Chapter 10 Dove #2
Is this what it’s like to be liked? Maybe even one day, to be loved?
I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I’m already thinking about our future.
I’m dreaming of us having one more child, maybe a daughter, and having big property outside of the city for the children to run and play.
The house is modest, not too big or small, and one level because I hate stairs.
I’d love for us to have a wraparound porch so we can sit in rocking chairs and admire the beautiful view of our property.
Would it be wild for me to dream about having a few horses? Chickens? I don’t know anything about taking care of animals of that nature, but I’m so over the city. I’m willing to learn if it means having a happier, more fulfilling life.
“Miss Blair?”
I blink away the daydream, knowing the reality of those events happening is slim to none. “I’m so sorry. I zoned out there for a second. What were you saying?”
“I’m Dr. Wells. I’m the one who performed your laparotomy. You had a postpartum hemorrhage. Do you remember giving birth on the airplane?”
“I do. That’s kind of hard to forget,” I grumble, wincing as I readjust my position to get more comfortable.
“What’s wrong?” Winston is by my side, his green eyes wide with worry.
“Nothing. Just trying to sit up a little. That’s all. Can you take him?” I ask, lifting our son to Winston.
“I’ll do better than that.” Winston is so soft and gentle holding him, then placing him in the bassinet. “Come on, let me help you.” He wraps his arms around me while I wrap mine around his neck, and he pulls me up.
I sigh in relief.
“Better?” Winston asks, twisting a piece of my hair around his finger.
“Much. Thank you.”
He hands me a small water cup with a straw and I greedily take a few gulps.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling the way you’re supposed to.” Doctor Wells chuckles a little.
“Like I got hit by a car?” I joke, but there is truth to it.
“Exactly.” He writes something down on the chart, the pen scribbling across the paper at lightning speed.
“You’re going to experience discomfort. I recommend taking it easy for a few weeks.
I know you won’t be able to come back and see me, but if you could provide me with your doctor’s information, I’ll be sure to send your medical records to them immediately.
You need to set up a follow-up appointment, okay?
No sexual activity for four to six weeks, you two.
I know you’ll feel like you can if you’re feeling better, but get cleared by your doctor first before messing around.
I’m assuming you have a support system, Miss Blair?
” he asks, putting me in an awkward position.
If I say yes, will Winston believe I’m putting him in a difficult position? I have my parents, brother, and Hanson. If Winston decided to not be in his son’s life, his son will still have a wonderful family.
“Yes, she will,” Winston says, the bed dipping again when he sits down next to me and takes my hand. “She’ll be with me.”
“Fantastic. Even better to have one of the best surgeons in the country to look after you. Your vitals look great. I want to keep you and your son here overnight, okay? Just to be safe. Other than that, you should be good to go by tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wells,” I say to him. “For saving my life and my son’s.”
“That man right there kept you alive.” He points the pen at Winston. “I was only able to keep you breathing because he did.”
I grip Winston’s hand harder, staring at him with what has to be relief and admiration. No one else could have saved me or birthed a baby on that plane. I was lucky he was on the same plane as me.
Speaking of, why was he on the same plane?
“One last question.” Doctor Wells smiles. “What’s the name for your little guy?”
Winston begins to laugh. “I can’t believe we don’t have a name yet. How did it not cross our minds?”
“You’ve had other things to worry about. Any ideas for the birth certificate?”
“What about Winston?” I suggest. “When I couldn’t find you, I thought that he should have a part of his father, if you two never met, so I’m used to the idea of him being named Winston. If that’s okay,” I ramble.
“Really?” The small and simple word gets caught in his throat. “Excuse me.” He turns away. “Apologies, Dove. My name is a family name. When my parents adopted me, they gave me my adoptive father’s name and it has meant the world to me. Thank you so much.”
I stare at his profile, enjoying the view of the sharp edge of his jaw, but it’s the emotion leaving his eyes and wetting his cheeks that lets me know I made the right choice.
“Winston Warrick the III?” Dr. Wells asks.
Warrick? Where do I know that name from?
“Perfect,” I whisper, wanting to hold Winston Jr. again.
I don’t think there will ever be a day when I’m not holding him.
“Great. I’ll let the nurses know,” Dr. Wells announces.
“Wait. We don’t have a middle name!” I shout after him.
“We don’t need one,” Winston says. “I don’t have a middle name. It’s only Winston Warrick the II. But we don’t have to keep it exactly like my family, Love Dove. Whatever you want.”
He kisses me again. A quick peck. It’s a kiss that feels like a habit, as if he’s kissed me a thousand times. He feels so good, so natural, I feel like I’ve known him my entire life.
“No, I want to leave it exactly as it is. I want you to have your own family line, Winston. I think that’s important.”
“I knew you were meant for me,” he says, so low only I can hear him, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
My heart stammers beneath my sternum, a wild untamed beat that only Winston seems to cause.
“The nurse will be in with more pain medication, but it’s safe to breastfeed if that’s something you’re wanting to do. I’ll come by in a few.” Dr. Wells leaves us alone, the door shutting with a soft click.
It hits me out of nowhere who Winston is. Winston Warrick. Chief of surgery at Warrick General Hospital. He’s heir to the Warrick Group fortune. I knew he was well-off financially because he was a doctor, but I don’t know how I didn’t realize who he was earlier.
“You’re Winston Warrick.”
Winston lifts a brow at me. “I am. You’re just now realizing that?” he teases, leaning over the bassinet to check in on baby Winston.
I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that Winston Warrick is the father of my child, and yet the only thing that slips out of my mouth is, “My boss hates you.”