Nick
Ipush quietly to my feet, mindful of the baby cords and lines as Leah comes toward me. She doesn't say anything before wrapping both arms around my waist.
My arms close around her, pulling her into my chest as I rest my lips in her hair.
“I don't even know what to say,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “You don't have to say anything, darlin’.”
She looks up at me, those dark eyes swollen from—no doubt—a very emotional evening.
But for half a second, I forget we're standing in the middle of a NICU.
We aren't texting or sending each other doodles through some dumb game.
My girl is back in my arms, and I don't remember it feeling this fucking perfect.
A throat clears behind her.
I loosen my hold as Matt extends his hand.
“Crawford.” He grips firmly. “I heard about what you did tonight. And I, um …” He softens. “Thank you for taking care of my family.”
“Of course.”
Do I finally have Big Bro’s approval?
“I think it's time for you to go.”
Well, that's a no.
“Matt,” Leah warns.
“I'm sure you're needed elsewhere. And we … well, we need time alone.” He flashes a bright smile that doesn't reach his dark eyes. “You understand, I'm sure.”
Message received. “Absolutely.”
Leah's gaze nervously bounces between us before landing on me. “I'll text you?”
I wink. “Whenever you're ready.”
I step aside and leave the room.
***
Sleet taps against the hospital windows as the parking lot turns into a slushy mess.
People up north love giving us Southerners shit for losing our minds over a little ice and snow—and they're not entirely wrong.
But we also don't live in this shit. We don't drive in it or walk in it, which only makes everything more dangerous.
I've decided I'm not going anywhere. There are empty call rooms upstairs, and with the roads getting worse by the hour, staying put makes more sense.
At least that's the reason I'm going with.
Truth is I can't leave knowing Leah is still here. She's preoccupied and probably doesn't need me tonight, but in the slight chance she does, I'm here.
After a long hot shower, I'm lying on top of the blankets when my phone lights up.
LEAH: Are you awake?
ME: Yes
Three typing dots appear, disappear … then appear again only to vanish a few seconds later. When it shows up for the third time, I groan.
Jesus Christ. Just say it, woman.
My phone vibrates.
LEAH: Can we maybe video call or something?
Fuck that.
My thumb hits the call button.
“I'm sorry.” She giggles softly.
My brow pinches. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I … I don't know. I guess I just hope I'm not bothering you—”
“Darlin’, listen to me: you are never a bother. Okay?”
She quietly hums. “Okay.”
“How's everybody doing?”
“Alright, all things considered. Rachel's sleeping, and the baby is doing okay. She miraculously has no brain bleeds.”
“Leah … my God, that’s great news.”
“Yeah, we're pretty relieved.” She chuckles anxiously. “Matt came back to the room to take a nap, and I'm … well …”
I sit up against the wall. “You're still at the hospital?”
“Yeah. I'm looking for coffee—”
“Darlin’, I'm coming to get you.”
She's quiet. “W-what? But it's awful outside—”
“I'm here. I'm in a call room.” I damn near trip over myself climbing out of bed. “Where are you? I'll come there.”
“Oh no, that's okay. I can find you. I'm getting on the elevator right now.” Her voice laces with anticipation as the doors close. “What floor are you on?”
“Second.”
Bull shit if she thinks I'm waiting.
I pull on a shirt and a pair of gray joggers before shoving my feet into my shoes and taking off down the L-shaped hallway.
By the time I reach the elevators, the mechanical whir has swallowed most of Leah’s voice through the spotty connection.
The doors slide open, and there she is, standing in the middle with her phone still pressed to her ear.
For a moment, we don't move, frozen by the realization that it's just us, that we are no longer separated by obligations and circumstances, that we are finally close enough to touch.
And fuck, I don't even know where to even start.
Leah barely shifts toward me before whatever restraint I have snaps. I cross the distance between us, catch her around the waist, and haul her against me.
Her hands cradle my face as she rises on her toes and presses her mouth to mine.
I lift her without breaking the kiss, her legs locking around my midsection as I carry her down the hall and back into my room.
I set her on the edge of the twin mattress and kneel before her, my hands resting on her knees.
“I have a confession,” I say softly, my thumb lazily strokes her thigh.
She hums, biting her lip.
“Pictionary pales in comparison to this.”
She giggles. “But we just unlocked ten new colors.”
“Ah, true. But—” I catch her gaze—“there's only one color I really need.”
She leans forward, gently pressing her lips to mine. “You're a good man, Nick Crawford.”
I snort.
She takes my face in her hands. “I'm serious. What you did for my family tonight … Rachel said you never left her side. And then the baby? Were you with her that entire time before Matt and I got there?”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “She didn’t have anybody yet. Couldn’t just leave her alone. She’s a cute little nugget, too.” A grin tugs at my mouth. “Actually, I got some pictures for Rachel and Matt.”
“You did?”
I get up and settle beside Leah, pulling out my phone. She leans against me while I flip through them, giggling and awwing until she looks up. “They’re going to absolutely love these.”
“I know it doesn't compare to actually being there during her first few hours of life—”
“But for you to even think about that …”
My heart sinks. “Yeah, I guess—” I sigh—“I think about it a lot.”
Leah’s smile fades as she takes my hand in hers. “About Grady and missing the first few years of his life?”
And Maddie.
Fuck, it's now or never.
I set my phone down beside me and look at her. “I need to tell you something. And … I’m not even sure how to say it.”
Leah quietly sits back. “Okay. What’s going on?”
I exhale heavily. “I have a daughter … Madison.”
“Madison,” she repeats like the refrain of a song.
“She would’ve been thirteen this year.”
Leah’s expression changes. “Would’ve been?”
My palms idly rub together. “She had a pretty severe case of congenital condition called Edwards syndrome. We knew about it before she was born.” I swallow, but the ache in my throat only gets worse. “She lived for a few hours.”
“Oh, Nick.” Leah rests her hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry—”
“No.” I pull my hand away and get to my feet, putting several feet between us before I turn back. “Don’t be sorry for me. I don’t deserve your sympathy, Leah. I don't deserve kindness or condolences or anything positive or good.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Why—” her words soften—“why would you say that?”
“Because I was a fucking coward. Because I walked away. Because I couldn't just … watch her die.” My voice catches, and I drag a hand over my face. “She came into this world and left it without ever knowing what it felt like to have her daddy hold her.” A broken chuckle slips out as I blink hard against the tears. “I’m a proud man, Leah, but there’s no pride in that. I’ll regret it until the day I die.”
Leah doesn’t say anything. She catches the cuff of her sweater between her fingers, worrying the fabric back and forth.
“I never went to her grave until last year.” I chuff. “Twelve fucking years, Leah. I knew exactly where she was, and I couldn’t make myself go.”
Leah shifts on the bed, drawing one knee a little closer to her chest. With her attention fixed on me, she keeps listening.
“Now I go all the time … but sometimes I wonder if I’m even doing that for her.” I shake my head. “Maybe I go because standing there and talking to her makes the consequences of what I did feel a little less heavy. Like if I show up enough now, it makes up for being a shitty person.”
“You’re not a shitty person—”
“Then what am I, Leah? Huh?”
“A man who made a terrible mistake. And you also lost a baby.” Our eyes meet.
“Do you hear yourself? You have so much guilt that you won't even allow yourself to be human and grieve.” A subtle grin touches her lips.
“You are actively giving up your peace at the chance to make it right.” She lifts a shoulder. “Sounds quite loving to me.”
I cross the room and take a seat next to her on the bed. “I just want to make it better somehow.”
“Maybe you already are. It just looks different than what you're expecting.” Leah shifts closer. “You’re a wonderful dad to Grady, Nick. The way you love that little boy honors Madison.”
But is it enough?
Fuck. I press my palms together and stare at the floor, trying to breathe past the knot in my throat.
Leah’s palm moves slowly over my back before she rests her chin on my shoulder.
I turn my head enough to see her. “You ready to bolt yet?”
She gives a small shake of her head. “I know this changed you, Nick. I can see that.” Her hand drifts to my arm. “You aren’t that man anymore.”
I hook an arm around her waist and pull her into my lap, needing her closer. She comes willingly, curling against my chest, and I bury my face against her hair.
After a quiet minute, she asks, “Do you still talk to Madison’s mother?”
A sharp, humorless laugh leaves me. “Well, that brings us to reason number two of why I’m a terrible person.” I lean back. “It’s Tatum.”
Her head snaps up. “You had a baby with Dr. Erikson?”
“Damn. Judgmental much?”
She laughs. “Stop! I’m not judging. I thought she and Dr. Ramsdale were medical school sweethearts.”
I groan. “Ugh. Let me tell you a story.”