Promise Her

by Johnston, Andrea

“Hey, Gilberts. Oh and Taylor. Are y’all ready to get out of here?” Nellie asks as she pushes an empty wheelchair into the room. Nellie has been Scarlett’s nurse most of her stay, and when I returned from her house this morning with her car, they were enjoying a cup of tea together while Scarlett told her all about Henry. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house, but this time while she cried, I didn’t see the same Scarlett as the times before. Those tears were of memories and loss, but she wasn’t broken like she was following the accident.

  “Hey Nell, do you think we could have a quick minute? I wanted to talk to Taylor about something. I need like five minutes.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll be back.”

  After Nellie has left the room, I turn my attention to Scarlett. Her fingers twist the hem of her loose-fitting shirt, nerves evident. Reaching out to grab her wrist, she stops mid twist and I take her hand in mine, my thumb rubbing across her knuckles.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t think I can go back there.” She alternates on her feet, unable to sit still. I hate seeing her like this, distressed and worried. “The house, it’s . . . I can’t do it, Taylor.”

  Sighing, I release her hand and pull her to me, keeping my opposite hand resting on the baby carrier on the bed. Her chuckles into my chest cause me to step away.

  “I think you can hug me with both arms, he isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Are you saying my one arm hug isn’t sufficient?” I tease and she wipes her tears from her cheeks. Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I capture her eye. “For the record, I didn’t expect you would want to go back to the house that’s why we’re going to Grant’s to discuss things. Does that work for you?”

  Nodding, she releases a breath, and I know I just gave her a small gift. A chorus of voices outside of her room draws my attention. I recognize Dr. Green in the crowd and want to grab him before he moves along.

  “I’m going to grab Nellie so we can get out of here.” I rush from the room and find Dr. Green halfway down the hall. I nod to Nellie as I pass the desk and whisper shout the doctor’s name. He turns from the group and excuses himself as I approach.

  “Mr. Cain. How are Scarlett and Nicholas doing?”

  “They’re great. We’re heading out now. I just wanted to know if it’s safe for Scarlett and the baby to travel?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Sir, it’s only to Lexington. While we had a positive result here, she was brought in because of the extreme stress she’s been under. Not only Henry’s death but also the break in at her home. Until the sheriff can confirm it’s safe for her to be in that house, I can’t in good consciousness let her stay there. My sister is a nurse in Lexington, and I can guarantee she will be checking on both Scarlett and Nicholas. We’re close to a hospital if necessary.”

  “I was going to say I don’t think that will be a problem,” he says with a smile. “Nicholas will need to be seen by his pediatrician in the next few days, but I won’t need to see Scarlett for six weeks, barring any problems.” Relief washes over me. I can take her to Lexington. Get her out of this town and away from the home she so clearly does not want to go back to.

  Thanking the doctor, I promise to have Scarlett discuss the trip with her pediatrician before we leave town. Stepping into Scarlett’s room, she’s settled into the wheelchair with the baby carrier sitting on her lap. Peeking into the carrier, I see Nicholas fast asleep and walk beside her as Nellie guides us out of the room and toward the elevators.

  Scarlett and Nicholas are fast asleep in Grant’s bedroom as we sit on his porch and share a few beers with Connor, who is telling us a story about some online dating fiasco. It’s been a long time since I just sat and relaxed with friends. The last few months have been busy and chaotic for us all. Death has a ripple effect on the people who mourn the loss of a loved one. Each of us have seen death and its destruction in our lives, but this one has been a little harder for each of us.

  “Don’t scoff at my dating woes old man,” Connor teases Grant. “One day you’ll finally put yourself out there, your days of living your life like a monk behind you, and it’ll all make sense. Dating is a fucking bitch, but sometimes the reward is sweet.”

  “Or lands you a restraining order,” I counter, and we all raise our bottles in agreement.

  “So we’ve dodged the conversation long enough. While Red and the baby sleep, we should probably figure out a plan. I’m happy to have them here as long as needed. Or, I can stay at her place with them until she feels safe.”

  “Cap, I think she knows that but honestly, I’m not sure we’ll ever get her back in that house. I didn’t tell her, but she talked in her sleep last night. It’s more than fear from the break-in. I think it’s Henry and everything they went through in that house.”

  Both Grant and Connor mumble their understanding before taking a long draw from their bottles. Connor finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the small table with our collection of previously discarded brown bottles before uncapping another.

  “Besides, I don’t care what the sheriff says, this break-in isn’t sitting well with me. I think we should install some cameras and see if they come back.” I look from Connor to Grant, waiting for either to disagree with me. I’ve thought about this for two days, and aside from staying here myself, this is the best plan to see if the bastards come back.

  “Agreed. The whole vibe is off. I’ll pick up something tomorrow and put them up. She can stay here, and I’ll move in there until she knows what she wants.”

  “I was thinking of taking them to Lexington,” I say to Grant, his expression unreadable. Unlike Connor, who is smiling like the cat who ate the canary. Shaking my head at his obvious approval, I turn my attention back to Grant, waiting for a response. I respect Grant Ellison as both my former captain and as a friend, but I don’t need his approval for this plan. I’d like it, but I don’t need it.

  “You ready to take all this on?” he asks, turning his gaze toward the house. “It’s a lot when it’s not your family.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. They are my family, Cap. It’s my dut—”

  “This is more than some obligation you think you have to Henry. I know you don’t need it, but you have my blessing. I care for that girl like a sister, hell, I’m almost old enough to be her father, and I want nothing but for her to keep smiling like she did today. Keep her safe and make her smile. We’ll work with the sheriff and figure out what’s happening here.”

  Shooting a look to Connor, he nods his agreement. I rise up from my seat and extend my hand to Grant. He stands and takes my hand, shaking twice before pulling me into a hug. “I think he’d be a dick about it, but eventually even Henry would admit this is what’s best for them. For all of you.”

  Chapter 23

  Scarlett

  Something I’ve learned as a new mother is there is no one solid answer to a single baby question. I’ve talked with friends, spent time online searching, and all I’ve learned is for every question, there are ten answers. I suppose, at the end of the day, I need to accept that each new mother and baby have their own story.

  Our story is a little messy, very tearful, and nothing short of exhausting. And I love every minute of it. The weeks since his birth have been a whirlwind to say the least. Taylor has been a godsend, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to repay him for the sacrifices he’s made for us. Beyond completely changing his schedule to be home at night, he’s also spent most nights on the couch while I’ve claimed his bed.

  Sure, he’s insisted that with his difficulty sleeping, it only makes sense for him to spend his time on the couch. But I know he’s full of it. There is nobody in the world who thinks a couch trumps a bed. Especially this bed. It’s cushy without being soft and the sheets are like soft little puffs of comfort. Memories of the time in this bed during my last stay hover above me like a cloud of confusion and bliss. I’m choosing to ignore the confusing aspects and focus my attention on my son.
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  Nicholas is fast asleep in his bassinet to the side of the bed while I lie here, staring up at the ceiling. I counted sheep. I thought of waves crashing and soft lullabies. Nothing worked. Instead of sleeping while he sleeps, I think of the things I could be doing around the house to repay Taylor for his hospitality. The realization that I can’t hide out here forever and need a plan filters its way into my mind like the bright sunlight through the curtains.

  Sleep alludes me but a shower beckons me. Slipping off the bed, I peer at my sleeping boy, his little body wrapped tight like a human burrito, as he sleeps peacefully. A twinge of jealousy pings into my soul. I didn’t know it was humanly possible to be this tired and still function. Or semi-function.

  I don’t think my mind is wired to sleep during the day, regardless of how desperate I am for it. Hopefully, that will change soon, but until then, a warm shower will have to do. Quietly, I tiptoe out of the room into the master bathroom and turn the faucet to hot, letting the room fill with steam. Taking one of the shower bombs from the gift basket Addy brought over yesterday, I toss it into the corner of the shower and let the aroma of lavender fill the space.

  Massaging the shampoo into my hair, I enjoy the sensation of my nails scraping my scalp. Gosh, I could go for a massage right now. The tension of the last few weeks compounded by the knowledge that my life is in a major upheaval and out of my control has my body consumed with knots.

  I’m not sure if it’s the warm water, the lavender filling the room, or my acceptance of exhaustion, but I know I’ll be able to sleep for at least a while, so I quickly rinse my hair and turn off the water before exiting the shower and toweling off. Wrapping my robe around my body, I begin combing my hair. Listening for the baby, I don’t hear anything, so I turn on the blow dryer on low and begin drying my hair.

  One of Addy’s words of new-mom wisdom is to expose Nicholas to as many daily sounds as possible. She says if he hears the blow dryer, vacuum, and other random sounds around the house he’ll always be able to fall asleep in an active house. Since she’s one of the only moms I know, I take that advice to heart and give it a go. The upside to her being right is I will be able to handle household chores while he sleeps. Downside is I can’t hear him with the blow dryer on, so I won’t know if he’s crying. That realization doesn’t sit well with me, and I declare my hair dry enough and turn off the dryer. Peering into the bedroom, the sight before me steals my breath.

  Standing in the room, holding my son to his chest is Taylor Cain in all his shirtless glory. The contrast of Nicholas’s white blanket and Taylor’s tan and beautifully inked skin, is shocking but something I can’t take my eyes off. Rocking back and forth, he’s patting the baby’s back, whispering in his ear. The slight smile tells me whatever he’s saying is probably not meant for this mama’s ears, so I allow them a few minutes of one on one time. This opportunity also grants me more time to ogle, or appreciate, the man before me.

  It’s been nearly six months since Henry’s passing and while I hate that he’s not here for these moments and isn’t the one comforting our son, I’m grateful for the man who is. Each night, when Nicholas wakes me for his middle of the night feeding, I’ve been telling him about his father. Quiet stories of the man I loved for so many years fill our nights and most of them end with me crying myself to sleep.

  Regardless of where we were in our relationship, he should be here, sharing these moments with me. Changing diapers, wiping spit-up, and reassuring me my body will return to some sort of normalcy is something I know he would have loved. Overwhelmed by the thoughts of Henry, I retreat back into the bathroom and turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face.

  After composing myself, I step into the bedroom and spy Taylor with his back to me, swaying back and forth attempting to sing to the baby.

  “Are you singing Celine Dion to my son?” I ask in mock horror. Spinning on his heel, Taylor smiles sheepishly.

  “It’s the only thing I could think of on the fly. Don’t mock my music choices, I think he likes it.” I step up to him, looking at Nicholas’s sleeping face and smile. Lifting my hand to his back, I rub a little circle before pulling my hand back and stuffing it into the pocket of my robe.

  “Did he wake up? I didn’t hear him.”

  “Yeah, he was fussing a little when I opened the door. Obviously I couldn’t help him with what he really wanted so I tried the next best thing. Turns out your son is a fan of nineties ballads.”

  Laughing, I contemplate taking Nicholas from him or changing into some clean clothes. The idea of clothes reminds me that Taylor is standing before me half naked. “Uh, something happen to your shirt?”

  “I didn’t think it was good for Nick to inhale all the booze and grease that is probably all over my shirt, so I tossed it in the laundry there before I picked him up.”

  Something about that simple gesture, knowing he immediately thought of the baby before anything else hits me in the gut. Refusing to cry at such a simple, yet sweet, gesture, I clear my throat and say, “I’m going to get dressed then I’ll take him.”

  Before he can respond, I grab a pair of leggings, a tank top, and clean pair of panties from one of my two drawers in his dresser and scurry to the bathroom to change. Distance from this moment is necessary if I want to keep from throwing myself at him. There is nothing sexier than a half-naked man holding a baby, especially when that man is Taylor Cain.

  Once I’ve pulled my clothes on and tied my hair high on my head, I return to where Taylor is holding Nicholas and motion with wiggling fingers for him to give me my fussy little man. As I settle on the bed with Nicholas and unwrap him from his blankets, Taylor disappears from the room without a word. Assuming he’ll return, I grab the discarded blanket and cover the baby as he begins nursing.

  Proving me right, Taylor appears just a few minutes later with a bottle of water and, sadly, a fresh T-shirt. Uncapping the water, he sets the bottle on the side table and peers down at the lump under the blanket.

  Looking up at him, I smile. “Pretty strange, huh?”

  “He’s amazing, Red. Truly. You made a human. It’s fucking amazing. Shit, sorry. I should scale back on the cussing.”

  Barking out a laugh, I cover my mouth as the baby unlatches and whimpers at my outburst. “I think he’s a little young to pick up on your potty mouth. Thanks for your help. I hate that we’re taking over your house and free time.”

  Motioning for the bed next to my feet Taylor sits and rests his hand on my ankle. “You aren’t taking over anything. I want you guys here. I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  “You’ve given up so much for us. Changing your work schedule from nights to days—”

  “Scarlett,” he warns, and I bite my lip to keep from continuing on. When I agreed to come here while we wait for the sheriff to finish his investigation and for me to decide if I can move back into the house, I expected to just take over the upstairs of Taylor’s house and give him his space. But he insisted on changing everything to ensure he’s home with us. Beyond the sacrifice of his bedroom, he also hasn’t worked a closing shift in the weeks we’ve been here.

  “Fine. What—” I begin when my phone starts buzzing on the dresser. Taylor stands and grabs it. I can tell by the look on his face it isn’t a call from Grant or anyone else in Fayhill.

  “Who is it?” I ask as I switch Nicholas to my other breast.

  “Unknown. Is this still going on?” he asks incredulously.

  Squirming under his glare, I ignore the question and peek under the blanket, pretending to check on Nicholas. After a few beats, he clears his throat. Lifting my eyes, I see an expression that hasn’t greeted me in over six months. It’s a look I recognize from Henry. Frustration, stress, and a sprinkling of anger.

  “Scarlett.”

  “It’s an unknown number, Taylor. I hit ignore and go about my day. No biggie. Hell, Jamaica called me the other day too. It’s solicitors or political bullshit. I ignore it, the call goes to voice
mail, and they don’t leave one.”

  “How often?”

  Shrugging, I adjust my tank top and pull Nicholas up to my shoulder to burp.

  “Red,” he implores, his expression changing to one of concern, and I fold like a house of cards.

  “A few times a day. It’s a lot less than it was a few months ago. Maybe they realize I’m not buying what they’re selling.”

  Growling, he laces his fingers behind his head and exhales loudly as he lifts his chin, gazing at the ceiling. He stands like that while I pat the baby’s back a few times. Shifting my position, I shimmy to the edge of the bed, a motion that catches his attention because he moves quickly to my side, reaching to help me up. Laying Nicholas in his bassinet, I turn to face the brooding man before me.

  “Look, I appreciate you going all alpha here. It’s ridiculous and unnecessary but appreciated, nonetheless. Phone calls happen, Taylor, they don’t have to mean anything. Right now, I’m more concerned about how fucking tired I am. I’m going to curl up and take a nap. By the looks of that luggage you’re sporting under your eyes, I think you could use one too. Why don’t you kick off those shoes, take that pillow and join me for an epic nap? Or at the least, a few minutes with your eyes closed until this little dictator declares naptime over.”

  “Red . . .”

  “Nap, Taylor. I need one,” I say with finality and pull back the covers, slide into the bed, snuggle into my side, pointing to the pillow on the far side of the large bed. Grunting his opposition, he does as instructed and walks to the other side of the bed and kicks off his shoes before gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling it off in one swoop.

  My eyes go wide at the view, and he must take the look as one of horror or confusion because he says, “If I’m going to nap, I’m going to do it right and be comfortable. Fair warning, I’m fucking exhausted and snoring is likely.”

  “Noted,” I say through a yawn and close my eyes, welcoming the sleep to smother my exhaustion.