Chapter 22
HAWK
"Isn't she beautiful?" Vera smiled at the baby I held in my arms.
She was red and slightly wrinkly. "I don't know, she looks just like Brody," I said without taking my eyes off the tiny face.
Vera laughed. "Doesn't she? But a cuter version."
"Hey, I'm pretty cute." Brody entered the room carrying a tray of coffees in one hand and a bag of donuts in the other.
"You're wonderful, especially if you brought chocolate glazed," Vera said.
"Would I dare to bring any other kind?" Brody set the coffees on a table and opened the bag to reveal a dozen chocolate donuts.
"We're still not having number six," Vera said before she grabbed the bag and pulled out a donut.
"You say that now." I grinned while Vera looked horrified.
"Give her a week or two," Brody said. "She was the one who wanted numbers three through five so bad. I would have been happy with two."
"Liar," Vera said around a mouthful of donut.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Can I suggest Condradette?"
"No," Brody said. "You say that every time." He gave me a lopsided grimace and picked up a coffee cup.
"Not true," I said. "I suggested Conrad for Hamish. And Hawk for Jack."
"You suggested Hawkeye for Jack," Vera said. She had a smear of chocolate on the side of her mouth.
"I stand corrected." I nodded. "What about Hawkette? Oh, I know, Florence. You could call her Flo or Flossie for short."
"If that's the kind of name you'd give a kid, you better never have any," Vera said with a laugh. "We were thinking Emilie Margaret."
I gave the baby a speculative look. "I think that suits her." And now I was wondering what names Becca would choose for a child. Unfortunately I also pictured her in that hospital bed, hair damp with sweat, face full of love for our child.
Shit, man, get a grip, I told myself. I was hurting my own heart with a fantasy like that. It would never happen, not with her. I knew that, accepted it.
Mostly.
Sort of.
"I'm glad you approve," Vera said.
For a moment I thought she was angry, but I glanced up to see her smiling at her new daughter. Emilie was only a few hours old, but both of her parents clearly adored her. She probably had them both wrapped around her tiny finger already.
"I can barely remember Hamish being that small," Vera said. "It's true what they say, kids grow up so fast. You have to cherish every moment you have with them. Before you know it, they'll be grown up and gone."
"Then there will be grandchildren," Brody said. "And great grandchildren."
Vera's eyes were wide, but I smiled. Their home would always be filled with kids, noise and love. With any luck, they'd have space to squeeze in their old bachelor cousin.
The idea of always being the umpteenth wheel was a depressing thought.
And whose fault is that? I asked myself. You're an expert at shoving away feelings and pushing people away. That's exactly what I'd done since Mom died. By not talking about her, I'd shoved her memory aside. That wasn't fair to her, or to me.
Emilie wriggled a little in my arms and started to cry.
Yeah, me too kid, I thought.
"Time to go back to Mommy." I gave a kiss on her tiny forehead and carefully handed her back to Vera.
Brody handed me a coffee, which I thought was a pretty fair swap for his youngest kid. Maybe better, since coffee didn't have to have its dirty nappy changed.
"Don't worry, there will be plenty of chances to baby sit," Brody said.
"I thought you loved your kids," I said jokingly. "Leaving them with me might not end well."
Of course, that wasn't true at all, not so far. The kids liked me, for some reason, and we always had fun together. I was like the cool Uncle Conrad. My favourite part was handing them back at the end, exhausted and full of hotdogs and pizza.
"You're not getting out of it that easily," Vera growled playfully. Like the expert she was, she already had Emilie latched on and feeding. They both looked like they'd been doing it for months, not hours.
"Fine, I'm in." As long as I wasn't playing, training, watching plays, doing interviews or any of the gazillion other things I needed to do for work.
"Of course you are." Vera flashed a grin, then focused her attention on the baby.
"So," Brody said, in that way he had of starting a conversation when he was unsure of the outcome.
"So?" I prompted. "So what?"
"Your friend, Becca, has a blog," he said slowly.
My heart jumped at the mention of her name.
"Does she now?" I pretended not to look interested, but I was immediately on edge. Suspicious of anything she might have to say about me. I hadn't entirely ruled out the possibility she'd filmed us having sex.
"Yeah. Seems she's quit her job." Brody sipped his coffee and watched me over the top of the cup.
"Ah. Why would she do that?" I sipped my coffee like the cool, calm guy I pretended to be.
"You should probably read it for yourself," he said. "I've sent the link to your phone."
I nodded slowly and resisted the urge to rip my phone out of my pocket and look at it right now. "Thanks. I'll take a look if I have the time."
Brody nodded and shrugged one shoulder at the same time. "You don't seem too busy right now."
Shit. Talk about being called out. I thought quickly. "It's rude to look at your phone while visiting family in the hospital."
"Bullshit. I've seen you do it lots of times, Conrad," Vera said. "Evading isn't healthy, you know."
"It works on the field," I retorted. I was starting to feel cornered, and I didn't like it.
Vera shook her head and looked back down.
Brody gave me a glance and then sat on the bed beside his wife and baby.
"I'll, um, should go," I said. "I'll see you guys later. Congrats, she's super cute."
"Thanks, Conrad," Brody said over his shoulder.
I hurried out the door and down the corridor. I'd spent enough time in hospital with various injuries that I didn't like the place. Did anyone? It smelled of medicine and cleaning agents. And yeah, okay, it reminded me of sad times and pain.
I stepped out into the early May sunshine and let it warm my face. Autumn was my favourite season. Not just because the football season started up again, but because I loved the weather. Christmas stuff would be in the shops soon and everything would turn festive. Then it would be a new year…
Yeah, this line of thought was one hundred percent me putting off reading Becca's blog post.
Why should I read it, really? For all I know, she'd put the article up on there, even after I asked her—okay told her—not to. Even if that wasn't what she posted, it was none of my business now. Right?
I mean, she'd probably posted some ugly revenge article about how I was a jerk with a tiny dick. Maybe she'd snuck in a photo of me in the corridor in my underpants. Shit, I hoped she got me at a good angle.
I indulged in my unhealthily conclusion jumping for a few minutes more, while I headed for my car. By the time I slipped into the driver's seat, I was convinced she'd painted me as a three-headed, dickless asshole whose boxers had holes in all the wrong places.
Yeah, my worst case scenario could use some work.
I pulled out my phone before I sat on it too hard and cracked the screen. I hated when that happened. The phone was only a month old. The latest, of course.
I was putting it off again.
I turned on the screen and unlocked it. My background was a generic blue with bubbles that came with the phone.
I never bothered to personalise it, in case I lost it.
I kept no personal photos on it either for the same reason.
It reduced the risk of photos of family and friends getting uploaded to the net.
I pressed on messages and found the link Brody sent. I stared at it for a minute until the screen turned off.
"Shit." I turned it back on and unlocked the phone again, then pressed on the link before I could change my mind.
'Becca Writes' told me little of what I'd find on there. It clearly wasn't a cooking blog, or for book reviews. Shame, I could use some recommendations.
I flicked through the titles of her blog posts. Most of her stories were human interest pieces. Judging by the views and comments, she had quite the audience here. That made me anxious. How many people read the latest post?
One hundred and twelve views and five comments, according to the site stats.
"Lucky one hundred and thirteen," I said to myself. Before I could press on that post, the number changed to one hundred and fourteen.
"Smartasses."
I pressed the link and waited for it to load before I started to read.
Through my phone screen, I felt her hurt and how sorry she was. The more I read, the more I understood her and why she'd done what she had. I appreciated the fact she left my name out of it, although it was obviously about me. Anyone who knew what happened would know.
Should I be angry? Maybe, but I couldn't bring myself to be.
She'd poured her heart out onto the page in such a way I actually appreciated her motivation in writing the article and this post. She wanted to help people.
That was all she ever wanted. She thought she'd gone about it the wrong way, but I realised now she hadn't.
I'd reacted badly, like some three-headed, dickless, underwear-with-holes wearing man-boy. Or was that 'man-boi'?
She apologised to me, but I should be the one to say sorry to her.
I read the comments to the post and smiled. Each one was positive and grateful to her for sharing her experiences. Okay, one was spam, offering her a penis enlargement, but the others were nice.
I thought about adding a comment, but decided against it. Firstly, I'd have to make an account, then I'd be spammed with blog related emails until the end of time. Secondly, this was something I needed to say in person. Besides, I never remembered my passwords for these things anyway.
I tossed my phone toward the passenger seat and missed. It fell into the footwell.
"Shit," I muttered, but for once it wasn't in anger, or even frustration, just minor annoyance.
I leaned down to pick up my phone and placed it carefully on the seat.
I started the car and backed out past a familiar figure with a phone in his hand.
Most of us knew Harvey Danbury on sight.
He looked annoyed as I drove past. I was tempted to flip him off, but he'd take a photo and that would be tomorrow's headline.
"Not today, asshole," I muttered and drove carefully out of the hospital parking lot. Crashing my car would also make a good headline, as well as pissing me off.
A smile on my face and a plan forming in my head, I got onto the road and headed home.