Crazy Imperfect Hearts

Chapter Forty-five

Lucas

“Two days without a spell,” Christa declares as soon as I walk through the door. “Progress.”

I breathe.

There’s this moment I have every time I enter the NICU. A moment where I stop breathing because what if he had another episode? Or worse. Time ceases to exist and doesn’t start again until I see that he’s okay.

The rocking chair next to his incubator is vacant. I look around. “Am I the first one here?”

She holds a small bottle out. “Early bird gets the worm.”

Yup. That’s me. The early bird. I’m here at five o’clock in the morning because I haven’t slept more than a few hours each night. Hell, I slept better the two nights I was here at the hospital even though I kept getting up to go to the NICU.

I smile, sit, and wait for Mitchell to be placed in my arms. This is when my heart starts beating again. When the world is right. Because when I’m outside those doors—when I’m at home without him—the world is definitely not as it should be.

I glance at the empty stool next to me knowing it’s still not right. There’s one more thing missing.

“He’s been eating so well,” Christa says as he takes to the bottle. “In fact, at this morning’s weigh in, he’s back to his birth weight. It takes some preemies much longer to achieve that.”

I beam. “That’s my boy.”

I hold him for two hours, until my eyes can’t stay open anymore. I need coffee.

Christa puts him back for me, and I watch as he settles in, relaxes, and immediately dozes off.

When I look up, I see Regan crossing the room. And, holy crap, I can’t stop staring at her chest.

“Yeah, yeah, my milk came in.” She tugs at her top. “Nothing fits anymore. It’s annoying.”

“It’s… wow.” I lean close. “Is it wrong that I’m turned on around all these babies?”

She giggles and it reaches all the way into my body and wraps around my heart. I love her laugh. It’s not something I’ve heard a lot over the past five days.

“My dad is with me. He’s just outside. It looked like you were getting ready to leave.”

I see Darrin behind the glass and wave him in. The rule is no more than two family members in the NICU at a time. “I was going for breakfast. Can I bring you anything?”

“Dad made it for me. He came over early. Mom was still at the hotel sleeping after being here until about two in the morning.”

I love how accepting her parents have been. Even if Darrin sometimes still looks at me like I’m the pervy teen jerking off while watching his daughter. I get it though, now that I’m a dad. If Mitchell were a girl and I ever caught a boy pleasuring himself at her image, I’d pummel him to the ground.

Just as Darrin walks up and I’m set to leave, the alarm near Mitchell’s incubator sounds.

My heart splinters. Regan cries out. Christa rushes over.

Unlike before when we witnessed this happen, a gentle shake doesn’t have the alarm stopping. Christa pulls something out from a drawer under the incubator. It’s a mask. She puts it over his face.

“What’s going on?” Regan asks, holding onto me so fiercely I’m sure I’ll have bruises on my arm.

“He just needs a little positive pressure ventilation,” Christa says.

I watch the nurse’s face for any telltale signs of panic. Because me—I’m fucking panicking. I’m panicking so hard it’s turning my insides to mush, and I very well might vomit. But her face gives nothing away. Either this isn’t the dire emergency the three of us standing here think it is, or she’s really good at hiding it.

The alarms continue to go off. How long has it been? How long can they continue to sound? How long can my son go without breathing before… before…

The alarms cease.

Regan cries out. This time in relief. And she falls against me.

My arms encase her. “Shhh. I’m here. I’ll always be here. He’s going to be okay.” I turn to Christa. “Right?”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she removes the mask then holds a stethoscope to Mitchell’s chest.

“Christa?”

She listens intently on one side, then the other. Finally I think I see a hint of relief cross her face.

“It’s okay. He’s fine. I was just checking for pneumothorax—collapsed lung—which can sometimes happen when we bag and mask them.”

Regan buries her head in my shoulder, sobbing.

“But he doesn’t have that?” I ask.

“No. He’s good. I’ll listen to his lungs again in a minute to be sure.”

“Does this mean he’s getting worse?” Regan asks from her perch against me.

“Not at all,” Christa says. “It just means his nervous system isn’t quite there yet.” She touches Regan’s back. “It’ll happen. He might never have another spell. And if he does, it might be like the others and not this one.”

“But it might not be,” Regan says to put a point on it.

Christa’s shrug is not all that reassuring. But I get it. She can’t predict the future. And she’s not going to stand here and lie to us.

Regan peels herself out of my arms and hovers over the incubator. I go around and do the same at the other side. Our hands connect over the top as Darrin watches on.

A tear rolls down Regan’s face. “I don’t ever want to leave him. I want to be with him every second of every day.”

I squeeze her hand. “I know how you feel. But I’m not sure you know how I feel.”

She looks up. “What do you mean? I’m his mom. Of course I know.”

“You don’t.” I shake my head and draw in a deep breath. Because, fuck , here it goes. “In five days, or a week, or two weeks, or however long it may be— you get to take him home. You get to be with him all the time. I’m the one who goes home alone. I get him for a few weekends.” I stare down at him. “I know what the contract says, but, Regan, a few weekends and holidays isn’t enough. I want more. More than summer vacations at the beach and trips to Disney World. I want him every minute of every day. I want to be there when he wakes up. I want to feed him his midnight bottle. I want to be there when he rolls over, smiles his first smile, takes his first steps. I want to be there for every birthday, every fall off the skateboard, every broken heart. My apartment is so goddamn empty. I’ve been wandering around it for days. It’s what I do when I’m not here. I wander around my huge apartment and think about how empty it is. I think about how empty I am. Without him.” I clear my throat. “Without you.”

She tilts her head, staring at me like I’m an alien.

“When we leave here, I want you to come home with me. Wait, that’s not true. I want you to come home with me today. Tonight. I don’t want to spend another sleepless night without you. I want you to come home with me today and him to come home with us when he’s ready. I want… I want us to be a family.”

“I… Lucas, I—”

“Sorry,” Christa says. “I need to check him again.”

Our hands come apart as we both back away. We want to look at each other, but right now, looking at Mitchell is more important.

Christa listens to his lungs then turns to us. “So, who wants to hold this little Comeback Kid?”

I raise a questioning brow.

Christa smiles. “He just earned his name.”

“Comeback Kid,” I muse. “I like it. Not as good as M&M, but it’ll do.”

Regan seems to be in a daze as she sits in the rocking chair.

Mitchell gets placed into her arms. She looks at him, then at me, then back at him.

I step near her side. “What do you say, can we give it a go?”

“I…”

Darrin’s arm clasps my shoulder. “Why don’t you go for a cup of coffee, Lucas? She seems a little overwhelmed at the moment.”

Lucas. Not son.

Regan’s entire focus is on Mitchell. She doesn’t even glance up at me. I nod and leave, thinking about how colossally I just fucked everything up.

~ ~ ~

Sitting on a hard chair outside the NICU, I stare into my cold, untouched coffee. I replay the words in my head. I know I didn’t say it right. I want a do-over. She probably thinks I’m crazy rambling on like that about being empty and shit.

Someone sits next to me. “What’s your endgame, Lucas?”

It’s Darrin.

I lean back and let my head thud against the unforgiving concrete wall. “This isn’t a game, Darrin. I love her. I’m in love with her.”

A deep sigh comes out of him. “You loved all the others too, no?”

“She’s different.”

“Because she had your child?”

I shake my head. “I know you won’t believe me. Nobody will. But I think she might be the reason I could never be with the others. I’ve asked myself for years why I could never follow through. Was it them? Me? Was I just that scared of commitment? But it was none of that.” I close my eyes. “It was her. It was Regan. It’s always been her. She’s the one. I think I’ve loved her since I was fourteen. I know I’ve loved her since before she got pregnant. And now… seeing her with him. I’m not sure I can ever live without her.”

Sniffles have me opening my eyes. I turn to see Regan standing near Darrin.

She looks stunned. “They, um… kicked me out for shift change and rounds.”

I spring out of my chair, certain by the look on her face that she heard most or all of what I said.

“Regan, I know I’m putting it all on the line here. But he’s worth fighting for. You’re worth fighting for. I know I can never be a husband. I’ve proven that. But I can be a good partner. A good boyfriend. And I will be a good dad. I plan on being the best goddamn father any kid ever had. What I said is true. Every word of it. I love you. We’re great together, you and me. We laugh. We cry. We’re the most unlikely pair, but maybe what they say is true about how opposites attract. You’re more than my child’s mom, you’re my best friend. And maybe in time, you could come to feel about me the way I feel about you.”

She takes two steps closer. “I already do, you dummy.”

“Regan, baby,” Darrin says. “Don’t give into this. It’s your hormones. Now is not the time to make any rash decisions.”

She turns to him. “I love him, Daddy.”

My heart explodes and expands all at once, the same way it did the moment Mitchell was born. “You do?”

She laughs and cries. “I do.” She takes another step toward me. “I thought you’d bail,” she says. “When things got serious with the baby. When he was born early and then had his episodes, I thought you’d bail. But you didn’t. You’re here. You’re always here. And I love the way you love him.”

“It’s not just him I love.”

I’m vaguely aware of Darrin’s hasty departure as I draw her into my arms and kiss her. I kiss her sweet, salty mouth knowing it’s the only mouth I ever want to kiss for the rest of my life.

“It’s about damn time,” someone says.

I look over Regan’s shoulder to see Christa putting on her coat and slinging a purse over her arm.

Regan and I embrace long and hard. But it’s much more than a hug. It’s a promise of love. Of commitment. Of always being there for him and each other.

When my brain has fully wrapped around the fact that this is actually happening, I ask, “So you’ll come home with me? Today? You’ll move in? Both of you?”

“I don’t know.” Her dimples make an appearance. “We’d be violating the contract.”

“Fuck the contract.” I cup her face in my hands. “Fuck all of it. Let’s tear it to shreds.”

She wipes her tears and shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, I mean, you do have that closet.”

I laugh out loud and pull her against me once more.

Then she gets serious and looks into my eyes. “Just promise me one thing.”

I caress the side of her cheek with my thumb. “Anything.”

“Never ever ask me to marry you.”

I laugh again, knowing for sure she’s the one. The one who will always make me laugh. The one who I can feel comfortable crying with. The one who will never need a piece of paper to know that I’ll love her forever.

“Deal.”