by K. Bromberg
“People will do anything for money.”
“And some people don’t even need money as a motivator.” The comment falls out without thought, but I know Colton knows I’m referring to Eddie. That damn video has become the catalyst to cause all of this: invasion of privacy, loss of normal freedoms, embarrassment, losing my job, Zander’s situation, me in the hospital, our life unraveling. Too. Many. Ripples.
“Ry . . .” My name comes out in a resigned sigh as he rubs the stubble of his chin against the back of my neck, causing my entire body to stand at attention. “You need to put you and the baby first.”
“I know. I do need to. I’m trying to . . .” And Colton is one hundred percent right . . . but in a sense, Zander is my child too. “But you didn’t hear him, Colton. He was terrified. Scared. Lost. And I didn’t know.” I take a deep breath and focus on the whir of the machine monitoring the baby’s movements. I focus on that and feel centered. “Teddy gave me some kind of explanation—the corporate song and dance that this is what we strive for. It’s all bullshit. He doesn’t have the connection with the boys I do . . . doesn’t know the ins and outs of their stories like I do.”
“He’ll fight for them though if it comes down to it,” Colton says softly, a quiet reassurance and an unintentional slap in the face to me all at once. But I don’t feel the slap’s sting. I know Colton’s comment comes from a place of love.
Those are my boys. My heart. No one will fight as hard for them as I will. I know this much to be true.
“It should be me,” I murmur, my heart hurting, my body exhausted. “But I don’t think it will do an ounce of good. If the system does the half-ass job they usually do and don’t vet them properly, then they’ll get him.”
“Unless he’s adopted,” Colton states plainly. He pulls me in tighter and I nod my head.
We settle in the silence of the sterile room that is now so much more bearable with Colton’s presence. The heat of his breath, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his body against mine—all three things center me from that out-of-control feeling of fear I entered this hospital with.
The baby’s movements I can and can’t feel are broadcast through the room, my own reminder of priorities and unconditional love. Lulled by the sound and Colton being here, I slowly begin to drift off.
“We could adopt, Zander.”
Colton’s words snap me awake. My breath hitches, my body jolts, my heart hopes momentarily before the reality of the situation sets in. Tears prick the backs of my eyes over the enormity of the heart of the man behind me. One who swore he couldn’t love, and yet day after day the capacity and way in which he does, makes me fall more in love with him.
“The fact you’ve said that means the world to me but . . . but I can’t just choose one boy to adopt,” I say with a conflicted heart because yes, it would fix everything, but doing that would tell the other boys I love Zander more than them and that’s not the case. “But thank you for saying it. The fact you’d even consider it means the world to me.”
“I think we should do more than consider it.” I just nod at his comment, the resolve in his voice so strong there’s no point in arguing since I know he’s speaking from the experience of what it’s like to be an orphaned little boy. “Don’t count it out, Rylee.”
“I won’t,” I say for good measure, “but I can’t do that to the others who want to belong to someone just as much as Zander does.”
“They belong to each other,” he says, “and that’s what matters most.”
His words throw me. They’re unexpected and yet so very true. And contradictory. How would adopting one not ruin that bond?
“Turn your mind off, Ryles. Shut it down for a bit. For me. For the baby. For you.” He rubs a hand up and down my arm, sliding it over my belly between the two monitors resting there. I’m sure it’s pure coincidence but within seconds the sound of the baby moving beneath his hand fills the room. Hearing the hitch in Colton’s breath in reaction makes my heart swell.
“I’m sorry I took you away from your victory celebration,” I murmur, “but at the same time I’m not because I’m glad you’re here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says as he rests his chin on my shoulder and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I lie. There’s definitely somewhere else I’d like to be.” Suggestion laces his voice and since sex is my only pregnancy craving, I groan.
“I have a feeling this victory lane is closed for business for a while,” I say.
“Good thing I just claimed it in Alabama.”
“You better be talking about a trophy, Ace.”
“Nah. That’s right here in my arms.”
“I NEED YOUR HELP, SHANE,” I say, sounding desperate and not caring a single bit that I do.
“Rylee.” He chuckles, sounding so much like a grown man rather than the awkward teenager that once came to me alone and traumatized. The irony I’m now turning to him for help is not lost on me. “Colton said you were going to call and try to bribe me to help you escape your house.”
Damn it! He’s thought of everything to keep me stuck at home where the walls of this house feel like they are closing in on me more and more every day. Sure paparazzi have died down but they are still present, still perpetuating the sensationalism. They might not all be sitting outside, but the covers of the rags still show the grainy image of me in the garage. However, now it’s next to one of me leaving the hospital in a wheelchair two days ago with titles that are equivalent to the conversation Colton and I had on our first date: Chupacabras and three-headed aliens.
“I’m not trying to bribe you to escape. I’ll sit here, not be stubborn, and listen to doctor’s orders so long as I know Zander’s okay,” I confess. “I’ve talked to him and he seems fine, and Colton and Jax are telling me he’s fine, but Shane, he’ll talk to you.” The last words are emphasized so he understands I’m referring to the brotherly bond they’ve formed over the years. The connection between two battered souls that have healed together, shared experiences no one should ever have to, and came through it on the other side, is something that has allowed them to be the odd couple of closeness in The House.
And I’m hoping I can call on that bond right now to help find out how he’s doing.
“On one condition,” he says, throwing me for a loop.
“Mm-hmm?” I respond, curious if Colton has anything to do with this one condition.
“That you let me handle this. I don’t want you stressed out and back in the hospital. I’ll tell you everything I find out as long as I know you’re going to put you and the baby first.” I hear his words, and as much as I’m irritated with the ultimatum, pride overrides it and allows me to listen to what he’s saying. To the concern in his voice, the compassion in his words, the remarkable man he’s become.
It tells me I’ve done my job. And I hold tight to that idea since right now I can’t continue to care for them. I have to trust in the time I’ve invested thus far with both of these boys and that their bond will remain steadfast when one needs the other the most.
“Can I trust you to do that, Rylee?” he asks, breaking through the emotion clouding my mind and clogging my throat.
“Yes,” I say, feeling like a scolded child and yet it’s hard to feel anything but love for him.
“He’s struggling. He’s scared and worried. We’re the only good he knows. He fears going back to that constant life of not knowing what’s next . . . and I can understand that,” he murmurs, no doubt lost in his own memories.
He tells me exactly what I assumed but what no one else would confirm.
“Thank you for telling me.” My mind races, wanting to rush over and see Zander face to face to reassure him, and wanting to beg Teddy to get back to me even though I know he’s waiting on the caseworker to get back to him.
“I’m coming home next week for a few days. I’m going to stay at The House, already talked to Jax about it, and hang with Zand to make sure he’s okay.”
�
�Thank you,” I say softly into the phone with my eyes closed and my heart full of love. “That’s a really cool thing for you to do. He’ll like hanging with you.”
“He’s family,” Shane says. In my mind’s eye, I can see that boyish smile on his face and the casual shrug that’s typical of him. All I can do is smile and acknowledge that, yes, I’ve done a good job.
“He’s family.”
It seems so surreal to be folding baby clothes. Yes, my belly is so big I can’t see my toes and a mountain of yellow clothes surrounds me, but with everything going on, it still feels so very far off and just around the corner simultaneously.
“While the idea of you being tied to the bed is rather hot, I’d prefer to do it with you as a willing candidate and not because you won’t listen to the doctor,” Colton says from the doorway. I turn to find a smirk on his face but the warning loud and clear in his eyes.
“Cute. Very cute,” I say drolly.
“Well, you’d be even cuter flat on your back in our bed.” We stand, a visual battle of wills war between us, and when he finally breaks eye contact and looks around, I notice his startled expression. “You put stuff away?”
“I figured it was about time,” I murmur, slightly embarrassed at how long I’ve let my anxiety hold this process up. “It’s safe enough that if he’s born now, she should be okay.”
“Nice change of pronouns there,” he says with a laugh as he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on the curve of my shoulder.
“I couldn’t let you think I knew BIRT’s sex.”
His laugh rings out, the vibration of it going from his chest into mine as I finish folding some of the receiving blankets I had pre-washed. “BIRT, huh? You’ve come over to my dark side and are calling him that now?”
“I’ve always liked your dark side,” I say, intending one thing but when I feel his hands that have slid over my belly falter in their movement, I realize he took it in a completely different way. We stand there in silence momentarily as I let him shake the ghosts off his back that my comment caused to resurface.
“Did you feel that?” I ask, my hands flying to land on top of his so I can direct them to where the baby has moved beneath his palms.
“It’s so bizarre,” he murmurs. There’s a sense of awe in his voice that tells me the darkness in his thoughts has passed for now. He presses his hands against my belly to try and will the baby to move again.
“BIRT likes his daddy’s voice,” I say softly, absorbing this moment we’ll never get back once he’s born. He presses his lips to the side of my neck and holds them there. It’s almost as if he knows what I’m thinking and feels the same way, so he is trying to suspend time to make the here and now last as well.
“I have something for you. Will you come with me?” he asks.
“Is that something handcuffs and restraints?” I tease.
“Not unless you want them to be.” With a laugh, he takes my hands and leads me down the hallway and into our bedroom.
I give him a look as he pats the bed for me to hop up. “And I fell for it,” I say as he helps me up onto the mattress, my mind already wondering what exactly is going on since Dr. Steele said to hold off on sex for a bit. And as strict as Colton’s been following her rules, he’s either going to force me to rest or plan to exert himself.
I vote for the exertion.
“It’s not what you think, you nympho,” he says as he props pillows behind my back and under my knees before leaning in and brushing a kiss to my lips. And of course, because I can never resist him, I bring my hand up to the back of his neck and hold him there so I can steal one more from him.
“A girl can hope,” I murmur against his lips. When he pulls back, a smile lights up his face and a mischievous glimmer is in his eyes.
“Not until this girl gets clearance from the doctor,” he says. He walks around the edge of the bed and grabs something off his nightstand, holding it behind his back so I can’t see it. And the cutest part about the action is that in the sequence of movements, I’ve watched my confident, demanding husband morph with discomfort so I know whatever is behind his back pushes his comfort zone.
“So I have something for you,” he says and then stops with a shake of his head that’s reminiscent of when one of the boys is embarrassed. It tugs at my heartstrings and gives me an exact picture of what BIRT will look like if he is a boy. He looks down at a crudely wrapped rectangular box in brown paper as he reaches it out to me. I close my hand over his and don’t let go until he looks at me.
“Thank you, but I don’t need anything.”
“I thought it was a good idea at the time . . . but now I feel like it’s lame so you can laugh at me all you—”
“I’m going to love it,” I say with complete conviction, because if this present is making him this unsure then I know he’s the one coloring outside of his already messy lines.
With the weight of his stare, I slowly unwrap the gift to find a picture frame made of thick rustic wood void of a photo in it. I stare at it for a moment because while it is actually quite beautiful, I sense there is a deeper meaning here than just a gift so try to figure out what it is that Colton’s telling me.
“It’s empty,” he states, drawing my eyes up to his while my hands run over the texture of the wood. It’s weathered but refined, rough but smooth, kind of like the two of us. The idea brings a smile to my lips.
“I see that.”
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks for us,” he says as he climbs on the bed beside me. He lies on his side, head propped on his hand as I nod and try to figure how this all fits together. “Kelly is trying to find my dad.” My mind slams on the brakes at that because I’m so confused and lost how we got from a frame to a person Colton has never spoken about before.
“What?” I look at him while he concentrates on his hand on my stomach. My mouth is opening and closing like a guppy because I don’t know what to say or how we got from point A to point B in this conversation. I can tell he’s just as confused as I am so I rein in my need to know and let him find the words to explain everything.
“I’m scared about being a dad,” he says and continues the confession. And it’s not like I don’t get the fear, because I have it too, but I’m starting to connect the dots in the sense that he fears he is going to be like the father he never knew somehow. “And I thought maybe if I knew about my sperm donor then it would ease the fear that I’ll be like him.”
As much as I want to shift to take his face in my hands so he’s forced to look in my eyes, I allow him the space he needs. “You will be nothing like him, Colton. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
I’ve seen him with the boys at The House. I’ve watched him help them overcome adversity only he could understand. Does he not have any clue how important that is? How that interaction more than just hints at the incredible father I know he will be? I wish he could see the same man I see every single day when he looks in the mirror.
He just nods his head yet doesn’t say anything for a moment. I wish there was something I could say or do to reassure him further when only time will prove the truth in my statement.
“I don’t know,” I say with a shake of my head. “I think it’s a bad idea . . . I don’t see how finding him is going to help you at all.” And I probably should keep my opinions to myself, let him deal with his past how he needs to, but at the same time we’ve had so many things crash into our reality recently, I don’t know how much more we can take. “What are you hoping to achieve if you find him?”
“A clean slate.” He then clears the emotion from his throat. “This frame is empty because I want to start this next chapter of our life with a completely clean slate. Our family deserves this. It’s . . .” His voice fades off. I reach out and link my fingers through his. His words—his thoughtfulness—are so damn overwhelming that I can’t find the words to speak just yet. “Never mind,” he says again.
“No. Please, finish. I’m q
uiet because I’m touched and stunned you thought of this and did this for us . . . especially after everything that has happened this month.”
“I sound like a fucking chick here but this empty frame is also my promise to you that from today forward I don’t want to just take pictures with you, I want to make memories. Good ones more than bad ones. Funny ones. Memorable ones. Precious ones. They will shift and change over time, each stage of our life together dictating what goes here, but more than anything, this empty frame with be filled with our new normal . . .” His voice trails off. Tears flood my eyes. The depth of emotion in this incredible gift from a man who thinks of himself as unromantic—despite the grand sweeping gestures he shows me time and again—is so very poignant and fitting.
“I love it,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his as I look at him through a kaleidoscope of tears. “It’s absolutely perfect.” I hug the frame, my empty treasure box in a sense, and revel in how much Colton has grown since we’ve met.
I shift so I’m on my left side, facing him, our bodies mirroring one another’s. We stare at each for a few moments, our visual connection so very intense as feelings are exchanged without any words being spoken.
“I don’t have anything to give you,” I finally say.
A shy smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “You’ve given me more than I’ve ever wanted.”
It’s silly that even after all this time I still react viscerally to praise from him, but it’s undeniable. As I draw in a shaky breath, his eyes narrow and my fingers trace over the grooves in the frame lying between us.
“Sometimes I play the ‘I’m game’ with the boys . . . want to play with me?” His grin grows, and I realize the innuendo.
“You know I’d never turn down the chance to play with you,” he says, nodding his head for me to continue. “How do you play?”
“I tell you something that starts with ‘I’m’ and then you go. You don’t get to ask questions though . . . That way you’re forced to listen to what you think the person is saying. It’s an I go, you go, type thing.” I’m shocked that in all our time together, I’ve never explained this to him, but I feel this is an absolutely perfect moment. “I’ll go first. I’m scared too,” I say in a whisper, as if the lower voice will help my confession somehow seem less.