by Bromberg, K.
When I look up, Colton’s eyes are locked onto the two of us, expression completely stoic. “What are you thinking about?” I ask, knowing damn well it could be a loaded question but needing to ask it nonetheless.
“Nothing. Everything.” He shrugs. “Everything has changed and yet nothing is different. I don’t know how to explain it.”
I nod my head ever so slowly understanding and not understanding what he’s saying and needing so much more of an explanation from him but having a feeling I’m not going to get one. Ace moves and I’m drawn back to watch him for a bit as I fight the exhaustion and the fear of hurting him if I fall asleep while he’s lying on my chest.
“I feel like I’m hogging him,” I murmur, my lips kissing the crown of his head, reveling in that scent of a newborn baby, before looking over to Colton as I scrunch my nose up in an apology.
“No. You’re good,” he says with a gesture to reinforce his words before he leans back in his reclining chair and closes his eyes, effectively changing the subject.
“You sure you don’t want to hold him?”
“No,” he says, eyes still closed. “The nurse said he needs skin to skin with you to help his body temperature.”
“He can be skin to skin with you and get the same thing,” I explain, my tired mind trying to understand how on earth Colton could say no when I don’t feel like I ever want to let him go.
“No. No. I’m okay.” He rejects the idea quickly with eyes still closed and arms crossing over his chest.
He’s afraid of Ace. Big man. Teeny baby. Lack of experience. Fears of inadequacy. The notion flickers and fades through my mind: his history, his staunch refusal, the way he’s seemed busy when I’ve needed him to hold Ace, add validation to my assumption.
I’m scared. Colton’s confession from the ‘I’m game’ float through my mind.
“He needs you too,” I whisper softly, my voice breaking with enough emotion to cause his head to lift so our eyes meet. “Your son needs you too, Colton.”
“I know,” he says with a slow nod of his head. And even though there is guarded trepidation in his eyes, I don’t back down this time from our visual connection. Instead I let my eyes ask him everything I can’t say aloud or push him on further. “You two look so peaceful and perfect together. I just don’t want to disturb you.”
And as much as I know he’s being honest in his response, I also know he’s using it to distract me from delving deeper into his nonchalance.
Talk to me, Colton. Tell me what’s going on in that wonderful, complicated, scarred, scared, beautiful mind of yours.
I want to reassure him, tell him he’s not going to drop Ace, harm him, or taint his innocence, and yet I don’t think there is anything I can say that will lessen his unease.
Give him time, Rylee.
THIS CAN’T BE REAL. I know it can’t be.
She’s dead.
Kelly proved it to me. So why is she calling to me from inside that room? The one that fills me with such a vile, visceral reaction. Bile’s in my throat. My mouth feels like the morning after I’ve drunk a fifth of Jack. My stomach a bath of acid.
Run, Colton. Put one foot in front of the fucking other and escape while you can.
“Colty, Colty. Sweet little Colty,” she says in a singsong voice. One I’ve never heard her use before. It calls to me. Draws me in. Makes me want to see and fear to know.
Goddamn ghosts. Even sound asleep they come back to haunt me.
I clear the doorway, the smell of mildew and must hits my nose and pulls the nightmares I thought were dead and gone from my mind. The problem: they’re not nightmares. They were reality. My reality.
And when I look up I’m knocked back a step to see the woman in the rocking chair. I know her but don’t remember her looking like this at all: dark hair pulled back, a pink tank top on, and the softest expression on her face as she looks down at the baby cradled in her arms. She’s sitting in the stream of moonlight, a smile on her face, and the baby’s hand is wrapped around one of her fingers.
“Colty, Colty. Sweet little Colty,” she sings again and all I can do is blink and wonder if what I’m seeing is really real, if it really happened, or is just a figment of my imagination.
That’s not me. Can’t be.
This is me.
I pat my chest. See the glint of my wedding ring against the light. And yet I can’t help but stare at my mother looking so real and normal and . . . nice. Not the strung-out, crazy-haired, high monster who used to trick me, trade me, and starve me for her own benefit.
“Stop calling him that. He’ll get a complex.” A deep voice to my right startles me. I catch a glimpse of the man in the shadows: tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, jeans hanging low on a shirtless torso.
But I can’t see his face.
My heart races. Is it my dad or the monster?
Is he one and the same?
The bile comes up—fast and furious—and I throw up all over the carpet as the thought rips me apart in a way I never thought possible. Was the monster my dad?
I throw up again. My body rejecting the idea over and over, dry heaves of disbelief, but no one in the room moves or notices me.
It’s a dream, Colton. A goddamn fucking dream. It’s not real. It is not.
And yet when I look up again, the man coming out of the shadows seems different, more familiar than moments ago, but it’s my mother’s voice that whips my head her way.
“Acey, Acey. Sweet little Acey.”
No! I scream but no sound comes out as she looks up at me. Her eyes are bloodshot and ragged now. Her mouth painted red like a twisted clown. She starts to lift the baby, my son, up and out to the man in the room.
“No!” I yell again. I can’t move, can’t save him. My feet are stuck to the floor. The darkness of the room is slowly swallowing me whole.
“Yes,” the man growls as his meaty fingers reach out to take Ace from her.
The hands. Those hands. The ones that fill my fucking nightmares. The ones that stained my soul.
I fight against the invisible hands holding me in place. Need to get to him. Have to save him.
And then he steps out of the darkness and into the light. My shout fills the room and hurts my ears. But no one looks. No one stops. It’s the monster from my childhood’s life taking my son, but he has my face.
My face.
My hands.
I’m going to abuse my son.
Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.
I’m shocked awake from my struggle when my ass hits the floor as I fall out of the hospital recliner. I lie where I am for a few seconds in the room’s silence. My breathing harsh. My mind fucked. My heart racing out of control.
Fucking Christ.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back onto the floor. My body tense, mind reeling. Thoughts, images, emotions crash together like the rubber debris scattered on the topside of the track: always where you’re afraid to touch them for fear you’ll spin out of control.
But this time I need to touch them. Need to know what has scared the fuck out of me more than the normal nightmare.
It doesn’t matter because I’m already spun. Crazed. There’s only one thing I remember and it’s the one I wish I could forget: I’m the one who hurt Ace.
Or rather, I’m the one who will hurt Ace.
Get a fucking grip, Donavan.
Shake it off.
It was just a dream.
Then why does the fear feel more real than anything I’ve ever felt before in my life?
“CAN YOU TAKE HIM FOR a second?” I ask Colton. He’s busy on his iPad in the corner of the hospital room. “I want to brush my teeth before everyone gets here.”
Colton’s eyes flicker over to me and then to the bassinet the nurse moved across the room and out of the way beyond my reach. I wince as I try to scoot up a little, and he slowly gets up and approaches the bed. I’m not one for games but I know the longer Colton fears Ace, the harder this transiti
on of having a child will be for him. And while my body aches all over, the dramatic grimace on my face was for good measure.
He reaches out hesitantly and I place Ace in the cradle of his arms. I hear him suck in a breath.
“Thanks. I’ll be just a sec,” I say as I push myself off the bed and slowly make my way to the sink area. I take my time, brushing my hair and teeth, and apply a little makeup while watching father and son out of the corner of my eye.
Colton stands there looking down at Ace, his features softening as he takes in his spitting image and I wonder what’s going through his head. Is the connection stronger than the fear or is he still just trying to come to terms with this life-changing moment?
I glance in the mirror’s reflection to see Colton slowly sit down with Ace cradled in his arms, and I swear to God my heart can’t swell any more with love at the sight of the two of them together. And he’s completely focused on Ace so I’m afforded the moment to watch the two of them together unhindered.
There must be something about the sight that makes my mind recall what I thought I heard him say yesterday. When I was slowly blacking out in one of my final pushes, I thought I heard Colton quietly say the names of his beloved superheroes.
The longer I watch this awkward dance between new father and baby, I know he did. But the question is why?
Moving into the room, I purposefully sit back on the bed without taking Ace from him. And the funny thing is, he’s so absorbed in our son, he doesn’t notice.
“Why did you say the superheroes before he was born?” I ask softly. He may be looking down, but I can see his body tense and know there’s a reason behind it.
Silence stretches and either he didn’t hear me, or he doesn’t want to answer. Regardless, he’s still holding Ace and that’s what matters. I lay my head back and just as I close my eyes he speaks.
“Because I figured if I called to them then, he might never have to call to them himself. And I wanted to welcome our baby into the world with the strength of those who gave me hope—kept me alive—on his side.”
His words, the raw grit in his tone, tell me he still has so many fears I don’t know about yet. When I open my eyes to meet his, I hate the lingering shadow of a past I thought we had put behind us. It hasn’t been there in so very long.
“Colton . . .” His name is a plea, an apology, an endearment simultaneously, and before I can say another thing, there is a knock at the maternity suite’s door and the moment is gone.
“Come in,” I say.
Within seconds the room is a whirlwind of sound, people, balloons, and oohs and aahs as our family and friends descend upon us.
“Let me see my grandbaby,” Colton’s mom, Dorothea, says as she leads the charge into the room, her hands outstretched and smile wide as she reaches out to take Ace from her son.
“You’d think you were royalty or something with all the press outside,” Haddie says above the fray, and even though I can’t see her yet, I can hear her.
I look over and meet Colton’s glance, and give him a nod in acknowledgement. He was right in making the call to keep the boys away from here and out of paparazzi’s lenses’ crosshairs. And God yes, I want to see them all. Look Zander in the eye to really make sure he’s okay like he told me he was on the phone, and thank Shane for staying with him last night. Have them come here to the hospital—a place most of them still associate with where they had to lie to doctors about why they were hurt—and see it’s not always a bad place. So they could meet the newest brother in their family, and see for themselves that I’m perfectly fine.
The last thing I want to happen though is to deliberately put them in the public eye. That should be avoided for Zander at all costs. Besides, Teddy might have turned a blind eye to my visit to The House and interference in Zander’s visitation there yesterday so the board doesn’t know, but I don’t think he’d be able to do the same if pictures of the boys at the hospital were plastered on the Internet.
“Oh my God, he’s adorable,” Dorothea says, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance to Colton and back to where Andy, my mom, and dad gather around her as she holds the newest member of the family. I watch them all for a second, enamored by how my always-regal mother-in-law has been reduced to a bunch of expressions and sounds as she revels in her first moments as a grandmother.
“We figured we’d all bombard you at once so you could get this all over with in one shot,” Quinlan says as she leans forward and gives me a tight hug. And for some reason—probably the hormones running in overdrive right now—I hold on a little longer than necessary and just breathe her in.
“Thanks,” I say as she pulls back and looks at me closely.
“You doing okay?” she asks, prompting a nod from me as emotion forms into a lump in my throat and lodges the words there.
“Yeah,” I say with a soft smile. “I’m just tired.” She reaches out and squeezes my hands, my thumb running over the tiny pink heart tattooed on the inside of her wrist.
“Congrats!” Her rockstar boyfriend Hawke says from behind her before he steps forward and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “We can’t wait to spoil him rotten.”
“Don’t get him started,” Quin says with a roll of her eyes. “He already has a mini guitar for him. And microphone. And—” Hawke’s hand covers her mouth in a mock attempt to shut her up and save him the embarrassment, but I think it’s a little too late.
“Outta the way.” I know there’s no ignoring that voice nor do I want to. “I need to see my girl.”
Hawke and Quin step back so Haddie can barrel through and launch herself at me. Within seconds I find myself squeezed so tight I can barely breathe.
“You’re a mom,” she says into my ear with such love and affection that tears sting the backs of my eyes. I don’t care either because we’ve been through a lifetime of ups and downs together so I love being able to experience this up with her. “Do you know how hard it is for me not to push the grandparents away so I can hog him all to myself?”
“I think you’ll lose that fight,” I say, pulling back and looking at the smile on her face and the tears in her eyes.
“And Ace, huh?” she says with a quirk of her eyebrows, earning her a smirk of mine in return, considering she is the one who started the whole acronym with me way back when.
“What am I, chopped liver?” Becks asks as he squeezes into the room and along the wall toward me, since everyone else is focused on where my mom is now holding Ace at the foot of the bed.
“No . . . but I’d easily trade you for the warm chocolate chip cookie and milk this hospital gives you,” I tease, causing him to laugh and shake his head.
“I see how you are, Donavan,” he says as he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You did good, Ry. We’re so damn happy for you.”
“Thanks, Becks.” My God. Where are all the emotion and tears coming from right now? You’d think things were sad the way I’m leaking like a faucet instead of being the exact opposite: perfect.
“And of course he looks just like his Uncle Becks. Damn handsome.” Haddie rolls her eyes beside him and then gives him the “I’m innocent” face when he looks at her and that makes me laugh.
“Nope. I’m pretty sure his good looks take after his Uncle Tanner,” my brother says, stepping beside Becks and shaking his hand with a good-natured squeeze, kissing Haddie on the cheek in greeting before looking at me. “Hey Bubs. How’re you handling all of this?”
“It’s indescribable,” I say softly because there really are no words to accurately describe the feelings, emotions, and sensations that are a constant high in my body and mind right now.
“You look gorgeous.” I roll my eyes at the comment. “And he definitely does take after me.”
“Bullshit, Thomas,” Colton says, as he steps to the other side of the bed and reaches out to shake his hand. “I get to claim this one.”
Tanner gives him the hands up motion like it’s no contest and Colton laughs. Colton glance
s down at me and squeezes my hand. I can see the pride in his eyes over Ace and that gives me more hope than I thought I was even looking for that he’ll overcome his fear. Look at what those few moments of holding Ace did already.
“Where’s your better half?” I ask my brother.
“She had an event to work and is super bummed but she’s going to try to drive up tomorrow to meet him.” He leans in and gives me a hug that brims with love and whispers in my ear, “Mom’s in fricking heaven having a new little baby to spoil. She’s already telling Dad she’s not sure how she’s going to live so far away from him, so be prepared for her wanting to spend the night a lot.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I might just need the help.”
“Ha. You needing it and accepting it are two different things,” he says with a doubtful lift of his eyebrows. He’s so very right but I can’t let him know that. I glance over to where Ace is nestled gently in my mother’s arms and the need to hold him is so strong right now I have to tell myself he’s okay. And of course he is. I trust every single person in this room but when you have something be a part of you for nearly nine months, it’s a little hard to not need that connection.
My eyes shift to the sight of Andy and Colton in a quick but heartfelt embrace. I watch as Andy steps back, one hand still on the side of Colton’s cheek, and his eyes searching his son’s in that way he always does to make sure he’s okay. It’s the look of unconditional love, and I hope that when people watch me interact with Ace, they see the same thing.
Their connection captivates me. As I watch Colton accept love from his dad, my concern over Colton’s lack of engagement dissipates. By demonstration, Andy has given Colton all the tools he needs to know how to be a good father. My fears fade as a vivid picture forms in my head of how Colton will love Ace: absolute, unequivocal devotion.
Just as he has loved me.
Andy glances my way. “And there’s the woman of the hour!” His voice booms through the room and then he immediately winces when he realizes how loud he was.