by Holly Rayner
When we were minutes away from the hospital, I thought to call Kyle.
To his worried flurry of questions, I could only tell him, “Birth now. Chased. Get police to St. Vincent. Santa Fe.” Then my phone died entirely.
Beside me, Brock’s face was creased in concentration, his maple eyes squinting with it.
“We’ll make it,” he said, and that time I would’ve really believed him if it hadn’t been for the fear in his voice.
After we barreled through several hairpin turns and shrieked up to the front of the promisingly fancy-looking tan exterior of the hospital, Brock dashed out, opened the door, and helped me out. One staggering, excruciating step after another, and we were at the doors. Then a car shrieked behind us and there was a crash sound.
Turning around, Brock groaned.
I let out a low moan. I didn’t need to turn around to know that Russell and his men had finally arrived and that they were armed.
A bullet shattered the wall an inch away from us, and then more bullets sounded. Amid all this, a siren wailed. I turned around to see police officers running straight for us, their guns raised.
“Brock Anderson, you are under arrest,” a bald man barked. “Don’t move!”
Behind him, other officers were cuffing a furious-looking Russell Snow and several of his burly, equally furious-looking men.
“Please,” I told the bald officer as he advanced, gesturing to Brock. “Please leave him be. I’m pregnant. He’s the father, please.”
My arm was grasped, and I was pressed into a wheelchair as another series of contractions scraped through me.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer said, getting out a glinting pair of handcuffs.
Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled away backward, presumably by a nurse who politely ignored my mumbled pleas and only gave my shoulder a squeeze as assured me that everything was going to be all right.
Through the clear doors, Brock waved as he was taken to the police car. Then my wheelchair was turned around and the worst contraction yet occurred.
I let out a low moan, and the nurse pushing me said, “They’re coming out, aren’t they? Don’t worry, we’re getting you to a room right now.”
And then, everything went black.
Chapter Nineteen
“Bet you didn’t expect to see me,” were the first words out of his mouth as I gaped at him.
After seeing Brock being taken away by the police, after giving excruciating birth to our triplets and holding their beautiful raw, red faces to my crying one, yes, the last person I had expected to see was Brock. And yet here he was, standing in front of my hospital bed and grinning at me and the three bundles of beauty I cradled in my arms.
“How…” I said, but he was already sweeping toward me with open arms.
“Can I?”
I handed him the three babies.
“Of course.”
He pressed the tiny sleeping things to his chest, a scared yet delighted look coming over his face.
“Oh man, oh man. Wow.”
We laughed, and he said, “They’re even more perfect than I could’ve imagined.”
His finger pressed against the boy’s forehead.
“So small and…ours.”
“Ours,” I repeated, beaming up at him.
He handed them back to me and then asked, “Want to know how I got here, or want to save it for later?”
I shrugged and patted the empty space on the bed beside me.
“I’ve got time.”
“Okay,” Brock said, going to the other side of the bed to sit down.
He rested his hand softly on my shoulder and smiled as he spoke.
“The police were hardly interested in me since I only ever stole from criminals. In fact, when they found out I had valuable information that would put Russell and his henchmen away for a nice long time, they had to stop themselves from outright shaking my hand at the end of the dealings. When I told them that my girlfriend was giving birth, they drove me here in the squad car, lights blaring and all.”
Smiling, I asked him, “Ooh, so I’m your girlfriend now huh?”
Grasping my hand, he said, “Well, if you’ll accept…”
Then, drawing it to his lips and kissing it, he said, “Alex, ‘girlfriend’ doesn’t even begin to cover what you are to me, but it’s a start. I may have missed our children’s birth, but you have my word that I’ll be there for every minute of their lives from now on.”
“Alex?!” a voice called across the hospital room as a red-haired figure raced toward me.
“I can’t believe you gave birth without me!” Tiffany yelled, Kyle and my mom trailing behind her.
Seeing Brock, she paused.
“Oh, you’re…”
“Brock Anderson, Alex’s boyfriend,” Brock said, holding out his hand with a smile.
Tiffany cocked her head at the proffered hand. Then, heaving a sigh, she clasped it warmly.
“Okay, so maybe I was wrong,” she said to me. “You may have picked a winner.”
“Clearly I have some catching up to do,” Brock said with a grin, taking my hand now.
“You do, but there’s no need to worry,” I said, squeezing his hand. “We have the rest of our lives to catch up.”
The next few days passed in a happy blur: faces of family and friends, chocolate and balloons and teddy bears, and, of course, my darlings, my perfect little darlings. There was Noelle, named after her great-grandmother who’d had her same rosy cheeks well into her eighties; Sasha, named after Sasha Barrette, an artist Brock and I loved; and, finally, Ian, named after Brock’s father, who had died in combat when Brock was only twelve.
Having three babies was just how it sounded—noisy and demanding. It seemed like I was feeding them nonstop, too. When one was finished, another one would start its harried demands. And yet, it wasn’t as difficult as I had thought it would be. With Brock by my side, parked in the hospital chair, I was able to sleep a bit and eat. My days were still tiring, sure, but they were doable.
And when I saw my little triplets look up at me with their loving hazel eyes, there was nothing better. Seeing Brock with them, carrying them in his strong arms, patting their backs, kissing their tiny cheeks, made me care for him more every day.
Tiffany and my mother delighted in the babies too. Along with Brock, they wouldn’t leave my side, and every day they came armed with more gifts for the triplets.
One day, however, the day before I was to be discharged, Tiffany came with bad news.
“Combs, it’s your apartment.”
My face fell.
“Crap. Did I forget to pay?”
She shook her head.
“No. It’s not that. It’s just…” She fell silent and then glanced at Kyle, as if he could give her the words to tell me what she had to.
“What? What is it, Tiff? Tell me.”
So, with a sigh, she did.
“It’s Charlie. While you were gone, he broke into your place and, uh, accidentally set it on fire. He was smoking or something, and he’s being charged, but…”
Again, she fell silent and looked at Kyle.
“Tiff…”
“Well, all your stuff, it’s gone, Alex.”
Her words hit me like a slap in the face. My whole body drooped, and the babies, sensing turmoil, started wailing.
Mom scooped them up while Tiffany, her face red now, started talking a mile a minute. “But of course you and the triplets can stay with us. It’s no problem, no problem at all. I just thought you should know.”
I nodded mutely, unsure of what to say. Tiffany’s face was still strained.
“That’s not all, is it?” I asked quietly, and she shook her head.
“It’s your office building. They called a few days ago saying that your lease has expired and they want you out.”
Another slap of reality on the other side of my face.
“Okay” was all I could say with a dumb sort of nod.
No
w Tiffany was in overdrive.
“But really, it’s fine! I mean, we have a room downstairs we don’t use. That can be your office or the nursery or both! We’ll figure this out, Combs. We always do!”
I nodded dumbly again, feeling too desolate to speak. I suddenly felt very, very tired. The babies were still screaming, so I held my arms out for them. Mom handed them to me, her face looking as sad and worried as I felt.
I cradled them to me, my little darlings whom I hardly even had a home for.
As I drifted off, the last thing I saw, in the corner of the room, was Brock. He was sitting quietly, his face intent. He had heard everything.
I awoke to a kiss on the cheek.
I opened my eyes to see Brock and an empty room.
As my mouth opened, Brock held a finger to my lips.
“Shhhh,” he said. “Your mom and Tiffany went for a quick walk with the babies.”
I nodded, searching his face.
“You’re probably wondering why I woke you up then.”
I nodded again, and he grinned.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he said, going over to the table in the corner of the room.
He brought over a purple cake with the words “Will you live with me?” written on it in orange icing.
I stared at the funny-looking thing while an incredulous smile worked its way onto my face.
“Okay, so I did the icing myself,” Brock admitted with a shy smile, “but are you really going to leave me hanging here?”
It all seemed so incredible. Clearly, my face indicated as much, because, seizing my hands, Brock said, “I know what you’re thinking. It’s too much too fast; we hardly know each other. And you’re right, Alex, you’re right.”
I cocked my head at him. Wasn’t he supposed to be convincing me that this was a good idea?
He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and continued. “But I still want to try. The little time we’ve spent together, it’s enough. I know all I need to know, which is that I care for you deeply and will do anything to make this work.”
Tears came to my eyes and rolled down before I could rub them away.
“Well?” Brock asked, and I nodded mutely.
Now tears were in his eyes too, and, as we clasped each other and kissed, Tiffany and my mom returned with the babies.
“She said yes, didn’t she?” Mom said, the delight audible in her voice. All three babies in her arms were smiling more than I’d ever seen them smile, as if they knew what had just happened.
“Knew she would,” Tiffany said, her red lips spread in a big grin. “Well, can we have the cake now?”
I responded by picking up the fork beside the cake, digging it in, and forking out a bite.
Everyone laughed, and in that shining moment, everything was perfect.
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Thank you.”
The rocking chair rocked back, and I murmured the words to myself again: “Thank you.”
I wasn’t sure who it was directed at really, God, the universe, or myself. It didn’t matter. What did matter was how wonderful my life now was. Every day was better than the last.
Who would’ve thought that the best year of my life would’ve flown by so fast that it felt like a month? Sitting there on the wooden chair Brock had carved out himself, atop the orange paisley pillow provided by my mom, I could still barely believe all that had happened in 12 short months.
Only three months ago we had started the “Gumshoe Investigation Agency,” and already it was booming. There were so many clients that we had a waiting list, or a waiting notebook, more accurately. Sure, it was mostly Brock who got to do the legwork, chasing down the bad guys and missing items or people, but I still got the thrill of the hunt; he was constantly contacting me for information, routes, and advice on what to do next. I was the expert after all.
Though I wasn’t the only one who got to pursue my passion. Brock had sold four paintings since we’d moved near to Hermit Peak. Maybe it was because our whirlwind reuniting had taken place there, but Brock and I had fallen in love with Santa Fe and hadn’t left. Maybe we never would.
The city was chock-full of beautiful buildings and culture—an arts center in and of itself. Finding our house hadn’t been easy, but after touring close to twenty different options, it had been clear that one was right. As soon as we’d seen it, we’d known. It was the same adobe style as the ones I had seen during my harried search for Brock on Carson Valley Way, but that was where the similarities ended. It was set by itself, in no discernible neighborhood, and its style was as unique as it was pleasing. I still found myself stopping to enjoy its stunning effect; it made me feel as though I were in Spain or Mexico. The location, being close to the mountains, was the clincher.
How Brock had afforded it, he still wouldn’t say, though I thought it had something to do with the money he had saved up during his long-gone criminal days.
Nevertheless, our choice had paid off these past nine months. Since we’d bought the place, we had been blissfully happy and had taken long, relaxing walks at least every week. Yes, we really were lucky.
As our triplets slept soundly and my husband painted the walls, I rocked back and forth, back and forth. I lost myself in the soft rocking rhythm, in the pale flecks of yellow Brock was adding to the final wall—sweeping daffodils that swirled among the lilacs, bluebells, and pink roses.
“I’m warning you, Brock, you’re never going to get me out of here if you make their nursery this pretty,” I said.
“Then I’ll just have to paint the whole house, every room,” Brock replied, shooting a smirk my way.
I smiled to myself; his threat wouldn’t be the worst thing, even as well decorated as our house already was. Every new painting Brock made left me more speechless than the last, and if this nursery was any indication, the other rooms he painted wouldn’t be an exception.
After one more dab of paint on the wall, Brock said, “There, done.”
As he came over to me, I rose into his embrace. He held me and regarded his creation, while I turned my gaze to ours, the three babies flopped on their backs side by side in the cradle: Ian, Noelle, and Sasha.
“Still think we should do the picnic this afternoon?” I asked, and he nodded.
“Already bought the baguette and everything. Besides, it’s been a few days since I’ve gotten to check out the mountain.”
“Okay,” I said, extricating myself to go over to the crib. “We better pack up and wake up the little ones then.”
In the kitchen, I stood at the marble counter and assembled our arsenal of supplies: the baguette, a block of cheese, several clusters of grapes, a box of cereal, and a variety of chocolate bars. I tucked it all into one of the massive Tupperware boxes Tiffany had goaded me into purchasing on our furniture shopping spree, which now seemed so long ago.
I smiled at the thought of my dear friend. Tiffany and Kyle came to visit almost every month, and they were due to visit in a week or so. They were the triplets’ godparents after all.
“You ready?” Brock called from the nursery. “They woke up just in time.”
“Yup. All ready,” I called back.
A few seconds later, Brock came in, the three kids in his arms.
“Time for the tri-stroller!” he boomed.
The babies giggled as I wheeled in the teal, three-seat powerhouse of a stroller that had saved us from God only knew how many headaches.
We swept our three darlings into their spots, and then I got behind the handle and started pushing. Once out the door, it was a short walk to the trail to Hermit Peak. Lucky for us, this trail was a fairly smooth dirt one. While I had experience pushing the giant stroller over a wide range of terrain, a difficult surface meant a long trip with lots of breaks and Brock eventually taking over after I gave up on my attempts to get my pre-baby body back.
And so up we went, the babies gurgling their approval of the fresh air while Brock hauled the
picnic supplies along.
I smiled at the trees we passed, at the tangles of wildflowers and woolly shrubs.
“You look beautiful today, you know,” Brock said.
I blushed, looking down at my hastily chosen jean skirt and gauzy white blouse. How was it that after over a year with this man he still had the ability to reduce me to a nervous schoolgirl?
“Where do you want to sit?” he asked. “Want to see if we can make it up all the way?”
A glance at the triplets revealed that they were as happy and enrapt in their surroundings as ever.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll see how they handle the ascent. If they’re fine with it, then I am too.”
Brock came over and squeezed my hand.
“Good. It’s been too long since I saw the top. Think it’d be good for the kids to get to see it too.”
“You got it,” I said with a kiss on his cheek.
Incredibly, we made it up the whole mountain without any complaints from the three babies. It was as if they sensed today was the anniversary of our first meeting, that it was a special day.
Even when we reached the summit, however, we weren’t quite done with walking yet.
“Just a minute,” Brock said, pulling me along. “I want to show everyone my favorite spot.”
At this, Ian’s rosy little face in the front seat of the stroller darkened.
“Brock, are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s just five minutes more. Please, babe,” he said.
And so it was. I let him lead us past the nice-looking peak and farther off the path. We even climbed a hill until, finally, there it was.
“Wow,” I said.
It was all there really was to say, for right in front of me was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.
It was a veritable sea of daylilies, individual blossoms that joined into one slightly swaying body of orange—a soft orange, a warm one, something like the color of contentment, of happiness.
“What do you think?” Brock whispered in my ear, and I responded with a kiss.