by C F White
His chest hurt to think he’d lost his only chance. How could he—they—move on from this?
His phone vibrating in his back pocket caused Seb to step away. He yanked it out, gripping hold of Noah’s arm in case he ran, or hit him, or collapsed into a heap by his feet.
“Baby,” Seb breathed into the phone and his sobs couldn’t be held back then. Not at seeing Jay’s name and photo come up on his display.
“Where are ya?” Jay’s voice was frantic and warbled as if he were running.
“Maternity wing. Private waiting room. Where are you?”
“Just got here. Fuck, Seb, what’s happened?”
Seb couldn’t answer as a doctor emerged through the swinging double doors and into their waiting room, scrubs on and slapping out of rubber gloves. “Hang on,” Seb said into the phone. “The doctor’s here. I’ll call you back.”
“Wai—”
Seb didn’t wait and clicked off, glancing up in wide eyed hope at the doctor.
“Are you the fathers?” The doctor asked.
“I am.” Seb held up a hand as though he’d been called out at school. “One of them.”
“I’m the husband,” Noah piped up beside him, sniffing away his vulnerable display and back to playing the hard man.
“You two are married?” The doctor pointed between then two of them.
“No!” Seb and Noah called in unison, but Noah allowed Seb to take over from there, “I’m the baby’s father. This is Ann’s husband.”
“Right, I see.” The doctor then seemed to only address Seb. “The baby has been taken to the NICU. Born exceptionally prematurely at twenty-six weeks, so this is a critical time. Nurse Garrick will show you the way.”
Seb didn’t know whether he was meant to feel relieved or not. He didn’t. The baby might be here. Born. Alive. But it was so damn early. He shook. Trembled. And couldn’t get a hold of himself.
Another thought struck, possibly as a way to avoid having to deal with his own turmoil, and he asked through a shaky breath, “Ann?”
“We’ll inform you of any changes.” The doctor gave a nod to Noah. It was filled with sympathy, with a knowledge he wasn’t going to share, and he left it there to tap Seb’s arm and steer him away.
Seb left, peering over his shoulder at Noah and, right then, the conflicting emotions were eating him alive.
A nurse led him down a corridor and toward the NICU, opening the swinging doors into a ward. Seb was cold. Frozen. It was as though all the life and blood had drained from him and he was a walking stone statue. He couldn’t feel his fingers, the tips like ice. The only thing still working was his overactive mind as he took in the bleeps, the lights, the eerie stillness of the ward.
The nurse pointed out a tiny box incubator. He could hear her talking but he couldn’t make out her words. It was as though she was underwater and gargling. Or it was Seb who was inside a box and everyone else out of his reach, external movements unreadable. He stopped. He wasn’t just cold anymore. He’d frozen to the spot. He couldn’t control his legs to walk any farther. Because if he did, he would see, and that would make it all too real. He choked. And would have fallen to heap there and then if a strong arm hadn’t gripped him and brought him back from the brink.
He twisted and there was Jay, fresh from the stadium in the red and white England kit, wafting his familiar scent of sweat and hard work to make Seb feel safe. At home. Except, Jay was pale, and the worry lines crumpling his forehead were enough to make Seb break down. Those blue eyes wanted answers. And to tell him what had happened. To have to admit what had happened.
“Oh, God, Jay!” Seb fell into him and Jay held him, hugging him to his chest and allowing him the breakdown he’d been holding in and desperately needed.
Jay didn’t say anything. He was the pillar of silent strength that Seb had come to rely on. Too much. Jay would need answers, yet he was there as Seb’s security blanket. Eventually, Seb pulled himself together to step out of the warmth of Jay’s embrace and into the debilitating cold of the ward, and the truth.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, sniffing back tears and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” Jay asked, his voice light.
“She fell.” Seb broke apart, choking on his words. ”I nearly didn’t catch her, Jay. She nearly…” He was gone, but Jay grabbed him and held him, keeping him there and steady.
Seb could hear talking but couldn’t make out what was being said over his own sobs and the rampant beats of his heart torturously banging against his chest. His legs were like jelly and the soles of his shoes scraped flooring as Jay dragged him farther inside the unit and, as he opened his eyes, with Jay’s arm still pressing down on him, he was beside the glass box.
Seb gulped. “Oh, God!” He wiped his eyes and shuffled forward.
Inside, laying atop a white pillow, was the tiniest human being Seb had ever seen. No bigger than a bag of sugar, with a knitted hat covering a head as small as a cherry tomato, body the colour of one, the baby could fit in the palm of his hand. Wires and tubes pierced into skin and a breathing mask covered a tiny mouth and nose. Seb counted the fingers, then the toes, then he blurted out an obvious, “It’s a baby.”
Jay squeezed him closer. “Our baby,” he said, voice quivering.
Seb glanced up to the nurse the other side of the incubator. “Is…are…is the baby okay?”
The nurse smiled, all tactful sympathy and trained reassurance. “She’s early. But so far, so good. We’ll do all we can.”
Seb sucked in a breath and peered into the glass. Then, it hit him. “She?”
“It’s a girl.” The nurse fiddled around the box. “Better think of a name.”
Seb turned to Jay, mouth agape. “It’s a girl.”
He paused. Undecided. They’d always referred to the baby as a boy. They’d laughed and joked about how their baby boy would chase footballs and rock out on the guitar. Of course, they’d known there was a fifty-fifty chance but, for some reason, they’d expected a boy.
Jay’s eyes pooling, he breathed out an enchanted, “It’s a girl.”
“Oh, Jesus, fuck.” Seb swiped away the tears trailing his cheeks. “I’m totally gone for now.” He edged toward the incubator, his breath fogging the glass. “Hey, baby girl.” He glanced up to the nurse. “Can I touch her?” he asked.
“Wash your hands first.”
Seb did as commanded, then he was shown how to ease his arm through the hole in the screen. As he did, he flicked out his index finger and a tiny hand gripped his tip. Seb held his breath, as though his exhalation might frighten the moment. His pulse racing, his stomach a gooey mush of elation, Seb couldn’t hold back the tears. Those tiny fingers were holding onto him. Gripping onto him. Asking him to never let go.
He never would.
“Jay, baby,” he breathed out in a fragile whisper. “I’m in love.”
Jay pressed soft, warm lips to his temple, then into his ear he whispered a shiver inducing, “Me too.”
* * * *
The next few hours were a heady rush of everything and a slow pace of nothing. Jay stayed by Seb’s side as he stared into the incubator, allowing the experts to do their job in providing baby girl Ruttman with all she needed to survive on the outside. And whilst Jay knew this was a critical time in their baby’s fight for life, the pull toward the other part of his life was impossible to ignore after a while.
Using the excuse of having to change, he left Seb in NICU and wandered down corridors, deliriously looking for someone to tell him something. To point him in the right direction. To let him know that everything was going to be okay.
When he found Noah sat on a row of plastic seats, head in his hands, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be the man to do that. Still, Jay needed to know. Had to know.
So he said, “Hey,” with all the caution of approaching a fierce lion.
Bleary eyed with dark rings beneath, Noah peered up but didn’t say anything.
He stared through Jay as if he were a window. Or a ghost. Perhaps Noah wished he were.
“How’s she doing?” Jay asked.
Noah took in a deep breath, probably psyching himself up to speak to him at all. “No fucking clue.”
Jay nodded, biting his lip. Then, without words, he sat beside Noah and waited with him in idle silence and hostile compassion. Jay stared ahead, scanning the posters on the wall opposite and listening to the beats of his heart, while Noah went back to hanging his head, scratching fingernails through his hair.
He wasn’t sure how long it was before a doctor appeared in front of them. They both stood. But Jay lowered back into the seat, allowing Noah to control the moment. Ann was his wife.
“Andromeda has had a rather substantial bleed,” the doctor informed. “We have issued a transfusion and she is responding well.”
Noah’s body seemed to wilt, and Jay wondered if he should hold him up, but Noah shook himself out to ask, “Can I see her?”
“Are you the husband?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
That was that. Noah disappeared down the corridor and Jay watched from where he was. Alone. Now he knew Ann was okay, that she had her husband beside her, he should call his folks to get some clothes delivered, then head back to Seb and the baby. But something kept him welded to the seat, processing everything that had happened. He could’ve lost his best friend. He could’ve lost his baby. He could’ve lost his spot on the England squad.
He had lost what was important.
“Jay?”
Jay glanced up to Noah standing over him. “Yeah?” he asked, shaking himself out of his stupor and wiping palms down his exposed knees.
“You been there ages.”
“Have I?”
Noah shrugged. “She wants to see you.”
“She’s awake?”
“Just. I have to get back to the kids anyway. And she needs to rest. Don’t keep her too long.”
Jay stood, scrubbing hands down his face. “Course. Cheers.”
Noah nodded but gave him a sheepish look before he wandered past. He then stopped and threw over his shoulder, “Congratulations by the way. Welcome to fatherhood. It hurts.”
“How do you mean?”
“When you love someone else so fucking much, the fear of losing them cuts deep every bollocking day.”
Jay left that there and, heavy stomach, made his way to Ann’s private room. She was propped up in bed, dark hair awry, eyes closed. Jay paused and thought he should leave her be. Let her rest. She’d been through enough already. He turned to leave.
“You think I can’t hear those studs?” Ann’s raspy voice pervaded across the room. “I hear them in my sleep.”
Jay closed the door and trap trap trapped over to her bedside. She opened her eyes, a faint smile pulling on her lips as she met his no doubt fretful gaze.
“Ann, shit, I thought I’d lost you.” Jay couldn’t control his emotional outpour. It was as though Ann allowed him to break free of himself.
“I’m an east end girl,” she said with a wry smile. “Tough as knee highs from Dagenham market.”
Jay breathed out a laugh and, with his exhalation, his unease drained away. “Are you okay? Really?”
Ann dragged her hand out from under the cotton sheets and grabbed his, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “I’ll be all right. Tell me, what you got?”
Jay smiled. “A girl.”
Ann’s eyes glazed over, and she sniffed. “You two are screwed,” she said with a laugh.
“Seb’s done for,” Jay agreed. “Not sure I’ll get a look in.”
Ann shifted in the bed, her face falling serious. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“I’d been feeling off all week. I didn’t tell anyone. I knew you had so much going on. I thought I’d just get over it. Thought maybe it was just me carrying a baby and dealing with my own two—“
“Ann.” Jay gripped her hand and held it to his lips. “This ain’t your fault. Not one bit of it.”
Ann nodded, but her melancholy still flickered in her eyes. “You got a name yet?”
“We’ve got some ideas.”
“If you call her Andromeda, I’ll throttle you.”
Jay laughed, and it was as though he was able to release everything he’d been holding in. He cried. Sobbed. And Ann dragged him down to her and hugged him.
“Stop cryin’ you, pansy,” she sniffled.
“I nearly lost you, Ann. What the fuck would I do without you?”
“You’d hang around in your football kit all the time.” She paused, glancing down at him. “See.”
Jay ripped himself from her hold and laughed, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. “Might stay in this for as long as I can. It’s probably the last time I’ll wear it.”
“Brazil?”
“Nah.” Jay smiled. “I got more important things to take care of now.”
Chapter Fifteen
Team Ensemble
April, 2014
Beatrice Andromeda Ruttman stayed in NICU for ten weeks.
In that time, they’d had to apply for the transfer of legal parenthood from Ann as the birth mother—regardless that she wasn’t biologically related—in order to be able to consent to all of baby’s medical needs and to remain by her side. Not that anyone, or anything, would rip Seb from his daughter. He’d sat day and night by the incubator singing soft lullaby’s, stroking her tiny hands, then when she was strong enough to feed independently, he’d tucked her inside his shirt and fed her from a tiny bottle, establishing the skin to skin bond that was essential for baby’s development.
He was well and truly smitten.
Jay was too. He’d spent just as much time at her bedside having asked West Ham, and England, for time off from the game. Remarkably, both the club and the FA had agreed. Jay could go back playing club football when he was ready. As for England, time would tell. But Jay had gone home on occasion—to deal with the legal paperwork, to fetch new clothes, to buy things for the baby and, Seb hoped, to get the nursery into order so when they could finally bring their daughter home, she had somewhere to sleep. Not that Seb wanted to ever let her go, of course. He’d deal with that when the time came.
Jay’s parents had visited too. So had Ann. She’d fully recovered and popped her head in to say her goodbyes to the baby she’d kept warm, maybe not for the full term but for long enough to feel a sense of loss at Beatrice’s early departure from the safety of her womb. Seb’s parents had stayed away, probably feeling as though they would be a hindrance rather than any support. They weren’t wrong. They’d both sent things though—stuffed animals, flowers, clothes. Things that were useless in a neo-natal intensive care unit. Jay had taken them home.
So when they were told that she was strong enough to leave the hospital, Seb had a mixture of elation and foreboding meshing in his stomach. It meant they’d be on their own. They’d had so much help and support during Bea’s stay in hospital, he feared he wouldn’t cope on his own. Jay would have to go back to training and matches, leaving Seb as her main caregiver. Beatrice was so small. So delicate. So precious that Seb was almost certain he was going to mess things up.
Her future might be different from the one they’d mapped out in their dreams, when she’d been nothing but a mere dot on their horizon. She might need extra care. Specialised support. Have ongoing medical complications. No one could give them definitive answers as to how her prematurity might affect her long term. Regardless, Seb was going to throw himself into giving her the life she deserved and had clearly been in a hurry to start.
That was evident in the way he packed her bag beside the incubator she’d called home for three months as Jay went out to fetch the car. Charlotte—the nurse who had been by her side almost as much as Seb had—laid a hand on his shoulder as she rocked a blanket-wrapped Beatrice in one arm.
“You’ll be great,” she said in the pacifying voice she’d us
ed after every bleep, every medicine injection, every conversation with the doctor that Seb hadn’t understood.
Zipping up the bag stuffed with the tiniest preemie nappies, blankets, and cartons of milk she’d been thriving on, Seb inhaled a calming breath. He nodded, then held out his arms for Charlotte to hand over his daughter. She did, and Seb settled her in his arm, resting her tiny head between the inside of his elbow and chest. He was going to cry. He knew it. Right there and then, he was going to sob and the tears would hit Beatrice’s tiny face and wake her up, then she’d cry and—
“I see a lot of new father’s in here struggling,” Charlotte said, snapping Seb from his tumbling thoughts. “All of them think they can’t do it. You can. And you will.”
“I’m not sure I’m equipped,” Seb replied. “But I’m going to damn well try because I love her.”
Charlotte smiled. “Then the best quote I can give you is, ‘love is all you need’.”
“Nice song reference. Could have used one of mine.”
“Sorry.” Charlotte winced. “I don’t actually listen to your stuff. Too sweary.”
“Think that might be changing from now on.” He glanced down to Beatrice and knew that his life wouldn’t ever be the same. “Isn’t that right little Bea?”
“Why Beatrice, by the way? It’s a beautiful name. Old fashioned though. Would have had you, a rock star, down as choosing something like Banana-Wild.”
Seb snorted. “Beatrice means ‘she who brings happiness’. It felt perfect. Because she will. Not to mention how she’s going to rock this world.”
“Good luck, Beatrice.” Charlotte stroked the baby’s cheek with the back of her hand. “It looks like you’ve already got your daddy wrapped around your little finger.”
“I’m happy to be there.” Seb kissed her tiny nose, then said his goodbyes to the unit that had been his and his daughter’s starter home for the past three months. He promised in his departure that he would donate a hefty chunk of his royalties to the NICU, not that it would ever be enough for everything they had done for his daughter.