by Ciara Shayee
“But he’s gone now. He’s gone, okay? Riley got him. He can’t hurt you again, you or the baby.”
With a start, Indie remembered. She remembered Garrett standing over her.
She remembered the pain, the tearing sensation.
She remembered the dark, quiet room. The cocking of the gun.
And then a noise.
“Laker…” Indie could perfectly picture his face, grey and still against the concrete.
“He’s stable, honey. He’s out of surgery. We saw the doctor a little while ago.”
Indie released a long sigh of relief, tears pouring over her cheeks. He’s okay. Her heart raced, but a weight lifted from her shoulders. “What happened?” Her memories were foggy, clouded by trauma as well as the lingering anaesthetic.
Reagan cast a quick look in Marley’s direction. Seeing she was still distracted, he quickly explained. “The gun went off in the struggle and the bullet hit Laker’s abdomen. It grazed a kidney and he lost a lot of blood, but the doctors managed to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding. He’s being watched carefully, but he should be okay.”
Indie had never felt so relieved. If Laker hadn’t made it…
God, it wasn’t worth thinking about; she felt sick at the mere idea of losing him. He was her sunshine, her smiles and joy. The thought of not seeing that double-dimpled, crooked grin, or of watching him play with Marley again made Indie want to scream. She felt the pressure of her need to see him rising within her as she sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the thoughts running rampant in her brain.
Marley bounced back over, looking abashed when Reagan reminded her to be careful of the cannula in her mother’s hand and the wires monitoring her vitals on a machine beside the bed. “Mummy, look. I drawed a picture.”
Struggling to lift her arms, the ache of exhaustion rooted deep within her bones, Indie took Marley’s drawing with a shaky hand, taking a few moments to try and work out what the shapes on the page represented.
Marley gave her a helping hand. “This is Pawpaw, and Unca P, and Unca Archie. This is Carl-Roman and Chase, and Auntie Gwacie, Auntie Pippa, Auntie Heidi…” She paused for a moment, huffing with a knot between her brows. “This is Laker. He’s poorly, Mummy, but I’m not allowed to see him. I drawed him a picture also.”
Her words sounded awkward as if she was reciting them from memory. Somebody had clearly told her he was poorly and she couldn’t see him; she was just imitating them.
“It’s good, baby girl,” Indie rasped, mustering a smile. She tried to look closer at the trio of shapes in the centre. “Who is this?”
“Silly Mummy! That’s me, and you, and my baby brother!”
Baby…baby brother?
Indie ignored the pain that tore through her as she tried to sit up, managing to wiggle up just enough to look down at her belly.
Her deflated belly.
There was still a bump there, but it was tiny and odd-shaped.
“Where…where’s my baby?” Indie mumbled. “Where’s my baby, Dad?”
Reagan squeezed her hand, mindful of the cannula, and smiled weakly. “He’s okay, honey. He’s okay. You had a baby boy a few hours ago.”
“A…a boy?”
Marley nodded, her head moving too quickly for Indie’s blurry vision to keep up with. “Uh-huh. I got a brothuh, Mummy.”
Indie found herself thoroughly confused at the idea that she now had two children. A girl and a boy. Marley…and a son.
“Ah, you’re awake!” a soft voice cheered from the doorway. Indie dragged her eyes from Reagan to Archie. “Jesus, sis, could you not scare us like that? How’re you feeling?”
“I don’t…um, I’m just a bit, confused?”
He smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently. When he pulled back, Archie left a hand on her cheek, his smile stretching a little wider. “What’re you confused about?”
“The baby. Where is he?”
“In the NICU, but he’s okay. I just saw the nurse, and she said he’s doing so well for being six weeks early. He’s a little fighter, just like you.”
Hearing about her baby was surreal. The last thing she remembered was being wheeled from a building, Garrett being led away in handcuffs, and watching Laker be rushed ahead on a stretcher around the enormous bump in her middle. It didn’t make sense to her that she could now see over her much smaller stomach. That she could see her toes as she wiggled them beneath the hospital issue blanket.
A boy…
Indie had told herself over and over that she didn’t mind if the baby was a boy or a girl, so long as he or she arrived safely. But hearing she’d had a son, and that somewhere in this hospital a baby boy was waiting for her, made Indie incomprehensibly desperate to lay eyes on him. She squirmed, wincing.
“Do you need some painkillers?” Archie asked, already moving to stand.
Indie shook her head, trying to sit up. Reagan carefully put a hand on her shoulders, telling her to wait a second. With the help of the electronic bed, she was almost completely upright within a minute, tears leaking from her eyes in a combination of pain and desperation.
“I need to see him. The baby, I need to go see him.” And Laker. Even as she watched her dad and brother debate her request, she realised that it wasn’t just the baby she needed to see.
She was desperate to lay eyes on Laker; to see him for herself, alive and safe.
Reagan and Archie shared a look. The doctor had warned them that she’d react this way; that she’d want to meet her baby as soon as she woke and realised she didn’t carry him within her womb anymore. Dr. Stephens had also warned them of the risks and advised the men to try to keep Indie as calm and still as possible. Watching her struggle to move, seeing the way her eyes darted between the tube in her hand and the door across the room, they knew there was no stopping her. Not allowing Indie to get to her baby would stress her more than anything else.
“Hang on, I’ll go grab a nurse,” Archie murmured, returning within a few minutes with a nurse and a wheelchair.
With a bright smile and a kind, soothing lilt to her voice, she introduced herself as Emma. “Now, Miss Ashby, Dr. Stephens is happy for you to go and visit your baby as long as I check you over first, and as long as you can sit upright in the chair for a few minutes without it being too painful, okay?”
Indie nodded quickly. She didn’t care if it was painful. All she wanted was to get to the NICU, whatever it took.
~ oOo ~
Twenty minutes, and only a mildly painful transition into the wheelchair later, Indie found herself sitting outside the doors to the NICU. It looked petrifying. There were so many machines, so many people bustling around. Before they was allowed in, Emma had to teach Indie and Reagan how to scrub in properly, so they could come and go as they pleased—once Indie was mobile, anyway.
Reagan explained on the way that nobody had seen the baby yet, as they hadn’t wanted to take that moment away from her, but they’d been in close contact with Emma. She’d kept them updated on every little thing Baby Boy Ashby, as he was being referred to, did or had.
“He’s settled in an open cot, which is really good for a preemie, Indie,” Emma said, squeezing her shoulder before taking the handles of the wheelchair and turning her towards the doors leading into the main area, where the babies were. “Most babies born this early need an incubator, but your little boy is doing just fine. He’s had a little formula but if you’d like to try breastfeeding, we can definitely talk about it. We’ll just have to double-check that all the anaesthetic is out of your system, that’s all.”
Indie wasn’t sure what to think, what to say, so she just kept quiet and silently took in her surroundings, even though they filled her with fear. The beeping of heart monitors and the whoosh of breathing apparatuses sent her heart flying. She couldn’t help but feel like this was all her fault. If she’d protected her baby better, or if she’d never put herself in the position to get pregnant in the first place…
No. E
ven as Emma pushed her to the last little curtained area in the room, and Indie’s eyes found the impossibly tiny figure of her baby boy for the first time, she couldn’t bring herself to wish him away.
“Oh God, he’s so small…” she breathed, almost unable to bear looking at him. Sitting in the wheelchair, she was eye level with him; the perfect height to see the heart-shaped stickers on his chest, the way it rose and fell in an even, but very fast, rhythm. Marley had been small at birth but she’d had chubby little cheeks that Indie and Grace had cooed over constantly, and she was born two weeks early, too. She wouldn’t be classed as ‘premature’ per se, like this little guy at six weeks early.
Indie’s baby boy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He was so small, so fragile looking, his tiny body bony.
“Hi, baby boy. I’m your mummy.” She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. It hurt her tender insides but she ignored it, too focused on the sweet angel in front of her. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. I love you.” A tear fell as she continued in a hushed voice, “I love you so, so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’ll do better now, okay? I’ll do better.”
“Would you like to try feeding him, Indie?” Emma asked, having ducked away for a moment. The wide-eyed, fish-mouthed look Indie gave her in return must have said what she wasn’t able to verbalise just yet. Emma laughed lightly, recognising an overwhelmed new mother when she saw one. “Here, we’ll get your boy comfy, and I’ll fetch him a late-night snack.”
Petrified of hurting her baby, Indie almost said ‘no’ to holding him, but the words melted away in her mouth as soon as Emma settled him in her arms. He was miniature, but she felt his warmth, his perfect weight at her chest. He instinctively turned his head towards her and nuzzled at her breast, fussing quietly. It had been so long since she’d held a newborn. Five years, to be exact. But it felt right. He felt right.
And if it weren’t for Laker, I wouldn’t be doing this right now.
The thought was sobering and brought tears to her eyes. How do I ever repay him for giving me this chance?
“Shh, shh, little man, you’re okay. You’re okay, Mummy’s here,” Indie murmured, gently rocking her baby and reaching up to stroke one of his hands. His eyelids slid open as he squeezed her finger, barely any pressure at all behind his grip. “You’re so beautiful, baby boy. So, so beautiful.” In those big, milky blue eyes she saw everything. Life, love, contentment; all reflected back at her. “I don’t know who you’ll be, little man, but I know you’ll be my everything. You and your big sister, you’re my world.”
“He suits you, honey.”
Indie gasped, turning her head to face Reagan. She’d forgotten he was there. He lowered his phone, revealing tears pooling in his eyes.
“Right, here we are.”
The bottle the nurse handed Indie was miniature but it still took a few tries for her boy to latch on. Once he’d worked out what he was supposed to do, though, he suckled happily, his soft grunts caught on Reagan’s phone as he recorded the momentous occasion. Indie let tears tumble over her cheeks and love fill her body to bursting point as she gazed at her son’s face, taking in the intricate details and memorising the tiny features that made him his own little person.
She was unable to stop herself analysing his nose, his eyes and mouth, for similarities to his biological father. Simon had long, light brown hair and ice-blue eyes, and his son only seemed to have inherited the first. His eyes were half-lidded as he ate, so she couldn’t see whose eyes he had just yet. Sorrow spread through her veins as she realised that one day, both her children would ask about their fathers.
Even if Indie wanted to, she had no idea where she’d even begin looking for Simon. And Marcus…he was buried behind the house that had exploded four months ago.
As she paused her baby’s meal to burp him, Indie desperately hoped the anaesthetic wouldn’t take long to leave her system so she could breastfeed. She’d been too scared to even try with Marley, but the guys had picked up a few bottles on their last-minute supply run so she’d managed fine bottle feeding. She wasn’t so frightened now.
“Do you have a name picked out, Indie?”
She felt eyes on her and managed to look up long enough to see the curious expression on Reagan’s face before returning her gaze to her son, vividly remembering the day she’d first heard his name.
“For the love of God, whatever you do, please don’t name your baby ‘Candy’.”
Indie snorted into her lemonade, shaking her head and looking across the room. Marley and Laker had been playing table-top basketball all morning but her daughter had finally crashed and was fast asleep over Laker’s chest. Laker’s Aunt Sarah had given Indie a selection of baby name books to read through, so she’d been lying on the sofa watching Laker and Marley play while flicking through them. When Marley’s energy had run out, Laker had requested a book to look at, but as yet he’d failed to pick out any good ones. He was having far too much fun telling Indie names she shouldn’t choose.
“Oh, or ‘Mercedes’. What poor girl wants to be saddled with the name of a car?” Laker tittered, shaking his head and flicking to the next page behind Marley’s back. She was dead to the world so he rested the book on her and sucked leisurely on the cherry lolly Marley had given him.
Indie was studiously ignoring him and the humming he was doing every now and then. It was wreaking havoc on her hormones, so she kept her eyes averted as much as possible.
“So are there any names I can consider in that book? Or are they all unworthy?” Indie teased, attempting to distract herself from the lolly in his mouth and from wondering why she was suddenly jealous of the attention he was giving his sweet treat.
Laker shot her a crooked grin over Marley’s head and shrugged. “I haven’t found any good ones yet, no. They’re all too boring, or too common.”
“Oh really? And what sort of name do you think I should choose, then?”
Seriously pondering her question, Laker mulled it over for a few minutes. Indie was just beginning to get bored of the endless ‘Tiffany’-‘John-‘Jane’ cycle when he piped up once more.
“Something strong.”
She looked over at him, cocking her head in question.
“He needs a strong name, something a bit unusual maybe, but tough.”
“Well, you’re helpful,” she sighed, tossing the book in her hand towards the coffee table. It landed on the edge, barely managing to keep its balance. “What would you choose?”
“Huh?”
“You must’ve thought about it. What sort of names would you choose, if you ever had kids?”
“I like ‘Valentina’ for a girl. It’s Nonna Contessa’s middle name.”
Valentina. Hm. Indie actually liked it. It had a pretty ring to it.
Curious now, because he’d surprised her by liking a nice name for a girl, she asked, “And for a boy?”
Laker grinned wolfishly, crunching through the last bite of his lolly before tossing the stick over his shoulder. Indie was impressed when it landed neatly in the bin by the door. “I don’t know if I want to say.”
“Why? You didn’t mind telling me your girl name.”
“That’s because I know that you’ve got a boy in there, Pie,” he admitted, nodding towards her belly. She was measuring just about perfectly, so she had quite the bump. She couldn’t even see her own feet anymore, unless she twisted into uncomfortable shapes.
“I promise I won’t want it.”
“You will. As soon as you hear it, you’ll want it.”
“No, I won’t. I promise. Just tell me, pleease?”
Laker never could resist Indie. Not when she was little and begging for extra ice cream before Reagan came home, and not now when she was adorably, ridiculously pregnant and had unleashed those stunning ocean eyes on him.
“Fine,” he huffed, an odd tingle in his stomach when he said it, so softly he wasn’t sure she’d hear him. “I like ‘Bodhi’. It means awakening or enlightenment. I think it’
s something to do with Buddha.”
Bodhi.
Indie hummed, focusing her gaze intently on her hands. They rested at right angles on her bump, feeling the movements of her baby within. He or she was always most active at this time of day—late morning. She could see the pattern of footprints as her baby wriggled and kicked, wincing when a foot landed squarely in her ribs.
“Uh, oh…you want it, don’t you?” Laker teased with mirth plain in his eyes until Indie quickly glanced up. The teasing fell from his expression, replaced by amusement. “You do. You want to steal my name.”
“No! No, I don’t!” Indie protested, a rosy hue infusing her cheeks. “It’s a nice name, but I don’t want it.”,
“You know what? You might as well take it. I’m probably never gonna have kids, anyway. Someone might as well get to use it.”
“What? Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Well, why aren’t you going to have kids? You’re great with Marley, Carl-Roman, and Chase. They all adore you! You’d be amazing with your own.”
Momentarily, Indie was lost in images of Laker chasing dark-haired, green-eyed babies around the park; of him cradling his tiny newborn son or daughter, so proud. He’d be an amazing dad.
“I don’t know, I guess I just don’t see myself settling down in time. Too much to do, you know?”
Indie had stared at Laker for a long time after that conversation ended. Eventually, Marley had woken up, and she’d dragged him into the kitchen for ice cream floats.
That was only a week ago and she hadn’t put a lot of thought into names since then.
Knowing what she did now, knowing Laker had risked his own life to save hers and that of her unborn baby even after Riley’s warning, Indie could only see her son having one name. Testing it out in her head first, she smiled, stroking her son’s cheek. He’d fallen asleep on his bottle while she was lost in thought, and he didn’t fuss at all when she gently removed the teat from his mouth to hand it to Emma. Running her fingertips over his pursed lips, tiny button nose, then through the soft smattering of chocolate hair atop his head, Indie sighed in contentment.