“Please welcome to the world, Thomas Maddox Myers McCullough.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Ollie teased, shaking her son’s hand with his pinkie.
“It is, but it’s the right name for this guy.” Her gift. His father’s son. His father’s name.
“So . . . Tom?” Gwen asked.
“No,” Lizzie shook her head. Even though she gave him Tom’s name, she couldn’t call him Tom. “I was thinking Maddox.”
“Maddox McCullough. Sounds perfect. Tom would have loved it,” Marc said.
“I hope so. Hi, Maddox,” she said to her son, kissing his soft little forehead.
Lizzie got a little nap in during the afternoon once her torturous tutorial on how to breastfeed was over. It took a bit but Maddox latched on. After he ate, he slept.
And so did she.
When she awoke, Marc held her son in the rocking chair, already looking like a pro.
“Hi,” he said with a sheepish grin on his face.
“Hi yourself. You look good with a baby in your arms.”
“Thanks. You did awesome with this. Look at him. You made this,” he exclaimed, awe in his eyes.
The nurse came in and smiled at Marc holding the baby—it was hard not to do—then she turned to Lizzie. “Shower time?”
“Really?”
“You wanna go home?”
“Hell yes,” Lizzie answered.
“Go to the bathroom, shower, and then eat. You can take care of two of those right now.”
“Fine,” Lizzie groaned and pushed herself out of bed, following the nurse into the bathroom.
“I’m going to be right here, okay? If you feel lightheaded at all, let me know.”
“Okay,” Lizzie answered.
The moment the water cascaded over Lizzie’s head, she groaned and heard the nurse chuckle on the other side of the curtain. “Savor that shower, my dear.”
Lizzie did, washing the sweat and tears and birthing debris from her. After she was done, she stepped out and felt like a new woman.
“Good job,” the nurse said, holding out her robe. “You hungry?”
“Actually, I’m starving.”
“That a girl. Go order some food.”
Lizzie returned to the room and went to Marc, dropping a kiss on her son’s precious head. “You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Hospital food all right?”
“It’ll do,” Marc replied with a laugh.
She ordered a couple burgers, fries, a side of mac and cheese, and chocolate pudding for dessert. When the food came, Marc gently placed Maddox in the bassinet and sat with her as they scarfed down their meals.
Her son must have smelled the food because he cried out. Marc told her to get in bed and he’d bring her the baby. Not too long after his feeding, the ending of visiting hours was announced. Marc swiped his keys and phone from the table before coming over to her.
“He’s beautiful,” he said, kissing the baby’s head.
“Marc?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for being here today. I know I was a big baby . . .”
“Shh, you weren’t. You were wonderful. I’m so proud of you. Now get some sleep, momma. I’ll see you tomorrow morning to bring you home,” he said before placing his lips on hers for a sweet and tender kiss. “Bye, Elizabeth.”
Marc
“A good night’s sleep in a hospital is absolutely impossible,” Lizzie groaned as she collapsed on her bed, baby monitor in hand.
When Marc had arrived at her place last night, he made sure everything was ready for Maddox—car seat installation, juiced up baby monitors, diapers at the ready.
“I’m seriously exhausted,” she complained into the bed.
“Why don’t you change out of those clothes?” he suggested, taking the monitor from her and putting it on the nightstand.
“Good idea,” she said and not a minute later, she was out cold.
With an amused shake of his head, he got her shoes off and legs onto the bed, then he sat down out on the deck to write. That had been his intention. But fifteen minutes out there with no words on the screen, he came back in and sat in the chair opposite the bed and watched over her. The instinct to protect Maddox and Lizzie amazed him. So did the love he felt for the boy at first sight—insta-love.
And the love he felt for Lizzie . . . he loved her so much more than when he’d left her. He hadn’t thought it possible that he could love her any more than he had. He fell for her strength, her grace, her determination. And yesterday, he fell in love with her even more. He was in complete awe of her giving birth to another human being.
That petite woman had been through so much pain this past year, but as he stared at her lying on the bed, he saw her at peace, her lips turned up in a sleepy smile. Her resilience astounded him.
His ears perked up at the little noises coming from the monitor. Sitting completely still, he hoped the baby would stay asleep a little while longer, but the noises turned to cries. Marc hated that he had to wake Lizzie, but more than likely, Maddox was hungry. “Elizabeth . . . wake up. The baby’s fussing.”
“Okay,” she said then groaned as she rolled over.
“Stay in bed,” he ordered, walking across the room. “I’ll bring him to you.”
When he returned, Lizzie sat against the headboard, pillow on her lap, her shirt and bra undone. He paused before he handed Maddox over. Watching her son feed from the place that he’d received a hell of a lot of pleasure had left him feeling a little uncomfortable. But he just had to remember that from those same breasts she nourished her son . . . gave him life. Marc would just have to get over it.
“This is so weird,” she said a few moments later.
“What is?” he said, returning to the chair.
“Seeing this little guy at my breast, knowing that I’m feeding him, but then also knowing that another guy at my breast produced him.”
Yeah . . . now that was uncomfortable.
He and Lizzie had never gone down that route . . . discussing her relationship with Tom. It hurt to hear her say that. Of course, he knew she’d had sex with him. The evidence was suckling at her breast.
“I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, noticing his silence.
He sat up straight at that. “No, it’s okay. Tom was a significant part of your life. I don’t expect you to keep that inside, just to save me pain. Oh fucking well if hearing what you have to say hurts me. I only have myself to blame.”
She regarded him, her hand caressing Maddox’s head. Standing up, Marc went to sit by her and placed his hand over hers.
“I loved Tom. He was the best friend I had . . . the best person I knew. I want you to talk about him. I want to talk about him. I miss him too and just so you know, I was never angry that he was with you.”
She exhaled loudly and looked up at him, clearly not believing him.
“I was angry in that moment of just finding out . . . yes. I was angry at myself—at the situation—but never at him or you. I knew he would treat you well. If you were to be with anyone but me, it should’ve been him.”
Her eyes fell to the sleeping baby, but not before he saw the tears in them. Abruptly, she stood up and placed Maddox in the bassinet then turned around and stared at him.
“Tom helped me get over you—only after I got done being angry with him. I couldn’t believe neither of you discussed your drug use with me. I’m not the kind to hold a grudge, but then again, getting over you . . .” she said, coming back to the bed, her shirt still undone. He stared. He couldn’t help it. Her gorgeous breasts were there, barely covered by the open shirt. When she spoke again, he lifted his eyes to her face. “I remember feeling so shocked when I realized my feelings for Tom ran deeper than friendship, and his for me. It was something I never expected, but was very happy when it came to me. Tom blessed my life in so many ways, Marc. From the moment I met him in high school to today and probably well into the future. And I . . .” she stopped and turn
ed towards the open balcony doors.
“What? Talk to me.”
“No . . . I’m ashamed to say it.”
He stood up and went to her side. “Hey, you can tell me—” he started but she whipped around, her face awash with emotion.
“I’m so angry that Tom isn’t here! Why did he have to be on that damn motorcycle that night? Why couldn’t he have taken his damn delivery truck instead? And then why did he have to get all fucking romantic on me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” he asked, confused.
“Never mind.”
He took her arm, pulling her closer, needing this truth. Whatever it was. “Elizabeth.”
“I don’t want to hurt you . . .”
“You won’t.”
“Tom was going to ask me to marry him . . . that night. He’d been preparing his house for the occasion, ring and all.”
Okay . . . he had been wrong. That hurt. Like swift-kick-to-his-dick kind of hurt.
Tom would have had it all—Lizzie, a son . . . a family.
But Tom had none of it because he was dead and that was worse.
Shit, Marc thought in realization. How did Lizzie even know about this? Tom had died before ever asking the question. “How can you even think about this hurting me? All I can think of is you finding that out.”
Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and then she shook her head slightly, a small smile teasing her lips, surprising him. “I’m so glad you’re here, Marc. Never doubt that,” she said, cupping his face. “You’ve been so wonderful to me. You’ve helped me through one of the hardest times in my life. Still are, and I never expected that . . . your friendship after everything.”
“It’s the least I can give you,” he replied, their faces inches apart.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You always say that,” she said, the smile on her face growing, then her soft lips were on his, her hands holding his face to hers, the movement pulling open her shirt. The kiss was sweet, tender, and she didn’t pull away—she kissed him twice again, and when she was done, she exhaled against his lips.
“Thank you,” she said softly, kissing him yet again.
“You’re welcome,” he said, hugging her, her bare breasts pressed against his chest. “Now . . . I’d like to discuss something.”
“Hmm,” she said, her cheek finding its home on his chest, her fingers grazing his back.
“Did you realize we had this whole conversation with your shirt unbuttoned?”
Her fingers stilled and she gasped. “Marc!”
“What?” he laughed.
“You should’ve told me!”
“Oh, Elizabeth, that wasn’t going to happen. Your breasts are the things of fantasies.”
“That’s the only place you’ll be seeing them,” she grumbled, yet did nothing to fix her shirt.
“Oh . . . I already have plenty of fantasies with them front and center,” he said, grinning at her.
Her eyes widened at that confession and the flush on her cheeks pretty much matched her hair.
“Six weeks,” she said, her hands stopping at the waistband of his shorts.
“What’s in six weeks?” he asked, confused.
“When we can work on some of your fantasies.”
“What? You serious?”
“If I hadn’t just pushed a six-pound baby out of my vagina, we’d be working on them now.”
“Yeah . . . that, you should probably rest.”
She laughed and shook her head in disbelief.
“You staying?” she asked with hopeful eyes.
His hands went to her shirt and slowly buttoned it up. “I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”
Lizzie
November 13, 2010
The day was beautiful. Warm, not a cloud in the sky. Not really typical for a Chicago November, but she’d take it because it was a perfect day for a picnic with her favorite little guy.
Lizzie put down the blanket on the yellowing grass then took Maddox out of the stroller and put him down for some outdoor tummy time—his new favorite thing to do . . . especially with Uncles Ollie and Marc. Those two men spent so much time rolling a ball back and forth to her son. Though right now, all he did was look at it.
Her friends were always around, as was Mrs. Myers. She’d moved in for the first couple weeks of Mad’s life and helped Lizzie acclimate to motherhood.
Marc visited pretty much daily. He probably spent more time at her place than his own. He took her to every single doctor’s appointment, to the store . . . sometimes doing that without her. He’d grumble about it, but there’d always be a twinkle in his eyes. He’d then take Maddox from her “to give her arms a break.” More like so he could have a little buddy to sit with him while he watched the Cubs games. She was pretty sure Mad’s first word would be “Cubbies” and not “Mama.” She’d be fine with that because what she got in the process was to see how much Marc loved her son.
Her time alone with Marc hadn’t crossed the sexual line again. There were plenty of hugs and snuggles, but for the most part, she’d been too exhausted to even entertain it. She knew it would happen—eventually, but for now, she had enjoyed his presence even the times when he holed up in her office, busy finishing up his second book. She loved sitting on the office sofa watching him write. If she wanted to watch TV, he’d follow her to the living room to write.
More often than not, she’d fall asleep in whatever room they were in, but when she awoke, she’d find herself tucked into bed.
Another thing that she’d been loving was that every single dinner had at least Marc, Gwen, Ollie, or Mrs. Myers at it.
Every single one.
Today though . . . it would be just Lizzie and her son.
For today would’ve been his daddy’s thirty-fourth birthday. It was also the one-year anniversary of his death.
Kneeling down, she stared ahead, her eyes blurring as the tears rushed to the surface. One year without him.
“God,” she said, wiping her eyes, focusing on the gravestone in front of her. “I didn’t think this would be so hard. I didn’t think talking to you would feel like I was pulling my own heart out. I miss you so fucking much, Tom. I wish that you were part of Maddox’s life. I would love to share these moments with you. I just hope you’re watching him from above. That you can see his goofy little grins and his contagious giggles,” she said as her son let out a giggle. The sweet sound pulling up her mouth in a smile. She tickled his chubby little legs and he giggled some more. Lizzie turned her head back to the headstone. “I hope that you will get to see him as he grows into a toddler . . . a school kid, a young adult—a man. I wish I had you by my side because I need advice, I need support. And that’s one reason why I’m here.”
She picked up Maddox and placed him in her lap, his happy gurgles making her laugh. “I want to talk to you about something, Tom. I . . . uh, well . . . you see, I’ve got these feelings for someone . . . the lovey-dovey kind. Like serious, forever kind of love. I find myself thinking about forever with him. I see our future with him,” she said looking down at her smiling boy. “He’s so amazing with Maddox. Every time I see him with our son, I know—he’ll make the best father for him.”
Taking a breath, Lizzie thought about what Tom would ask her . . . did she forgive Marc for what happened? Tom was there with her when she went through that. He saw her pain. It was a valid question . . . one that she’d asked herself. Maybe in the past it would have been different but right here, right now . . .”I forgive him. He’s proven himself to me over and over. I trust him to be there for your son and I. He won’t hurt me like that again. He’ll be there for me, just like he has been the past year, helping me move on just like you did when he left me.”
Saying this next part pulled the tears from her. It was the step she never had wanted to take . . . ever. What she found with Tom w
as a dream she’d never known she had but when it came to be, it was everything she had wanted. Her best friend as the man who would be by her side as she walked the path to her future. He left her alone on that path. For a time, it seemed like the path ended, then she found out she was going to be a mother and the path lit up again. She had been able to see a future, though it had been hazy. But it wasn’t anymore, she just had to take this step.
“This is not how my story ends . . . me alone with Maddox. I’m ready, Tom. I’m ready to take this step forward. I just need to know that it’s okay—that my best friend thinks I’m making the right choice, that he’s okay with it. Because this guilt . . . ugh . . . I know you can’t speak to me but . . . I don’t know honestly,” she said, looking at her baby for some guidance . . . of any sort. A sign . . . something.
He just giggled at her.
Yeah . . . she thought as much.
Lizzie stared out at the cemetery before her, trying to get her thoughts together. Her eyes focused on a bird flying their way. As it flew closer, she saw it was a pigeon. It landed on the headstone next to Tom’s. The bird cooed and cocked its head side to side at her.
She mimicked the bird and it copied her back. Scrunching up her face, she stared at the bird. It felt like the bird was looking at her, trying to send her a message.
“You have a message for me, birdy?”
“Ooh . . . oooo . . . oor,” it answered.
Whoa.
“So . . . am I making the right choice?” she asked and smiled when it cooed, repeating its soft, throaty message. “Okay . . . okay,” she said, nodding, her smile wide now that she had a decision. “’Til I see you again, Tom. I love you.”
“Coo rooooo,” the bird uttered and flew off.
Lizzie
November 14, 2010
“Hey, Elizabeth,” came Marc’s voice over the phone. Lizzie checked the clock on the stove—he should have been in the air, not talking to her.
“What’s going on?” she asked going straight to the issue. That he was calling instead of on his flight had chills, and not the good kind, racing thru her body.
He’d been gone for the past two weeks out in L.A. meeting with his screenwriter friend to finish up their screenplay. Marc had already delayed his return which she’d been fine with, but now she just wanted him home.
Losing You (Stars On Fire #4) Page 28