Chapter 4 – Phoenix
CHAPTER FOUR
I am Daddy; hear me roar
Phoenix
PREGNANCY - THIRTY-SIX WEEKS
“Thanks, guys,” I say to the movers.
“Of course, Mr. Hale. We’ll drop off everything at the donation center downtown,” the tall one says as they wrangle my recliner through the door of my old apartment.
I moved into my new home already, but my apartment just sold a couple weeks ago. I got all new furniture for the house, so my mother, being the soft-hearted woman she is, found a donation site where I could send all my gently used stuff.
Even though it’s December, my clothes are drenched with sweat from helping the guys, so I grab my duffel bag and head to one of the bathrooms to clean up. After showering, I wrap a towel around my waist and reach for my clothes when I hear the doorbell.
Making my way to the living room, I peek through the peephole to find Beatrice. “Hey,” I say, swinging open the door.
“I think I’m in labor,” she says, and my heart stops in my chest.
“But… it’s four weeks early,” I gasp.
She nods, her hands on her pronounced belly. “I know, but the contractions are about six minutes apart.”
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, grabbing my keys from the hook beside the door.
“Um, Phoenix, you might want to put some clothes on.”
I glance down at myself clad in nothing but a towel.
“Oh, fuck. Right. I don’t have anywhere for you to sit because they just took all the furniture, so why don’t you go rest on your couch, and I’ll be right there.
” She lives right next door since I moved her into the adjacent apartment shortly after she told me she was pregnant so I could be there for her.
Beatrice’s eyes drag down my bare torso and fall on the spot just above my hip. Her lips tighten, but she doesn’t say anything.
Four minutes later, I’m fully clothed and guiding Beatrice to the elevator. “Shit, contraction,” she pants, and I wrap an arm around her as she stops and bends at the waist.
“I got you. Just breathe, okay?” I say in the calmest voice I can muster, though I’ve never been more afraid in my life.
She inhales and exhales through the pain, and then her scared eyes meet mine. “Will you stay with me?”
I kiss her damp forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
One of the biggest points of contention in our early “negotiations” about the baby had been who would be in the birthing suite with Beatrice at the time of delivery. I had lost that fight.
Ultimately, Beatrice was the patient and it was completely her decision, but I’d begged her to let me be in the room when my daughter was born. She not-so-politely declined, saying she wanted her mother with her, and that was that.
Fast forward to the birthing classes. Gwenyth showed up for the first one, and after that, she always cancelled with one excuse or another, and I was designated as the backup coach.
And now here we are… Reece is on the way, and I’m in the room with Beatrice as she labors.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call your parents?” I ask, swiping a sweaty lock of blonde hair from her forehead, and she shakes her head vigorously.
“No, they don’t care. I want you here.”
It makes me equal parts sad and angry to hear that.
I hate the way her family has been treating her since her pregnancy has become obvious.
Her father told her she didn’t need to come into the office anymore, and Beatrice has set up her system so she can work from home.
I’m not even sure if she’s seen them in person other than at Thanksgiving last month.
“Okay,” I soothe, “whatever you want.”
Another contraction hits, and Beatrice grits her teeth in agony, attempting to rip my hand from its socket. Without complaint, I let her because I know my pain is only a fraction of what she’s feeling.
“Shit,” she groans when it's done, pressing her head back against the pillow and breathing hard.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Dr. Fox said it shouldn’t be much longer.” Sweat beads on her forehead, and I swipe it away with a cool cloth as her eyes find mine. I see a vulnerability there that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen from the indomitable Beatrice Bettencourt.
“You got your tattoo removed,” she said, a hint of accusation ringing in her voice, and I remember her looking at my abdomen earlier.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I had the laser treatments done." To get rid of your name on my skin, I don’t say aloud.
Beatrice nods, and her hand goes to her own exposed belly where she still has my name tattooed in the same font. “I guess that’s to be expected since you hate me now.”
Giving her my gentlest smile, I stroke the backs of my fingers down her damp cheek. “I don’t hate you, Beatrice. Not at all.”
“Do you still love me?” she asks, letting down her walls and letting me see the old Beatrice, the one I fell for years ago.
Hell. What am I supposed to say to that? Because in this moment, watching her struggle to bring our baby into this world, I do feel a deep sense of love for the woman. I think she’s fucking amazing.
“Yes,” I admit, resting my forehead against hers.
“Another one,” she gasps, gripping onto my shoulders and holding me close to her while a contraction wracks her body. “Phoenix, I think… I think it’s time to push.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Reece Annette Hale enters the world with a cry that seems way too loud for someone so tiny.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my eyes locked on the bright-pink, squalling infant. “You did it, Beatrice.”
“Yeah,” she pushes out through red, chapped lips.
A nurse wipes down the little one, and then she attempts to hand her to me, but my eyes go to Beatrice. “Do you want to hold her first?”
My heart plummets when she shakes her head and turns her face toward the wall, not even looking at the baby. And like it’s affixed to a roller coaster track, my heart once again shoots to the sky when I look down at my daughter.
I take Reece in my arms, and she whimpers and calms when I cradle her. Yeah, I’m a goddamn goner. She blinks up at me with blue eyes the same shade as mine before closing them, letting her long eyelashes rest on soft, rounded cheeks.
“I’m your daddy, baby girl,” I whisper, swiping my face against my shirt so I don’t drown my poor daughter with the tears streaming down my face. “You are so beautiful, and I love you more than anything.”
She peeps one eye open, regards me for three seconds, then closes it with a sigh, seemingly unimpressed by her father. Then I feel the wet spot on my shirt. She peed on me, and it makes me laugh.
“Well, you’re already acting surly, miss ma’am,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “You’re going to give your daddy all kinds of trouble, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t answer, but her tiny rose-colored lips twitch, as if she already finds the idea of giving me hell funny.
I love this little girl so damn much. I knew I would, but I didn’t expect this depth of emotion.
It’s unlike anything I could have even imagined: a clenching of my chest, a tightening of my throat, a reprogramming of my entire freaking brain. I am Daddy; hear me roar.
Reece is tiny, though she has the chubbiest little cheeks I’ve ever seen. A riot of dark hair is plastered to her head, the ends curling up a bit.
“Dad,” one of the nurses interrupts with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, but we need to take Reece for a few minutes, but I promise we’ll bring her back, okay?”
With a scowl on my face, I hand her over and then go back to Beatrice’s bedside. “You did so good,” I tell her. The doctor has finished up between her legs, and I pull her into an embrace and whisper into her messy hair. “Thank you, Beatrice.”
Her body feels weak in my arms, but what she just did was the strongest thing I’ve ever witnessed. I’m in awe of her.
“Is everything okay with… the baby?” she asks when I release her.
She’s never used Reece’s actual name, and it’s always bothered me, but I let it go. “She’s perfect. How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Thirsty. Hungry.”
A nurse pours a glass of water and tries to hand it to Beatrice, but I take it, holding the straw to her lips. She drinks greedily until the glass is empty. “I’ll order you some food,” I tell her. “What do you want?”
“Burger, fries, and a sweet tea,” she says instantly, and I pull out my phone and place a delivery order.
“Done.” I glance over at the bassinet when I hear Reece let out a loud yell, and I swear I want to rip the world apart. “What’s wrong?” I call, stomping over to see what the fuck they’re doing to my daughter.
An older nurse swipes at Reece’s heel before flashing me a patient smile. “Calm down, papa bear. Just a simple heel prick. It’s standard. We needed a little blood to screen for any serious conditions.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay.” I reach down into the glass bed and stroke my baby’s cheek.
She grasps my finger in a tiny fist and brings it to her mouth, quieting her cries.
I’m overwhelmed at the trust this little person already has in me, and I vow to myself that I’ll do everything in my power to give her anything she’ll ever need. Including an unending supply of love.
The hospital has a private lounge set up for my family, and as I enter, I’m bombarded with what sounds like a million questions, which I attempt to answer.
“Reece is fine. They’re going to put her in the neonatal ICU for a couple days, just as a precaution since she was early, but the pediatrician said she looks healthy.”
Mom’s lips turn down at the corners. “They put you and Helix in the NICU on your first night for observation. It was the scariest moment of my life.”
I can’t disagree. My knees almost buckled when they told me, but they assured me it was only because she was just shy of five pounds and they wanted to be cautious.
I prop my arm on my mother’s shoulders and give her a squeeze. “As for your other questions, four pounds, fourteen ounces, dark hair that I think will be curly, and blue eyes.”
“And Beatrice?” Mom asks kindly.
“She’s doing well. Handled everything like a champ. I just ordered her some food.”
“Did she—”
“No.” I cut off my mother, and her lips form a ruler-straight line. “It’s fine,” I say.
“Why is your shirt wet?” Perri, my little sister, asks.
“Reece peed on me,” I inform them with a proud grin, and everyone laughs.
A few minutes later a nurse appears to escort me to the NICU. On the way, she explains the unit’s procedures and visiting times.
I get to spend a few minutes with my baby until they gently kick me out.
I stand outside the door for a long time, feeling like a piece of my heart is missing.
All I want to do is hold her and protect her, but I know this is what’s best. After what seems like hours of being in my baby-induced haze, I go back to the lounge area.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Mom asks, pulling me into her warm, maternal embrace.
I kiss the top of her dark hair. “No, I’ll be fine. They have a room for me to stay in, and there’s only one bed.”
She pats my cheek and promises, “I’m only a phone call away if you need me.”
Once I’ve been hugged a hundred more times, my family finally leaves, and I head to the labor and delivery nurses’ station. “Hi, can you tell me which room Beatrice Bettencourt is in?”
The two ladies in pink scrubs glance uncomfortably at each other before one of them clears her throat. “Ms. Bettencourt has requested no visitors at this time.”
I shake my head. “But I’m her…” I pause because what the hell even am I to her? “She gave birth to my daughter today.”
They both smile sympathetically. “We understand, but she said she wants to rest uninterrupted.”
My stomach churns with the need to check on her, to make sure she’s okay, so I give the nurses my phone number. “Please call me when she’s ready for visitors or if she needs anything.”
Then I head to my room to get a couple hours of sleep before Reece’s next feeding.
On the third day, I exit the hospital for the first time since the birth. Reece is the picture of health and will be released this afternoon, but I have a burning need to check on Beatrice. All my phone calls and texts have gone unanswered, and I’m beginning to get concerned.
I’d walked around the labor and delivery ward earlier this morning and didn’t see her name on any of the doors, so I assumed she’d been released. Making the short drive to our apartment building, I take the elevator up to our floor and knock on her door.
Just like my phone calls, there’s no answer.
Blowing out an exasperated sigh, I stare at the wooden door for five minutes, my mind going ninety miles an hour.
What if she’s in there and she’s had some kind of medical emergency?
What if she’s having postpartum depression and needs me? What if… what if… what if?
Finally I pull out my key and unlock the door.
As soon as I enter, I know she’s not there. There’s an undeniable emptiness pervading the space, but I call out her name anyway. When I get no response, I head to her bedroom, finding it empty. Like, completely empty.
There are no clothes in the dresser or closet, no linens on the bed, not even a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom. She’s completely moved out.
And just like that, without a single word, Beatrice Bettencourt is gone from my life. There’s a section of my heart that feels an aching vacancy that I didn’t expect to feel. It holds a hint of melancholy that it’s well and truly over.
So I do the only thing I can. I head back to the hospital to pick up my baby because Reece is my family now.
She’s my everything.