Frankie wasn’t an easy woman. It hadn’t been easy to earn my way into her heart before, and I’d messed that up in such a colossal way, it was a wonder that she let me into her home. It was probably way more than I deserved. But what she didn’t know, what I needed to make her understand, was that I did it all for her. I left to get the help I needed, to clean the fuck up so I could be worth a damn. It had finally been time to let Ryan go.
She sat across from me at that table, her eyes slicing through me just as swiftly as her words. And when she stood, almost fell, and dropped that blanket, Christ. I thought I’d suffered a broken heart in my life, but seeing her hunched over, a pronounced bump garnering her attention, my heart ruptured in my chest.
I guess the rational response to finding out that a woman has kept your impending fatherhood from you for eight months would be anger. All I could feel was relief and elation. I was relieved that that fucker Lukas wasn’t the father and elated that I would be sharing a permanent connection with her. Even if she never forgave me, never offered me a second chance, we’d always have our daughter. She would be a beautiful reminder of the love we shared.
Frankie had stood there, her anger driving the force of her words, but her energy was puttering out. She’d rubbed at her head a few times, her belly once or twice, and her color had been draining from her face. A light sweat covered her face as I took it into my palms, attempting to plead with her, to make her understand. Instead, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell into me. I eased her to the floor, felt for a pulse, which was weak and thready, and called 9-1-1.
I sat on the floor, cradling her head in my lap as I waited for the ambulance, my hands running through her soft, chestnut hair. She smelled of violets and fresh rain, just like she always had. She was beautiful.
“Frankie,” I whispered, leaning to touch my lips to her forehead. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I will make it up to you and our girl, I promise. I love you, and I need you too much to lose you.”
The doorbell rang, and I shouted for them to come in as I continued to hold her. I feared if I let her go, for just a second, she’d fade away. I watched in stunned horror as they began to assess her and pushed me out of the way. They made me stand back, helpless. They spoke to each other, attempted to speak to her, and worked quickly.
“What’s her name?” the paramedic asked as they lifted her onto the cot.
“Frankie Winters.”
“Are you the husband?”
“No,” I replied, rubbing my face. “I’m the father.” Fuck, those words were heavy. They suck in as I stared at her belly; I stared at the life that grew—the life I placed inside. My chest tightened at the thought of losing them. Both of them.
“You can follow in your car,” he advised as they pushed her toward the door. “Her blood pressure is very high. We’re headed to the county hospital.”
I nodded in silence following them from her home.
I hadn’t woken up expecting to be a father, but I suddenly wanted it more than anything. I wanted to have a life and a family. And I needed Frankie more than she could understand.
I climbed into my car, following the ambulance closely, looking up to the vacant sky. I wasn’t much for praying, especially since I’d lost Ryan. Some people referred to it as a crisis of faith, I referred to it as being pissed the fuck off at a God that would allow such a senseless act to happen. My faith wasn’t in crisis so much as my strength was.
“I’ve not been a good follower, but damn it, you’ve taken enough,” I growled at the sky. “Let me have them. I need them to be okay. . . to survive. Please, don’t take the only thing I have left in this entire world that means a fuck.”
My phone sat on the seat beside me, the screen dark and daunting. I picked it up, flipping through the contacts until I landed on a name I hadn’t contacted in too many months. I clicked the dial button and placed the phone to my ear, waiting for a pick up.
“Hello?”
“Colin?” I replied, hearing silence in return. “Colin, it’s—”
“I know who this is, and you’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve.”
“You can save the verbal ass fuck for another time,” I snapped. “I know everyone is pissed at me, I get it, but right now, Frankie is in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
Silence spanned between us until I heard the slamming of a door in the background.
“What did you do, Rory?” Colin seethed.
“I didn’t do a damn thing, and frankly, I don’t appreciate the insult. I went to see her, and she passed out. The paramedics said her blood pressure was high.”
“The doctor told her to watch it!” Colin snapped as I heard more doors opening and slamming.
“Has she been having problems?” My free hand tightened on the steering wheel as I worried more about Frankie.
“Just with her blood pressure and protein in her urine,” Colin replied. “She is so fucking hard headed. She’s been working so many hours at the winery to prepare for the baby. To make up for being a single parent. . .”
Fuck if that didn’t sting.
“You should have called me.”
“You should have called, Rory. But you did your typical shit and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.” His voice wasn’t bitter, it was sad. He was brokenhearted. Colin was just one more person on a long list of people I had let down in my miserable life. “Thanks for calling. I’ll get ahold of the rest of the family. Where are they taking her?”
“County,” I replied.
“I appreciate the help you’ve given her, but you need to go back to wherever you’ve been for the past eight months. She’s in a good place without you, O’Neill. Don’t ruin that for her.”
The line went dead before I could respond to him. I understood his concern and his anger. But the last thing I’d ever do was turn away from the only woman to ever take up residency in my heart.
It might take a month, a year, or maybe even ten, but one way or another, I’d make Frankie see that I love her more than any man in this world could. I’d treat her the way she has always deserved—the way I should have all along. All she had to do is live.
Chapter 32
The process of getting Frankie into the hospital, evaluated, and prepped for an emergency caesarean section was seamless and much more rapid than I realized. None of her family had arrived before they had taken her into the operating room. The hospital staff advised me that she had regained consciousness momentarily, but was dazed. Due to the circumstances, I wasn’t allowed in the delivery room, although I wasn’t sure that I would have gone in anyway, not without Frankie asking me to be there. I walked a very fine line with her and I didn’t want to push my fucking luck.
I paced in the waiting room, anxiety eating at frayed nerves. People came and went, happy couples with their new babies, grandmas and grandpas gushing over how beautiful their grandchild was. All I wanted was word that my girls were okay. Fuck. My girls.
“You sonofabitch!”
I knew without turning that those words were meant for me. This was a happy place, filled with happy and loving words. I was the only person in attendance that words like that could be aimed at. I really was a sonofabitch. I turned slowly, took one look at Lukas, attempted to summon an ounce of anger or jealousy, but I had nothing left. My mind and body were steeped heavily in fear and regret.
“You couldn’t just leave, just let her be!” he bellowed, charging at me from across the room, his fist cocked, aimed, and plowing me full force in the jaw. I knew it was coming, watched it unfold, but stood still and took it; my head snapping back from the force of his blow. I didn’t even move when I saw him take aim for a second one. I welcomed the pain. Pain is cleansing, and fuck if I didn’t ever need a deep clean.
“Lukas!” Karleigh yelled, bolting through the waiting room doors, pulling Lukas’ arm back. She rooted her feet to the floor, holding him back with all the strength she contained. “Stop it!”
“You
want me to stop?” he growled, turning on her. “Your best friend collapsed, she’s in God only knows what condition right now, because of him!”
“He broke her heart, Luka. He did that, fuck him for that. He didn’t give her high blood pressure or protein in her urine. He’s not that fucking gifted,” Karleigh bit back. “Everyone is scared, everyone here cares for her. Either get yourself together or get the fuck out. She doesn’t need you to be out here acting like a big dildo.”
I snickered, rubbing at my jaw, knowing I’d have one hell of a bruise by morning. Karleigh turned her heated gaze to me, releasing Lukas, pointing a finger at me.
“And you,” she seethed. “You ought to be ashamed of your behavior. You—”
“Mr. O’Neill?”
I lifted my eyes to the doorway, looked at the nurse that walked me to this room almost an hour ago, looked for anything on her face that would give me an indication of the girls’ status. She gave me nothing as I shrugged past Karleigh and Lukas.
“How are they?” My words sounded as desperate as I felt.
“Congratulations,” she said, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You have a daughter. She is doing well, but will be going to the nursery for a little oxygen therapy. She weighs six pounds, eight ounces. Francesca is in recovery and will need to be monitored closely for the next few hours. You will be able to see them both soon.”
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a Polaroid photo of a screaming baby, handing it over to me. I stared down at it, feeling the tear trail down my cheek as a hand touched my arm. I looked up, met Karleigh’s tear-filled eyes, and welcomed her tight embrace. She provided me simple comfort that I didn’t feel worthy of, yet needed more than I needed my next breath. I pulled free and handed her the photo.
“What’s her name?” I asked, wiping at my face. I was suddenly filled with an unyielding need to know my daughter.
“I don’t know,” she sniffed. “Frankie hadn’t decided. She said she needed to meet her first.”
Raised voices were approaching the waiting room as a group of concerned family looked for any staff that might have been able to help them. I recognized voices and faces, and part of me wanted to run and hide from them all. Shame. I was full of fucking shame.
“Mrs. Winters!” Karleigh shouted, walking toward Frankie’s mother. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed in red. Her hands shook as she reached for Karleigh, waiting to hear the fate of her daughter—the one that she’d almost lost once before. “They’re both doing just fine.”
“Oh, thank you God!” she cried, falling to her knees as Karleigh sunk to the floor with her, holding her tightly. I turned away, feeling guilty for observing their emotions. I walked to the windows and stared out, watched the snow flying. I had no right to share in their moment—their joy. “Rory?”
I remained motionless, refusing to turn and look at her. This day had turned into a fucking shit-hole. I had a million dreams and aspirations when I woke. Every single one of them seemed so pointless, so hopeless as I had to face the consequences of my actions.
“As soon as I know Frankie is awake, that she is really okay, I’ll go.” My voice shook at the end of my words as I continued to keep my back to her mother.
“Rory O’Neill, have the courage to turn and face me.”
I turned slowly, looked into her bright eyes, eyes that matched Frankie’s. Karleigh helped her from the floor, and she stepped closer, her arms cinching around my waist as she held me tightly. Her body shook with each sob as she wept, and I mimicked her actions.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
She pulled away, holding the photo the nurse brought to me moments ago in front of my face.
“This child needs you. It is time to grow up, Rory. It’s time to realize that you are loved, that you are accepted for your flaws here in this family. You hurt my Francesca, but she loves you. Make it right, for both of these girls. Do you understand me?”
I never wanted anything more in my life. For them, for myself, to finally make up for the loss of my brother. I wanted to make the most of my chance to have a new life—with the one person in all the world that saw past all of my fucking mistakes and loved me in spite of it all.
“As long as she’ll have me, ma’am, there’s nothing else in this entire world I’d want more.”
**
The moments leading up to my daughter’s birth were like a fast moving dream. Although nightmare may be a more fitting term. I had a birth plan in place, a well-trained birthing partner ready, and yet all of that was forgotten the moment I went unresponsive. Or at least that was what the doctor explained momentarily before I went in for an emergency cesarean—one that I was completely knocked out for.
Apparently, I’d suffered preeclampsia. It was scary shit that left me with sky high blood pressure, swollen feet, and protein in my urine. This was all extremely dangerous for me and the baby. Nothing went as planned, and the first time I ever got to hear her cries was when I was waking up a few hours after they had moved me into my room. It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. It was a soothing lullaby that pulled at my heart.
“Shh, it’s okay, lovely,” a soft voice crooned to her. I opened my eyes and took in the man sitting in the recliner next to the window, his face mere inches from hers. The sun shone in the windows, catching streaks of copper in his tousled hair. For that one perfect moment, my chest constricted, and I longed for seeing images like this every day. I longed for the completeness until that bubble of fantasy was popped by the reality of where Rory and I stood.
“What are you doing here?” I rasped, bringing my hand to my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. He looked over at me, graced me with a lopsided grin.
“Waiting for you to wake up,” he replied. My eyes focused on the deep purple bruise on his jaw.
“What happened to your face?” I questioned.
“Lukas.” Figures.
“Where is my family?”
“In the waiting room, eating the feast I had delivered for them,” he answered, rising from the chair. “Are you hungry?”
“Don’t do this, Rory,” I snapped. “Will you please bring her to me?”
He approached slowly, laying her into my arms. She stared up at me with blue/gray eyes, recognition shining in their depths. I lifted her to my face, inhaled deeply, savored her scent, and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I whispered. I looked into her eyes holding onto hope—hope that this was the start of something good and fulfilling.
“What is her name?”
I met Rory’s gaze, felt the longing in his words. He already loved her, and no matter where we may fall, I knew instantly that the two of them would need each other.
“I was thinking we should call her Asha James.”
“Asha?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers ran across her soft, dark hair.
“It means hope. She’s our hope, Rory, our hope for a happy and fulfilling future.”
“James. . .”
“After you,” I replied, and he nodded.
“I never meant to abandon you,” Rory whispered, looking up from Asha. “I need you too much, Frankie. You’re my missing piece, the one that cures all my ails. I love you.”
One single, fat tear sprung free, trailing down my cheek. He reached a hand toward me, placing his palm on my cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away. I closed my eyes, breathing in deep, drawing in his scent. The smell triggered my memories; it brought back flashing images of the two of us. God I missed him.
There were so many nights I laid awake, staring at the ceiling, picturing his face, his bright blue eyes peering into mine. I imagined his breath moving over my lips as he hovered above them, studying them, memorizing their every detail. All those ever were was a sick and painful fantasy of things I wanted more than I wanted my next breath. They made my chest ache and feel as if it would cave in at any moment. I was alone; I faced a terrifying fu
ture while he was unaware.
“You’re my beautiful girl. You’ve always been mine, Francesca. You just took a little time to learn it. And now you need to accept it,” he continued, filling the silence.
My heart, the useless muscle, wanted to welcome him into my life. It wanted to pick up where we left off eight months ago. My mind was another beast I would have to contend with. My heart wanted everything, my mind wanted nothing.
“I can’t say yes to you right now,” I whispered, looking back into his eyes. “I need time, we both do.”
“You can have all the time you need. Just know I’m not leaving. You and Asha, you are my family.”
“I can’t just forgive you, Rory.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he answered. “I’m asking you to get to know the new me—the better me.”
“I’m too fragile, Rory. If you would walk out again. . .”
“I’ll always be right here,” he replied, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up. He reached out toward Asha, resting the backs of his fingers on her cheek. “You did good, Frankie. She’s perfect.”
His words had registered in the foggy recesses of my mind as my eyes focused on his wrist. Ink. Ink wrapped around his beautiful skin—the skin that had remained unblemished. I grabbed his forearm, turning his wrist toward me as I traced a finger over the letters. Winters was scrawled across his wrist, the T replaced with a simple anchor. It was simple, profound, and astounding.
“What is this?” I asked.
“The day before I checked into rehab I went for that,” he explained, attempting to draw my eyes from his skin. Asha slept soundly in my arms. “It was to remind me of my purpose every time I felt weak. It was meant to serve as a reminder that you are my anchor to the good that’s left inside my fucked up heart.”
I choked on the words in my throat, my emotions coming up from no-fucking-where, strangling the life from me. I was his anchor? Christ, some days it was a wonder that I got up, dressed, and lived a goddamn life. I was barely together myself.
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