by K. Bromberg
A deep breath in. My whole body taut as I hold my breath and push. Dizziness hits as the ten-second count slowly comes to an end. The world fading to black as every part of my body is exhausted.
“There’s the head,” she says, pulling me from the darkness and making this all more real, more urgent than I ever could have imagined. “Lots of dark hair.”
And when I open my eyes, Colton has shifted so he can look down to see the baby. His expression when he looks back at me? Fear and inexplicable emotion in his tear-filled eyes. His jaw is slack and awe is written all over his face. Our connection is brief but intense before the mesmerizing sight of our baby pulls his eyes away from mine once again.
And as envious as I am that he gets to see our miracle first, I also know I’ll never forget his expression. The pride and astonishment etched in the lines of his face have forever imprinted in the space of my heart.
MY HAND IS SQUEEZED IN a goddamn vise-like grip.
My heart is too but for a completely different reason.
The sight in front of me. Incredible. Indescribable. Grounding in a way I never thought possible.
“This is the hard one, Ry. Last push and you’re done,” Dr. Steele says, as she looks up at her and then back down to where my eyes are glued. “And go.”
My hand is squeezed. Rylee’s moan fills the room. Her body tenses. “Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.” The words come from out of nowhere. I’m not even sure if I whisper them aloud or just in my head. But the only other thought that flickers is that they belong here.
Full circles.
And then all thoughts are lost. Emotion rules. Pride swells. A tiny pair of shoulders emerge followed quickly by a little body.
Snapshots of time pass. Seconds that feel like hours.
My breath is stolen. Hijacked. Robbed. And so is my goddamn heart because there’s no other way to describe what I feel as Dr. Steele says, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”
“Oh shit.” My whole world picks up, moves, flips upside down, and reverses on its axis. And I couldn’t be happier about it.
Soft cries. Dark hair. Cutting the cord. A blur of disbelief as my eyes lock on the baby. My son.
Holy motherfucking shit.
My son.
I’m a dad.
The moment hits me like a goddamn sucker punch—every part of me reacting to the impact—as Dr. Steele places him on Rylee’s belly. Nurses wipe him off as Ry’s sobs fill the room when she gets to see him for the first time.
I’m looking at fingers and toes and ears and eyes and trying to figure out how this completely perfect little person is a part of me.
How is it even possible?
Swimming in emotion, I lean down and press a kiss to Rylee’s forehead. Her eyes are as focused as mine on our son. “I love you,” I murmur with my lips still pressed against her skin.
His crying stops instantly the minute Ry cradles him in her arms. He knows. How simple is that? And if I thought I was sucker-punched before, the sight of her holding our son is the knockout punch. I’m looking down at his little face and hers next to each other, and shit I never expected to feel in my life surges through me, wraps around my heart, and fills it in a way I never thought was possible.
My whole fucking world.
My Rylee. My son. My everything.
“He’s beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice and tears sliding down her cheeks. She presses a kiss to the top of his head, and for some reason the visual hits me hard.
The future flashes: first steps, skinned knees, first homerun, first kiss, first love.
Tears sting. My chest constricts. All I can think is that this little boy may get kissed by a lot of women during his lifetime but this first kiss is the most important.
He’s taken from her. Cries fill the room. He’s measured and weighed. Tested and looked over. I can’t take my eyes off him for a single second.
I glance back and find Ry. Her eyes match mine—both so overwhelmed with everything that we don’t have words. I feel like such a sap—the tears in my eyes, the inability to speak—like I should be the arrogant bastard I normally am. It seems even assholes like me have a soft spot. Yeah. Ry’s always been that to me, but I have a feeling I just found another that aces all the rest.
If it’s in the cards.
My heart stumbles in my chest. The memory flickers and dies in seconds. One I can’t place, can’t remember, and yet somehow know it means something. And I don’t give it a second thought when the nurse holds him out to me, wrapped tightly in a blanket.
I freeze. Like arctic-chill freeze because all of the sudden I’m afraid I’m going to hurt him. Thank fuck the nurse sees my reaction because she shows me how to hold him and then places him in my arms.
And then he looks up. And this time I freeze for a completely different reason.
I’m mesmerized, lost, and found again. By bright blue eyes, little lips, and a soft cry. By dark hair and perfect ears. By his untouched innocence, unconditional trust, and love: all three given without asking the first time I look into his eyes.
I go to speak. To reassure my son I won’t let him down. I open my mouth. I close it. I can’t lie to him right off the bat. Can’t tell him that when I know I’m going to screw up sometimes.
But I sure as fuck am going to do everything in my power to be what he needs.
PINCH ME.
This can’t be real. This beautiful baby boy in my arms can’t possibly be mine.
But if this is a dream it’s so incredibly real I never want to wake from it. Sure my body is exhausted, and despite my legs still being slightly numb, I ache all over the place. But the one ache I don’t think will ever go away is the one in my chest from my heart overflowing with love.
I can’t stop looking at him as he sleeps soundly against my chest. The nurses suggested putting him in his bassinet but I can’t bear to part with him just yet. I’ve waited way too long for this moment. I’m fixated on every single thing about him and can’t get over how much he looks like what I think Colton would have looked like as a baby.
When I look across the dimly lit room toward Colton, his phone is up and he is taking another picture in an endless line of photos of us. It’s adorable how he wants to document every moment. His need for his son to have tangible memories of being a baby since he has absolutely none is both moving and bittersweet.
I smile softly as the flash goes off and then raise my eyebrows and wait for him to lower the phone. When he does, our gazes meet, and there’s the slightest flicker of something I can’t quite read. He blinks it away as quickly as it comes and grants me an exhausted smile in exchange.
“Is he sleeping?” he asks, leaning forward so he can see for himself.
“No. Do you want to hold him?” I ask, knowing damn well I don’t want to give him up, and yet also feel I’ve been hogging him. It’s only been two hours since we moved into the maternity suite and between trying to get the baby to latch on and the nurses coming in and out constantly, Colton hasn’t had another chance to hold him.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Leave him be.” He stands and comes to sit on the edge of my bed and leans forward to press a gentle kiss to our son’s head before granting me one as well. Our lips linger momentarily before he leans back, a large sigh falling as he shakes his head again. I get it though, because I keep shaking mine too, trying to wrap my head around the fact the one thing I never thought I’d ever get to experience has just happened.
And I was able to share it with him.
“Well, I guess I can’t stall any longer on the name thing unless we want to make BIRT the official one on the birth certificate.”
“No,” I whisper, harshly contradicting the smile on my lips. “So we’re really going to say our first choice at the same time and go that route?” The whole idea makes me nervous. And I hate that such a lasting, important decision is going to be made on the fly.
“Yep. Perfect plan.”
“No.” He’s going
to give me hives if he keeps this up. And he knows it. I can see it in the little smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes. Damn, Donavan.
“Or we could just call him Ace Thomas Donavan and call it a day,” he murmurs, head cocked to the side, lips pursed as he waits for my reaction. My eyes flicker down to his visitor’s badge, where the two names are spelled out, and for a moment I’m hit with utter clarity amidst the haze of drugs and fog of fatigue.
Ace Thomas.
Looking down at my sweet baby boy, I roll the name on my tongue as it repeats over and over in my mind. It’s nowhere close to the unique and trendy names I’d narrowed down on my numerous lists, and yet as I stare at his tiny fingers curled around my pinkie, I can’t believe I didn’t think of the name myself because it couldn’t be more perfect.
Those two names hold so much significance in our relationship so why not put them together? My nickname for Colton and his endless attempts to know what ACE stood for. Allowing my son to have a part of my identity by giving him my family’s last name as his middle name. Our first date at the carnival when Colton used the name as his alias and confessed he used it because he wanted me all to himself. And of course, Colton’s own definition of the acronym that fits so poignantly now: A chance encounter.
And look what we have now as a result of that chance encounter.
“Ace Thomas,” I murmur softly, liking the sound of it more and more with each passing second.
“I had other names in mind but as I was sitting watching you sleep between contractions, I couldn’t get it out of my head. It fits, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” I say hesitantly. When I look from our son to Colton and then back to our son, I know it makes absolute perfect sense. “Hey Ace,” I say to the snuggling baby in my arms. My heart skips a beat as I feel like all the stars have aligned and our little world we’ve created becomes complete.
The soft suction of his mouth on my breast is strangely the most comforting feeling I’ve ever experienced. Almost as if my body knows this was meant to be. And as I look down at him it hits me that this little being depends on Colton and me for absolutely everything. It’s a humbling and overwhelming feeling, but one that warms me completely.
“Are you two going to catch any sleep?” the nurse asks as she checks my vitals yet again on what feels like the ever-constant rotation through our room. And it always seems like the interruption is immediately after I fall asleep.
“We’re trying to,” I murmur softly as I look down at Ace as he eats.
“I know it’s hard with nurses coming in and out constantly but you should consider putting him in the nursery so you can get some sleep.”
“Absolutely not.” Colton’s voice is resolute when he speaks from the recliner in the corner of the room making both the nurse and my head turn to look at him. “There’s a reason Sammy’s sitting outside on a chair. The last thing we need is paparazzi snapping pictures of him, selling it to the highest bidder, and then plastering it all over the place. No. End of discussion.”
I stare at him, eyes blinking over and over as I come to terms with what he’s just said. After the clusterfuck of the past month with the media’s intrusion on our lives, how could I be so ensconced in our little bubble that the thought never crossed my mind? That people will be clamoring to get pictures of Ace to sell and make money from?
“He’s right,” I say, caught off guard as I look at the nurse staring at us like we’re crazy.
“Okay,” she says with a sympathetic smile, “if you change your mind, let me know. We do deal with this fear quite a lot here so I assure you we have safety measures in effect to prevent that from happening. If you end up needing some sleep, just buzz me at the nurses station.”
“Thanks,” Colton says, the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stares at her.
She finishes checking my vitals and then reaches to check Ace out since he’s fallen asleep and is no longer latched on. She looks at her temporal thermometer and frowns some. “His body temp is a little cold. It’s normal for a newborn to have trouble keeping their body heat but let’s help him a bit and get him skin on skin with you.” She starts unbundling him and taking his white T-shirt off so I’m left with a tiny ball of pink who’s dwarfed by the white diaper.
I know this is normal but it’s a little different when it’s your baby. She hands Ace to me, lifts down the shoulder of my hospital gown so I can slide Ace inside, and his smooth skin is resting against my bare chest.
“We’ll let him be like this for a bit and see if that helps or else we’ll have to bring a warmer in, okay?”
“Okay,” I say as she collects her things. I don’t even pay attention because the feeling of him against me is all-consuming. He tries to suckle my collarbone and I laugh quietly at the sensation and how very surreal this feels.
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 f
oot 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.