding down the hall, following the scent of food. Soft music filled the air and got louder as I drew nearer—strains of Michael Bublé singing Christmas carols. I was treated to the view of Ian’s backside when I entered the kitchen. It was a nice view. His head bobbed in time with the music and he was singing.

  “Morning, Beautiful,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Somehow, he always managed to know I was behind him.

  “How do you do that?”

  “It’s a gift,” he smirked, turning to pull me into a hug. “Merry Christmas.”

  I could feel the ridiculous smile on my face. “Merry Christmas.”

  He bent and kissed me on the forehead. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. You’re up sooner than I expected.”

  “We were up kind of late.” I giggled.

  “That we were. How do you feel about pancakes this morning?”

  “Have we met? Yum. That sounds wonderful.” He turned his back to mix the batter, and I slipped my arms around his waist. “When can we open presents?”

  “After breakfast.”

  “You’re mean,” I pouted.

  Laughing, he turned and kissed the tip of my nose. “So you’ve told me.” He held a piece of bacon to my mouth. “Here. Occupy yourself with this. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can see what Santa brought you.”

  My eyes widened as I bit the bacon in half. “You still believe in Santa?” I mumbled, still chewing.

/>   “You don’t? Sacrilege,” he said, incredulous. “You rebel.”

  “Goof.”

  I dismissed him with a gentle nudge of my fingertips against his shoulder on my way to the coffee pot.

  He grabbed my arm, pulling me back to him, and lifted me so we were eye to eye, chests pressed together.

  “You’ve told me that before, too.” He lowered me to the floor, kissed me again, and delivered a playful swat to my backside. “Would you grab a couple of plates and pour some coffee?”

  “Bossy, too,” I grumbled, stuffing the rest of my bacon in my mouth.

  I pulled open the fridge and gaped. “What’s all this?” I asked, pointing at the crudités and other party food filling the interior.

  His head swiveled in my direction. “What’s all what?”

  “How long have you been up?”

  “What? I don’t know, a while. I figured I may as well be productive and get some of that shit ready for tonight.”

  “Hmph, you shouldn’t have let me sleep so late. You don’t have to do everything. The party was my idea, after all.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he murmured, brushing me off. “Breakfast is ready. Let’s eat so you can open presents.”

  I was hungrier than I thought, so I didn’t argue. I scarfed down my food and carried my plate to the kitchen before Ian had a chance to get halfway through his pancakes.

  “Damn, babe ... hungry?”

  “Maybe.” I blushed. “I’m just excited for you to open your presents.”

  “Well then, let’s get to it.” He chuckled, pushing up from his seat.

  “No, no, finish eating first. I’ll have more coffee.”

  “Oh, no,” he laughed again, “I’m not gonna keep my girl waiting.”

  I bounced on my toes a few times and followed him to the living room. Not surprisingly, Ian’s gifts to me were spot-on: perfume (which was just as much for him as it was for me), a cashmere wrap, and Michael Bublé tickets.

  He loved what I’d picked for him: a framed blueprint of Fenway Park and a history of the Boston Red Sox, in honor of his love of the game and his almost-draft. I was worried it would upset him, but it actually had the opposite effect. He spent several minutes studying both gifts, then gently pushed them aside to pull me into a hug.