by April Wilson
The baby’s done with his bottle, and Sam’s changing his diaper when I return to the sofa to join them.
“You would make such a great dad,” I tell Sam, watching him securing the clean diaper and tucking the baby’s feet back into his sleeper.
Sam gives me a wistful smile, making me wonder how much he’s thought about it.
“Do you want kids?” I ask him.
He nods. “Yeah. But Cooper thinks he’s too old to be a dad.”
I laugh. “That’s ridiculous. He’d be a fantastic father. You both would.”
Sam shrugs. “Maybe one day, once we’re married.”
The elevator chimes, announcing the arrival of my mom and brother.
“Darling,” Mom says, joining me on the sofa. She gives me a hug, then sits back to study me. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Are you? Really?”
“Yes.”
She tucks some loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “How’s my adorable little grandson?”
Sam wraps the baby securely in his fuzzy blanket and hands him to my mom. “Fed and freshly changed. He’s all yours, Ingrid.”
Tyler sits on the back of the sofa and watches Mom fussing over the baby as she rocks him in her arms. “I think he’s grown,” he says.
“He has,” I say. “He’s gained eight ounces since he was born.”
Shane walks into the room, followed by Cooper. “Hey, Tyler!” he says. “Are you volunteering for babysitting duty?”
Tyler gives Shane a level stare. “Funny.”
“Well, I volunteer for babysitting,” Ingrid says, making kissy faces at the baby.
“Hello, Ingrid.” Shane leans down to kiss my mother’s cheek. “You are welcome to babysit anytime you want. But this guy here…” Shane nods toward Tyler. “We’re going to need some referrals first, before we consider him for babysitting duty.”
Ingrid rises from the sofa and lays the baby in Tyler’s arms. “Don’t let him fool you, Shane. Tyler is great with babies. He helped me raise Beth.”
I watch, completely mesmerized, as my big brother holds my baby in his strong arms, smiling down at him and whispering. I realize I’ve never seen him with a child before. But Mom’s right, he did help raise me, so of course he has experience with kids, although it was quite some years ago. But I guess it’s like riding a bike—you never forget.
Shane pats Tyler on the back. “You’re not such a tough guy now, when you’re holding a two-week-old infant in your arms, are you?”
“Don’t test me, pal,” Tyler says, giving Shane a dark look. But his expression softens when he gazes down at his nephew once more, cooing and smiling, bouncing him gently as he pats the baby’s back.
“Who’s hungry?” Cooper says, coming out of the kitchen. “Ingrid, Tyler, would you like to stay for lunch? In honor of her homecoming, and Luke’s, I’m going to whip up one of Beth’s favorites, chicken and dumplings. You’re welcome to join us.”
“We’d love to,” Mom says. “Thank you.”
That’s the one thing I really missed while we were in the NICU. Cooper’s cooking.
Chapter 29
Shane
My son has no shortage of attention during lunch. Everyone takes turns passing him around the table while we eat. Even Beth takes a turn, holding him close and talking quietly to him as the rest of us enjoy our meals. He stares up at her, mesmerized by the sound of her voice. Of course, he must recognize her. She’s his mama. He spent the better part of seven months in her womb, listening to her voice, hearing her laugh. My throat tightens as I watch the two of them together.
“All right, it’s my turn,” Tyler says, holding out his hands to his sister.
Beth smiles at him, then hands him the baby. Her expression is wistful as she watches her brother cuddle with her son.
It amazes me to see how attentive Tyler is with Luke. I think I’ve underestimated the homicide detective. I think he has a softer side after all. He seems actually quite comfortable holding and entertaining a newborn.
“Anybody need a refill?” I say, rising from the table.
* * *
After Ingrid and Tyler leave that evening, Beth and I order Cooper to go sit down and relax on the sofa with Sam and Luke while we take care of the dirty dishes and the kitchen.
“I was surprised to see Tyler so comfortable with Luke,” I say. “I think your brother’s bark is worse than his bite.”
Beth smiles as she loads dishes into the dishwasher. “He’s a big teddy bear at heart. I remember, when I was young, he’d be the first one there to pick me up when I fell off my bike and bandage my scraped knees.” Her expression falls as her eyes fill with tears. “He always came to my rescue.”
“Oh, sweetheart, come here.” I pull her into my arms. I know exactly what she’s thinking, and I could kick myself for making her remember.
“Tyler was the first one to find me,” she says, her face pressed against my shirt.
A chill crawls through me when I think about how close she came to being horrendously abused. She was just six years old when Kline abducted her. If the cops hadn’t found her so quickly, God knows what might have happened to her. And yes, Tyler Jamison, at that time a rookie Chicago street cop, had been the one to bust down that cellar door and find his little sister bound and gagged, lying naked on the cold, dirt floor in the pitch-black darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against the top of her head, before kissing her there. “I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”
“It’s all right. I’m fine, really.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately, but I’m not so sure it’s true.”
“Shane—”
“I know,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair. He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “You’ve been through a lot. You need time.”
After we’re done in the kitchen, we join Sam and Cooper in the living room. With his head in Cooper’s lap, Sam’s lying on the sofa with Luke on his chest, the baby’s little knees drawn up beneath his body.
“You’re pretty good at that,” I say.
Sam laughs as he pats Luke’s back. “What can I say? I’m a natural.” He kisses the top of the baby’s head. “Luke and I are buds.”
I reach down and squeeze Sam’s shoulder. I haven’t forgotten for one second that Beth and I owe Sam everything. There’s no way we can ever repay him for his selfless act—for sacrificing his own safety to protect Beth’s…and likely saving our son’s life before we even knew Beth was pregnant.
Sam pats the baby’s well-padded bottom. “I just changed his diaper, after Cooper gave him a bottle. He’s all ready for bed.”
Beth yawns, drawing lots of chuckles.
“I think Luke’s not the only one who’s ready for bed,” I say as I put my arm around Beth. “I think we could all use some sleep.”
“Bed sounds good to me,” she says.
Sam hands me Luke, and with my son cradled in one arm, and my other arm around my wife, we head for our own room.
* * *
As I carry Luke to our suite, I can’t help lowering my face to his head, smelling his hair and his skin. I guess this is what they mean by the new baby smell. It’s oddly addictive, which is undoubtedly nature’s way of ensuring that parents take care of their offspring.
I press my cheek to the side of his head and pat his diaper-padded little butt. “Welcome home, son. You’ll have no shortage of people only too happy to love you and take care of you, not least of all your mama and me.”
At the mention of his mama, I feel a pang of sadness. I know she’s not fully on board yet, and she’s suffering all kinds of emotions she doesn’t need to suffer. I’m hoping that getting her home will help, but if it doesn’t, we’ll have to take further steps, like counseling.
Luke stays asleep as I put him into his nighttime sleeper and lay him in the bassinette. No pillows, no blankets, on his back, just like the nurses at the hospital drilled
into our heads. I watch him for a few minutes to make sure he’s actually going to stay asleep. But he’s got a dry diaper and a full belly, and he’s likely worn out from being passed around by adoring relatives all day. He should be ready for bed.
When I’m sure he’s out for the count, I join Beth in the bathroom, where she’s getting ready for bed. While she brushes her teeth, I grab a quick shower.
As I climb into bed, I close the distance between us and slip my arm around her waist. “God, it feels good to be home, in our own bed.” We’ve been gone almost two weeks, quite unexpectedly. Being back home again feels a little surreal.
Beth’s arm slips over mine, and she clasps my hand.
“I wasn’t sure if you were still awake,” I say quietly, my mouth just inches from the back of her head.
“I’m exhausted, but I don’t think I can sleep.”
She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push her. I’ll give her a few more days to settle in, and if she’s not better, then I’ll push. I’ll push as hard as I need to—whatever it takes to bring her back to us.
Chapter 30
Beth
I can’t sleep. Even though my body is worn out, my mind is overthinking everything. My thoughts keep racing, and my heart is thrashing in my chest like a caged rabbit. Every breath is a chore, and I’m afraid I’m a heartbeat away from another panic attack.
“Hey.” Shane slips his fingers into my hair and starts combing it, gently separating the strands, sending tingles down my spine that make me shiver.
“It’s okay, Beth,” he murmurs as he continues to play with my hair, stroking it and gently tugging on the strands. “I know, and I’m here.”
I groan softly as his fingers grip my scalp, beginning a firm massage, the kind he knows I love. Then his hands slide down to my shoulders, massaging my tight muscles and making me moan with pleasure.
“Can you lie comfortably on your front?” he says.
I roll onto my belly, careful not to put too much pressure on my breasts.
He sits up and pulls the bedding down to my waist. Then he pushes my nightgown up to my shoulders. His hands come down on my bare skin, warm and heavy, and begin a slow, gentle massage. He chuckles softly when I moan shamelessly.
“Your muscles are so tight,” he says.
I make an unintelligible sound, and he laughs. “Just relax and let me work my magic.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, the sound quietly muffled by my pillow. I close my eyes and try to think about nothing but the pleasure of his hands on me.
Like a wicked master of touch, he massages my shoulders, then my back, his fingers traveling slowly down my spine, chasing the tension out of each individual muscle. He works my back methodically, not missing an inch, until he reaches my hips. Then he pushes the bedding aside exposing the lower half of my body, making me shiver.
His warm hands chase the chill away as he massages my butt cheeks, making me giggle, then continues down each thigh and leg, one at a time, until he reaches my feet. I’m little more than a puddle of sensation now, all of the aches and pains of the past week momentarily forgotten. All I can focus on is how good his hands feel on my body, how gentle he is, how attentive.
Hot tears form in my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks, and I wipe my face on my pillow. I don’t deserve such tender, selfless attention from him. I’ve been a terrible wife, and an even worse mother, leaving him to shoulder the brunt of the work alone.
I roll to my back, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice choked. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh,” he says, brushing the wetness from my cheeks. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He leans down and kisses me gently, his lips clinging to mine. “My love for you doesn’t come with any conditions.”
He tugs my nightgown back into place, then leans down to brush my hair back so he can kiss my forehead. He settles down beside me, and I roll to my side so he can spoon against me, our favorite position for sleeping. His arm snakes around my waist, and he tucks me close to him.
“You sleep,” he says, burying his nose in my hair. “I’ll get up with Luke.”
* * *
A few hours later, I awake instantly as the baby starts stirring in his bassinette. He’s not crying exactly, not yet, but he’s definitely awake and making quiet mewling sounds.
I roll to my back and glance at Shane, but he’s sound asleep. I can’t blame him. He’s been pulling far more than just his weight lately. He’s been pulling mine too.
The baby starts fussing louder, making faint crying sounds as he ramps up. I carefully slip out of bed and walk to the bassinette, leaning over it to peer at him in the semi-darkness.
“Shh,” I say, laying my hand gently on his torso. “Are you hungry?”
The baby’s eyes widen, and at first he’s satisfied with simply staring at me. But before long, his little legs start moving, followed by his arms. His little face screws up and he takes a deep breath in preparation to make himself heard.
“Shh, it’s all right,” I say, reaching down to pick him up. I hold him against my chest, the way I’ve seen Shane do, one hand supporting his butt and the other supporting his back and head. My goodness, he’s so small. Technically, he’s not supposed to have been born for four more weeks, and I can’t help wondering how much bigger he would have been at birth if he’d arrived at the right time. “I guess we’ll find out in four weeks, won’t we?” I whisper.
When he nuzzles his face against my breast and opens his mouth, my heart starts hammering. Then he starts crying in earnest, his faint, broken cries growing louder with each breath. I feel a sudden flush of heat in my breasts, and they start aching, feeling way too full. I need to pump.
“Do you want to try nursing him?” Shane says quietly from the bed.
I glance his way, surprised to see him sitting up in bed, watching me with a small smile on his face.
“No!” I flinch at my too-hasty response, realizing how frantic I sound. “I can’t. I need to pump now.”
Shane nods. “Sure,” he says. “Or, you could try to nurse him. If you’re successful, then you won’t have to pump.”
The baby has worked himself up into a pretty good cry now, his increasingly frantic wails piercing the quiet. “He’s hungry,” I say, my gaze imploring Shane to step in and do something.
As if reading my thoughts, Shane swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises. “Why don’t you hold him while I go warm up his bottle? Then, while I’m feeding him, you can pump.”
He indicates the little seating area across the room, next to our little kitchenette and fireplace. I feel panic nipping at my heels, but when Shane lays his hand on the center of my back and steers me toward the sofa, I manage to walk across the room without dropping the baby.
I sit on the sofa, cradling the baby in my arms trying to entertain him, and watch as Shane takes a bottle out of the fridge and puts it into the bottle warmer.
“I’ll go wash my hands before I feed him,” Shane says, heading to the bathroom, leaving me alone with the baby.
I watch Shane’s back until he disappears into the bathroom. Then I look down at the fussing baby. “Shh, it’s okay,” I tell him, bouncing him in my arms. “Your daddy will be right back to feed you. Just hang on.”
Rocking him in my arms seems to help, so I keep it up until Shane returns with a blanket and a burb cloth. He checks the bottle, testing the temperature of the milk on his forearm, then sits beside me on the sofa and reaches for the baby.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try?” he says, giving me a curious smile. “I can help you. I watched the lactation consultant enough times to know what to do.”
I shake my head as I get up from the sofa to fetch the pump. “No, that’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ll just pump.”
Half an hour later, after a diaper change, the baby is back in his bassinette, sound asleep with a full belly. I wash the breast pump and put it away for the next time. I join Shane at the fo
ot of our bed, and the both of us stand over the little crib watching our baby sleep.
Memories of childbirth assail me. I can remember it so clearly, the searing pain, the crushing pressure on my abdomen, Jason working so frantically and diligently to get the baby to breathe. The helpless look on Shane’s face as he stood watching Jason work on the baby.
“He almost died,” I say, my throat closing up on me.
Shane’s arm slips around my waist. “But he didn’t, sweetheart. He’s fine.”
Before I can pull away, he lifts me gently into his arms and carries me back to bed, setting me down on the mattress and covering me with the blankets. Then he climbs into bed and settles down beside me, pulling me into his arms.
“Luke is fine, and that’s all that matters,” he says. He kisses my forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
“For what?” I ask, genuinely surprised at his words. I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve any praise. On the contrary, I’m a pathetic disaster as a mother.
“For pumping. It’s hard work.”
“Oh. Well, it’s the least I can do.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Maybe you could try nursing him again.”
I feel a pang of guilt that I haven’t made more of an attempt to nurse him. I’ve tried a few times, but gave up too easily. “All right, I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Good.”
* * *
Later that night, or I guess early the next morning before the sun has even risen, I awaken to the sound of Shane’s low voice as he croons to the baby. Shane’s standing across the room in the kitchenette, rocking the baby in his arms as he waits for a bottle of breast milk to warm. I watch him, mesmerized at the sight of him, so comfortable as he entertains our son. I can hear the baby fussing quietly, and Shane talking to him, telling him his breakfast is on its way.
I need to get up too, to pump. My pumping schedule pretty much mirrors the baby’s feeding schedule, and so far I’ve managed to stay two bottles ahead.
Cradling the baby in one arm, Shane pulls the tiny bottle out of the warmer, gently swirls the milk, then tests the temperature on his forearm. He does all this so naturally, without missing a beat, and I’m amazed by him.