I let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Good, good.”
“I’ve seen early labor before, even a few weeks earlier than Lainey. With medication and bed rest, those pregnancies were carried to term—baby and mom both came out of it healthy.” He smacks my shoulder. “Are you going to be able to hold it together?”
There’s not even a speck of question in my mind, not a shred of uncertainty. There was a time when I thought being completely whipped over someone put you at their mercy. Made you weak.
Boy, for a guy who’s so smart I was a real moron.
Caring with every piece of your being makes you strong, makes you capable of doing things you never imagined you could.
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m here. Anything she needs, it’s already done.”
~ ~ ~
They admit Lainey to the OB ward, put her in a private room and give her terbutaline to stop her contractions. Lainey calls her parents and sisters to let them know what’s going on. I call Grams and fill her in, and she calls Garrett and asks him to drive her over to Lainey’s so she can check on Jason, even though Lainey’s sisters are staying at the house with him.
As the clock creeps toward midnight, the hospital halls settle down and go still except for the occasional nurse walking past or coming in to check Lainey’s vitals. It’s after visiting hours, but no one gives me a hard time from my perch on the vinyl chair beside her hospital bed—which is good—because they’d have to knock me unconscious and drag my ass out, if they want me to leave her.
The lights are low and the room is dim except for the gray glow of the television on the wall that neither of us are watching.
“You don’t have to stay, Dean.”
Her voice is soft and sniffley, her eyes still leaking worried tears. And I would give anything to take them away.
“I’m good here.” I tap the arms of the chair. “Super comfy.”
I may never be able to stand up straight again after this.
But it’s worth it.
“This is a really bad one,” Lainey whispers and I hate the flatness of her tone. Defeated. It doesn’t sound anything like her, like she’s supposed to sound.
“A bad what?”
She shakes her head and dabs at her puffy eyes with the tissue clenched in her hand.
“I have this theory, it’s stupid. Life is full of surprises—good and bad. And this one . . .” Her words choke off in a sob, and it’s like I can feel my heart breaking in my chest—like the sound of her sadness is tearing it in two.
I slide into the bed beside her, wrapping her up in my arms and rocking her slowly as she shudders and hiccups against me.
“Dean, if the baby’s born too early, it may not—”
“The baby’s going to be fine, Lainey. You’re both going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I put my heart and soul into those words, swearing them with my lips pressed to her damp cheek.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
I know, because it has to be. Because I can’t fucking fathom any other outcome. Because I want this baby with her, so much.
And even more than that—I want more babies with her after this. It’s a realization that kind of sneaks up on you. Not one you give long hours of contemplation to—but that you accept immediately and whole-heartedly anyway, simply because it’s true.
I never wanted a family—never dreamed of having kids—but I’ll dream it now. Because I want what Garrett and Callie have. I want what their parents had. A house full of rambunctious feet and laughing voices, long nights and early -dawn mornings. I want to teach Jason to drive, and talk to him about girls and work and life. And I want to be the guy holding Lainey in my arms when she cries on the day he leaves for college.
I want the whole package, and I want it with her.
Only ever with her.
“I don’t expect you to stay if the baby doesn’t—”
“Shhh . . . stop, don’t finish that sentence.” I run my hands through her hair and down her back, soft and gentle. “Why do you keep trying to get rid of me? It’s hell on the ego. Good thing mine is larger than most and can sustain the blow.”
She snorts out a tiny laugh.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lainey,” I whisper against her hair. “I’m in this, I’m here, I’m not leaving. There’s only you. I promise, I swear, it’s only you.”
I don’t tell her that I love her—even though I do.
It’s a soul-searing kind of love that brands itself on you, that changes you. I’ve never felt this before and I know I’ll never feel it again with anyone else. But it’s the wrong time to tell her. The first time I give her that, I want it to be beautiful for her—and without a single shred of lingering doubt that the words come straight from my heart, and that they’re true.