One Song: book two in the one series

by Best, Victoria J.

  Shame at keeping Christopher from him for these last two months—these last eight months—washed over me. Rhys wanted him, that much was evident, and the relationship we did or didn’t have had nothing to do with it. Christopher and Rhys deserved to have a relationship regardless of my need to maintain a distance from him. Despite my need to punish myself by depriving myself of a relationship with Rhys. Not that he’d want it. Not that he’d want me, especially after everything I had done. I was delusional to think I even deserved to be happy after all the damage I had done.

  As Rhys sat and held our son, I contemplated how I could atone for my sins. My eyes began to slip closed, and the last thing I remember before dozing off was Rhys singing softly to Christopher. The sound was so gentle and soothing, I think a tear slid down my cheek as I fell into a deep sleep.

  20

  Rhys

  Natalie’s breaths deepened and when I finally looked away from my son’s face—my son—I realized she had fallen fast asleep in the chair next to me. She slumped sideways, her head drooping, and if I hadn’t been holding Christopher, I would have repositioned her gently and covered her with the blanket hanging from the back of her chair. But I was still anxious to move him too much, being hooked up to all the tubes and wires, afraid I would pull something loose. It was better to keep him as still as I could. His weight was insubstantial, he felt no heavier than holding a tiny football in my arms, but I was very aware of how fragile he was.

  To keep my mind from Christopher’s delicate state—since the only thing I could think about since I got here last night was how close to death he had been, and still was—I focused on watching Natalie as she slept. It was obvious she wasn’t sleeping well, most likely because she hadn’t left Christopher’s side for more than twenty minutes at a time since he was born. Her dedication to him was steadfast, unconditional, and anyone who entered this room could see how fiercely she loved him.

  My chest tightened with the newness of the love that was blossoming inside of it for this little being who I barely knew. Who, until less than twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even know belonged to me. But now that I knew, now that I was here and he was in my arms, there was nowhere else I would rather be. Christopher needed both of us to be strong because he wasn’t, he needed both of us to use whatever powers of prayer and hope to pull him through and help him grow, so he could live the full life he was meant to live.

  I regretted not knowing about her pregnancy sooner. I regretted not pushing Natalie more when I last saw her, before Christopher was born, when she lied to me about who his father was. If I had thought about it, if I had paid enough attention, I would have known she was lying to me. There was no way to go back in time, however, and I had to live in the present. I had to be the strength they both needed to get through this. I had to convince Natalie my feelings for her were far more than just anything you could see on the surface. But I also needed time.

  Natalie stirred, mumbling in her sleep, before repositioning herself in the chair awkwardly. I sighed as I watched her wrap her arms around her middle like she was cold, and stood up gingerly. I could handle this, carrying Christopher carefully as I reached for the blanket. Careful not to jostle her too much and wake her, I pulled the blanket out from under her shoulder and, with one hand, draped it over her thin frame.

  It was no wonder she was so cold. Natalie appeared to have lost a good deal of weight since she gave birth, and her sleek curves were replaced with jutting bones and joints. She was still beautiful, her cheek bones more prominent and her eyes appeared larger, but she wasn’t taking care of herself. That much was clear. The need to protect her grew like some caveman shit, and I knew if I didn’t get these thoughts under control, I would push her away by being overbearing. Natalie was like a tiny prey animal, skittish and frightened easily. I had to approach her gently, slowly, and take my time getting closer to her. Time. Everything pointed to needing more time.

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding as I thought about it. My band couldn’t wait forever. Nate said he would give me a month, but with the new album, we were sure to get more press coverage and show dates I would have to be present for. Could I still be here for Natalie and Christopher while juggling the band, or would I be left with having to make a choice between them? I worked and toiled for several years to have my music, our music, gain the traction it had recently, only for fame to find us at the worst possible time.

  I sat cradling Christopher to my chest for the next hour as Natalie slept, my mind racing with all the possibilities of how I could handle being with my son and fulfilling my commitment to the band. I was no closer to a solution when the nurse reappeared in the doorway.

  “It’s time to take his vitals and change his diaper. Would you like to watch, Dad?” This time, when the nurse said it, my heart did hop into my throat.

  Dad.

  Did I ever think I would be a dad, let alone this soon? Maybe. But never under these circumstances.

  “Sure.” I stood up and passed Christopher to her. Janet, her name tag read.

  I quickly glanced at Natalie to see if we were disturbing her with our conversation, but she didn’t stir.

  The nurse followed my gaze and clicked her tongue just before she spoke. “She’s exhausted; hasn’t left his side since he arrived last month. We’ve all been telling her to go home and get some sleep, eat and take a shower, but she won’t. Maybe now that you’re here, you can convince her to.”

  I shook my head. “I doubt she’ll listen to me if she didn’t even listen to her dad.”

  The nurse nodded as she jostled Christopher around, adjusting his wires and changing his diaper. I gritted my teeth against saying something about the way she handled him. This was her job, and I reminded myself of that several times as I watched.

  “You’re right about that. Mr. Livingston has been here almost as much as she has, and he has been fighting with her to get her to eat and sleep but she just won’t leave. I don’t blame her, but if her health isn’t one hundred percent when Christopher is released, she will burn out quickly.” Janet paused and looked at me for a beat, as if measuring her words carefully before she said them. “Hopefully she will have you there to help her.”

  The pointed look she gave me wasn’t lost on me. She was judging me for not being here, blaming me for it. I didn’t correct her because I didn’t want to throw Natalie under the bus. She deserved more than that. I was just as much at fault as she was. I could have tried harder, pushed more. This wasn’t something she did alone, and because of that, I accepted the blame the nurse was placing on me with a slight nod.

  “As long as she’ll have me, I’ll be there,” I said, and it was the truth.

  “She’ll need all the help she can get,” Janet said again before she went back to the task of organizing Christopher.

  When she finished, she turned to me again. “Do you want to hold him again?”

  I nodded, even though I was unsure of myself when it came to my tiny, fragile son. The nurse motioned with her head to the chair next to Natalie and I sat, holding my arms out to receive Christopher. My heart was pounding again, just as it did before when she put him in my arms the first time. Not only was I anxious about how small he was, but I was anxious about being a father.

  My own father was a deadbeat, a sham of a father if there ever was one. He left my mom and me when I was six, claiming he had a lead on a construction job in Northern California, but never came back. We made do without him, but my mom struggled every day. She worked two, sometimes three, jobs to provide for me while I did my best to be worthy of all her efforts.

  I thought she would keel over the day I told her I was dropping out of community college my senior year, no closer to a decision on my major, to pursue my music. But she didn’t. She encouraged me, bought the album we recorded in the early days that was utter garbage, and has been to every local show in Southern California we’d performed.

  “How is he?” Natalie’s soft voice broke t
hrough my thoughts and I swiveled my head in her direction, being careful not to disturb Christopher as he slept.

  “You should still be sleeping.” She hadn’t slept nearly long enough.

  She shrugged, tossing the blanket I covered her with over the back of her chair as she sat up and stretched. My eyes followed her every move—the line of her jaw, the curve of her collarbone as the t-shirt she wore slipped down her shoulder, the slight rounding of her breasts under the oversized shirt. My body heated at the sight of her, which had nothing to do with the way she was dressed and everything to do with the memory of the way she felt beneath me.

  Natalie froze under my stare, her cheeks turning a slightly pink hue as she realized my eyes were roaming her body. We stayed that way for a moment, our eyes locked, heat building between us in the tiny cubicle of a room. I wanted her, just as much as I had before, but everything was complicated now. Christopher was our main concern, and I wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of her in such a vulnerable state. For that reason, I was the first to break the eye contact, looking down at Christopher to remind myself why I was here.

  “He’s fine. The nurse came in to change him and adjust him a little before giving him back to me.” For a moment, she looked confused until it registered on her face that I was answering her question.

  “Good. Good.” She bobbed her head but didn’t add anything else.

  “Natalie.” I said her name quietly to get her attention, and to let her know I felt it too. But I had the sudden urge to reassure her I wasn’t going to push for more. Not yet. “We’ll focus on Christopher.”

  She nodded with understanding, the fog clearing from her gaze before she turned away from me again. We sat in silence while Christopher slept, his tiny body resting in my arms and his bird-like chest rising and falling quickly as he breathed. My own chest tightened with emotion, one I never experienced before, and I knew that for the first time, I was experiencing love for my child. It felt wonderful and terrifying, all at the same time.

  21

  Natalie

  I could see Rhys relax the longer he held Christopher. His body sank into the chair and his arms relaxed with my miniature son nestled inside. Something shifted inside of me, something I was resisting, as I watched them sitting there, father and son. Part of me was softening towards Rhys, in a way I promised I would guard my heart against—guard him against because I destroyed everything I touched.

  I averted my eyes, unwilling to let the emotion take over. Rhys and I were practically still strangers. It made no difference that he came here to be with Christopher the moment he found out about him. We didn’t know each other, not really. What I knew about Rhys, I could count on one hand. And I didn’t want him to find out about me.

  It was better for both of us if he didn’t know what a hateful, vile person I was for the last several years. He didn’t need to hear about how I let bitterness consume me more and more every day, until I destroyed every relationship I ever had. For a while, even my own father couldn’t stand me. No, Rhys didn’t need to know any of that information. And for that reason, I couldn’t let him get closer than he was right now. There was too much to lose, for everyone involved.

  * * *

  Rhys and I developed a routine of sorts over the next two weeks. He would show up sometime in the late morning, and I would actually force myself to go home, take a shower, and get something to eat. My appetite was slowly coming back as Christopher improved, little by little each week. This particular morning, I made myself some toast with peanut butter as I ran back out the door of my apartment to head back to the hospital. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror by the door and winced. My wet hair was in yet another messy bun, I wore one of a dozen Columbia t-shirts that I owned from college, along with a pair of black leggings and the ratty tan UGGS I spent the last two months in. It was not a pretty picture, but Christopher didn’t care what I looked like.

  Rhys might, my brain barked at me as I tried to shake the urge to change and dry my hair.

  I told myself it didn’t matter, I wasn’t trying to impress Rhys, but for the first time in two months, I felt like changing into something semi-presentable. For several minutes I stood and looked at my reflection in the mirror, willing myself not to care and to head back to the hospital because Christopher needed me. But Rhys was there with him, and I could take a few extra minutes to make myself not look like a homeless person.

  For once, vanity won out and I felt a pang of guilt about it. I worried the old Natalie was trying to force her way back and that wasn’t something I wanted at all. I hated the old me, the person who pushed everyone away because she deserved to be lonely—the woman who treated people like shit so they couldn’t see how much she was hurting on the inside. I didn’t want to be that woman anymore, and I almost left the apartment without changing because I thought that caring about my appearance made me selfish at a time like this.

  You need to take care of yourself, Natalie. My dad’s voice echoed in my head as I grasped the door handle.

  His story about my mom’s illness, when she was on hospice and he let his own health fall by the wayside, played on repeat in my head.

  “I still had to live even when she was gone.” Those words shot straight to my heart.

  Regardless of what happened to Christopher, though he was doing well now, I would still have to live my life, even if I didn’t feel like there was anything left to live for. It wasn’t selfish, it was human.

  Sighing, I let go of the door handle and turned around. I walked back towards the kitchen and set my paper towel with the toast back on the counter. I was going to make myself feel human again.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the elevator and ambled towards the double doors as the doorman pulled them open. I gave him a slight nod and ignored the look of surprise on his face at my appearance. My hair was down, though still damp because I didn’t want to take the time to dry it, and I had sprayed a texturizing spray in it so it didn’t look like a tangled mess. Instead of an old college t-shirt, I put on a white cotton shirt with a pocket and a pair of black skinny jeans, ignoring how loose they were fitting. On my feet was a pair of low-heeled, black, combat-style boots. I felt a little more like myself but didn’t yet want to explore what that meant. Not yet.

  Davis dropped me back off in front of the children’s hospital and I stepped from the car giving him a backward wave as I went. Nibbling on my peanut butter toast, though I had no appetite to finish it, I remembered my loose jeans and forced it down, as I sauntered into the lobby of the hospital. After a quick stop at the coffee shop across the lobby, I rode the elevator up to the NICU floor and my stomach inexplicably filled with butterflies. I told myself it wasn’t because of Rhys, it was only because I missed Christopher, but on some level, I knew I was lying to myself.

  By the time I reached the room, it was almost noon and another pang of guilt gripped me as I realized how much time I missed with him this morning. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I stepped into the room. Rhys looked up at me, smiling from where he stood near the incubator, and my stomach flipped over before lodging in my throat. God, he was handsome. His beard was longer, his hair shaggier, and somehow it made him look even sexier than when he was shaped up and combed back.

  My heart hammered in my chest as I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, trying to settle my soaring stomach back to its regular state before he noticed. Being this close to Rhys every day was dangerous despite all my efforts to keep myself in check. My emotions had other plans.

  “Hey, you look pretty today,” Rhys said as he wandered over to where I still stood in the doorway.

  I felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, worried I would make a fool of myself.

  “Thanks.” I cringed internally at how breathless my voice sounded and hoped he didn’t notice.

  “The nurse said the doctor will be coming in soon. I almost called you to tell you to hurry up so you wouldn’t miss her. She’s
going to give us an update on his improvements.” Rhys spoke about Christopher with animated hand gestures, and I could tell he was just as nervous as I was about the doctor’s news.

  “I’m glad I didn’t miss her.” I forced the guilt back again. “How has he been this morning?”

  I was only gone for two hours but it felt like an eternity.

  “Great. I held him for a bit, the nurses changed him and checked his diaper. He’s been doing really great with his breathing, they said, and I’m wondering if the doctor will recommend that he comes off the ventilator soon.”

  Panic struck me for a second. I wasn’t ready for Christopher to come off the ventilator. What if it was too early? What if he stopped breathing?

  What if… What if… What if…

  It was probably too soon.

  “If the doctor thinks he’s ready, Nat, I bet he’s ready.” Rhys was standing directly in front of me now, his hand resting on my arm. I ignored the tingling that came from his touch and the heat that came from his proximity. How he knew I was freaking out about Christopher, I didn’t know.

  I took a deep breath, evening out my breathing until the panic receded. The strange thing was that was the first panic attack I had since Christopher was born. It felt like a milestone, though I was having an attack now, because before Christopher, the attacks were more frequent and more severe. The realization caught me off guard for another reason—Christopher’s tenuous state should have made me have a panic attack every day.

  “Natalie? Are you okay?” Rhys’s voice snapped me back to reality, to this room, to my son and the man I didn’t deserve.