Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1)

by Sc Montgomery

  He spoke with conviction. Like he knew from experience. Premonition began to hum in my veins and the little hairs stood up on the back of my neck. “Okay. Okay,” I murmured, searching his face for a clue. “But I don’t get why you care so much. You’ve been so unhappy about this baby since we told you. I thought I disappointed you so bad that you’ve hated me.”

  Tears filled his eyes, startling me. “Ah, Reed. I could never hate you, buddy. Sure, I was disappointed. I don’t think anyone envisions their sixteen-year-old child having a baby. But it’s more than that . . .” His gaze drifted as an emotional battle played out across his face. I’d never seen him like this. It was kinda scary.

  “What, Dad?”

  He hung his head, mirroring my position earlier. “I hated myself. Not you. Never you.”

  Shock filtered down my body in a cascade. “What? Why?”

  He turned and met my gaze. “Because I was the biggest fraud in this relationship. How could I be disappointed in you . . . how could I expect better . . . when I’d done the exact same thing?” He paused, caught his breath, while I tried to process just what he was saying.

  He’d done the exact same thing?

  What?

  “I did the exact same thing,” he continued, his voice shaky, emotional, weaker than I’d ever heard. “And I did not stand up—did not man up and do the right thing. And it haunts me every single day.”

  “Uh . . . Dad? I’m confused. What’re you talking about?”

  He sighed. “I’m talking about the fact that I got a girl pregnant when I was seventeen.” His gaze did not waver. He was serious. Holy— “But I wasn’t nearly the good kid that you are, and she wasn’t really even my girlfriend. Just a girl I was screwing around with. I would’ve never brought her home to meet my parents. I hardly knew her, didn’t really care about her if I’m being honest. She was from the bad part of town, and I didn’t want to be seen with her . . . her father was the janitor where my dad worked . . . I was a stupid, embarrassed kid. But she had a crush on me so she slept with me, and I knocked her up because I was cocky and dumb. Thought it wouldn’t happen to me. Simple as that.”

  I sat in shocked silence. I had no words.

  He didn’t wait for me to come up with any as his story just continued to pour from him, like it’d been waiting, dying, to spring free. “When she told me, we decided she’d have an abortion. Quick. Easy. It’d be over and I’d be free, we’d go our separate ways. I gave her the cash and pretty much told her ‘thanks for the good time.’ I didn’t even go with her. I was such a . . .” He shook his head, letting the words slide away.

  “Aw, Dad.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You were just a kid. I’m sure it’s fine.” My reassurance sounded hollow to my own ears.

  A small, mirthless laugh escaped him. “Yeah. Not so much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Another handful of sand seeped through his fingers as his eyes stayed pinned to the ground. He was silent for several moments as my heart beat in my ears. Finally, he patted the ground, raking his fingertips through the grit. “I moved on, met your mom in college. Married her a couple years after we graduated. We did the career thing, then had you and your sister a few years after that. But I have to tell you, the moment they put you in my arms, I had this epiphany . . . it probably sounds totally corny, but it’s true . . .”

  I waited.

  He met my eyes. “You filled a hole in my heart, Reed. I had no idea what kind of damage I’d done, how much I really regretted what I’d done, until that day. And now, you’re going to see just how much your children—all of them—are gifts, and it’s like they leave little fingerprints on your soul. Don’t miss out on that, Son.”

  I blinked away the burning in my eyes as I saw my father in a totally different light. “What happened to her?”

  “The girl?”

  I nodded.

  He looked away. “Shortly afterward, she moved away with her family to Louisiana and I never heard from her again.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I did go to Baton Rouge on business when you were about three and I thought maybe I saw her when I stopped at a Walmart. She was just getting off work, I guess.” I perked up at this revelation. “She looked so haggard, so much older, so sad. I nearly said hello, but then a man walked up to her who looked just as rundown in a greasy mechanic uniform. He had a young boy with him who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, and all I could do was stare. I was shell shocked. He looked so much like you.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “You just let her go? Without finding out if that was your kid? Are you serious?” I could not even wrap my mind around the fact that I could have a brother out there in the world somewhere. Weird.

  He nodded. “The kid called the guy ‘dad.’ What was I supposed to do? I let them go and I didn’t intrude. But, like I said, the choices I made back when she was in my life, and that baby could’ve been mine, kill me a little more every day.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it. I couldn’t really process this. And I darn sure didn’t have room to talk, given my own situation.

  He surprised me and grabbed my hand. “I think about that boy every day. See his face when I look at you. Please don’t make my same mistake.” He squeezed my fingers. “I know you’re young and you’re scared and this was not what you had planned for your life. Mistakes happen. But man up, Son. Do the right thing. Your heart already knows what it is.”

  I blinked, faced the breeze whipping off the ocean as the sun rose to its full brilliance, still holding onto my dad’s hand.

  He was right.

  If I peeled back the curtain of my fear and peeked inside my fractured heart, it knew where it was leading me. It was simply up to me to follow.

  November 1st

  First Aid for the Broken Heart

  I left my dad sitting alone on the beach by Lettie’s cross and knew I needed to go back to the hospital.

  I had no idea what I was in for, or how I would handle it, but I just knew I had to go. I figured I’d wing it when I got there.

  I stopped long enough for a quick shower and breakfast and to let my mom know I was alive. One look at my face when I told her I’d explain later, and she miraculously let it go, when normally she’d nag me ‘til kingdom come.

  I found myself studying her red-rimmed, teary eyes as she leaned against the sink and I suddenly wondered if she knew everything my dad had told me. God. Pity overwhelmed me for all of us in this screwed up situation.

  I stood to drain the milk from my bowl of Cornflakes and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, noticing how much smaller she seemed to me.

  Her sob was muffled in my T-shirt as she gripped me in a bear hug like she wasn’t going to let go.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just . . .” What?

  She drew back and dabbed her eyes. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  God, I felt like a selfish jerk. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I had a bad night.” I studied her downturned head. “Melissa had the baby.”

  Her head snapped up. “She did?”

  I nodded.

  “Are they okay?”

  I gave a half-shrug. I just didn’t have the emotional energy to explain it all again. Not now. “Dad knows the whole story. I was just going to go back to the hospital now.”

  “Oh. Well then . . . go.” She half-shoved me toward the door. “Go. Call me when you know something more.” She kissed me on the cheek as I stepped over the threshold. “Love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I trudged down to the car like a man heading to the gallows. Just before I sunk into the driver’s seat, my mom’s voice stopped me.

  “Reed?”

  I turned.

  “Is it a girl or boy?” Her sweet, hopeful smile nearly broke my heart.

  I swallowed, th
e plastic band on my wrist suddenly weighing a ton. “A girl.”

  Her smile broadened to a wide grin. “A girl. I thought so. Congratulations.”

  I nodded without saying a word and wilted into the car to go face the music.

  The hospital smelled no different than last time, except today my own fear and anger added a splash of spice to the ambiance.

  I rode the elevator up and walked the hallway to Labor and Delivery, knowing the way now like a seasoned pro. They buzzed me right in and the girl in green scrubs at the desk gave me a small, knowing smile when she noticed the band on my wrist.

  “Which room is Melissa Summers in?” I asked, hoping I didn’t look like a total ass not knowing where the mother of my child was. Oh, well.

  The nurse who’d just been smiling at me now frowned suspiciously. She took a second look at my band. “Uh . . .” She glanced down at some papers, then clicked some keys on her computer, her frown deepening. She picked up the phone and I heard her murmur something about ‘Summers.’

  She finally faced me again. “You’re the baby’s father?”

  Uh, well . . . I nodded for lack of a better response. I guess the band deemed me so. At least for now.

  She rounded the desk and approached me, making my heart sink. Something was obviously wrong. Very wrong. Now her smile seemed sympathetic.

  “Where’s Melissa?”

  She gently led me away from the flow of traffic in front of the nurses’ station. “Ms. Summers was taken to ICU right after her c-section. She’s very sick. I’m sorry if nobody notified you.”

  I blinked at her, not comprehending. “Is . . . will she be all right?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have that information. You’ll have to talk to her family or go visit her during visiting hours if you can.”

  Oh, God.

  Oh, God.

  Oh, God.

  I thought I was going to be sick. I leaned over, my hands on my knees, sucking in air.

  The nurse placed a reassuring hand on my back. “I’m so sorry. But they’re taking good care of her . . .” I barely heard her words as I concentrated on breathing. “Would you like to see your baby?”

  But I definitely heard that.

  I straightened. “What?”

  “Your baby?” She smiled. “Would you like to see her?”

  Would I?

  My heart thumped wildly as I realized yes, yes I would. I nodded.

  “Okay. Follow me and I’ll show you the way to the NICU.”

  We took a back hallway to some doors marked ‘Level II NICU,’ where the nurse, who introduced herself as Claire, walked me inside and had me wash my hands, then guided me to another nurse who was surrounded by plastic incubators full of impossibly tiny, red, wrinkly babies.

  “Hi, I’m Kelly,” the young brunette nurse offered. She barely looked older than me.

  “Reed,” I croaked.

  She checked my armband. “So, you belong to sweet Miss Summers? We’ve been wondering when our mommy or daddy would come visit, haven’t we?” she sing-songed as she leaned over one of the little incubators.

  “That’s her?” My eyes widened.

  Kelly nodded. “Yes. Meet your daughter.”

  I stepped closer, studied the itty-bitty features. I watched her breathe, took in all the monitors snaking around her and it felt so . . . surreal.

  “Does she have a name?” Kelly asked.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “No. Not yet.”

  “Ah . . .” She moved around and did something with some of the baby’s wires and machines. “You can touch her, you know.”

  My gaze snapped up to hers. “I can?”

  “Sure.”

  She showed me how to put my hand inside the incubator and how to touch the baby without overstimulating her. She explained about what they’d been doing for her, and that even though they’d nearly transferred her into downtown Houston for more advanced care, she pulled through, and how well she’d been doing overall. “We’re very proud of Little Miss, here.” She smiled at me again. “Well, you look like you’re doing fine. I’m going to step away and check on another baby. I’ll be right back. One of the other nurses is just across the room if you need anything.”

  I nodded, my eyes glued back on the baby under my hand.

  Alone, I let my eyes do the touching, the holding, my hands couldn’t. A slow burn began in the back of my throat, my eyes. I’d never, ever, felt anything like this. What was it?

  As my hot teardrops splattered across the plastic of her bed, my father’s words replayed in my head, and clarity danced within my grasp.

  But as I caressed her tiny arm and fingers, and her fragile hand gripped my fingertip with a surprisingly strong grip, I suddenly realized with a fierce and painful surety what was tugging at my heart, healing it.

  Love.

  November 1st

  No.

  I stayed with the baby as long as I could—as long as I could bear—before I made myself step away.

  As much as my heart was just about tripping over itself with the baby steps of a new kind of love unlike anything I’d ever known, I could not allow myself to walk any further onto that landmine until I worked some things out with Mel. In my time in the NICU, I’d come to a couple conclusions. But these decisions weren’t mine alone, and that was the most painful part.

  Reluctantly, I turned away, not sure when I’d be back.

  “We’ll see you later, Daddy,” Kelly said.

  I swallowed and glanced over my shoulder, but she had her eyes pinned to the monitor above the baby’s bed as she wrote on a clipboard.

  I shifted and left, making my way out to the main hallway. I followed the signs and found the ICU. A volunteer directed me to a waiting room since it wasn’t visiting hours yet. I bought a Coke and settled in one of the barely padded chairs to wait the nearly two hours with the various other characters who populated the ICU waiting room.

  An elderly gentleman in bright red suspenders who looked as fragile as tissue paper, surrounded by tearful, middle-aged women in various flavors of frumpiness.

  An emo teenager with jet black hair and gauges the size of a small country, smacked his gum and eyed everyone like he was angry at the world for existing.

  A wisp of a Hispanic woman who appeared jittery was rattling off Spanish commands in machine gun-like bursts to her pre-school aged children as they played at her feet. She caught my eye and I offered her a smile, but she quickly looked away like I made her nervous.

  I picked up a magazine as the clock ticked an hour off and read about the African plains. Huh, when faced with a threat, zebras will create a wall and face their attacker head on. Cool.

  Speaking of threats . . . I glanced up thirty minutes later just as Melissa’s parents strolled in, their faces pinched with fatigue.

  I sat up straighter and threw my magazine down. Her dad noticed me first and we locked eyes. Her mom came to a stop next to him as if sensing his change in demeanor, her eyes tracking his gaze. I offered her a small half-smile. She did not return it.

  Finally, they approached me, their hands linked. Creating a collective wall. Like zebras. “Reed,” her father said, his voice quiet.

  “Sir.”

  “We weren’t sure you’d come.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Well . . . I—”

  Her mom plopped down next to me and gripped my hand. “Oh, Reed, honey. We’re so sorry. We know Melissa must’ve hurt you so badly last night. We have no idea what . . .”

  “It’s okay,” I offered the only platitude I had at the moment. “How is she?”

  “She’s relatively stable. It was pretty touch-and-go there for a while. They had to give her a lot of blood and medications because she’s so sick, and she almost hemorrhaged. But she seems to have turned a corner. The doctor said her lab work is already looking better today.”

  I sucked in a breath as gratitude filled me. I might have a chance at thi
s after all. Maybe. “I’m glad.”

  She dipped her head as if collecting herself then raised tear-filled eyes to mine. “How’s the baby?”

  I gaped. “You don’t know? You haven’t seen her?”

  Mr. Summers sat on my other side. “We don’t know much of anything. We’ve been concentrating on Melissa, and since the baby is in the NICU and you have the armband, we can’t get in without you, nor get any real information.”

  Oh. I had no idea of the rules on these kinds of things. “I’m sorry. She’s fine. I just saw her. The nurse told me she’s doing better than they’d expected.”

  Her dad smiled. “Oh, what a relief . . . that’s so great. So, it’s a girl?”

  I nodded and her mom stifled a sob into her hand.

  “The nurses told us that grandparents can visit as long as they’re with a parent with an armband,” her dad said as he reached behind me to grip his wife’s hand for a brief squeeze. “Do you think . . . would you mind taking my wife in to see her? Whenever you have time?”

  My eyes pinged between them as the emotion literally began to swallow me. “Of course, of course. I just . . . I just need to see Mel, then I’ll take you both. If that’s okay.”

  They exchanged a glance and I could feel their pity. I didn’t want it. “Absolutely. We understand. Take all the time you need. We got to see her this morning,” her dad said. “And thank you.”

  I didn’t get a chance to respond when the volunteer finally stood to announce it was visiting time.

  Mel’s mom squeezed my hand again. “Tell her we love her, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I stood and left them to go see if I had a future with the only girl I’d ever loved.

  Mel looked beyond horrible.

  She was puffier than before, and hooked to more machinery, wires, and intimidating medical paraphernalia than the baby.

  My stomach clenched. My palms began to sweat. My heart was pounding like a racehorse on speed.

  Not because Mel was sick. I could see the steady rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm of her heart beating on the monitor above her head. I took solace in the fact that the nurses were sitting calmly at the station, clicking away on their computers.