Chapter 14 #2
Peyton swallowed down on the hot rise of bile rising in her throat. It was happening all over again. She was going to give birth to Valentino’s baby soon. Too soon. A hundred memories of Daisy and McKenzie floated before her. And her son was going to be even earlier.
A whole four weeks of crucial development time.
‘So what’s the plan?’ he demanded, all business.
‘Oral nifedipine regime to relax the uterus and hopefully stop the contractions, even if it’s only for a few days to give us time to administer some steroids to mature the baby’s lungs.’
Valentino nodded. ‘And then?’
‘Hospital for a few days, monitoring blood pressure and regular ultrasounds to check on the cervix.’
He nodded again. ‘And then?’
‘If we can stop the contractions, home on twice-daily tablets and lots of bed rest. If she makes it to thirty-six weeks we take her off the medication and let nature take its course.’
Peyton appreciated Valentino’s methodical medical mind prioritising and sorting because she was taking none of it in. She was numb now. Numb all over. There were no more tears left as flashes of three years ago bombarded her brain.
The twins on life support, Daisy’s tiny white coffin, Arnie walking away…
She tried to stop them because she knew somewhere in the thick sticky morass of all that grief, she needed to reach a mental place where she could shut down her emotions and deal with the next few days, maybe months if Valentino’s child was a fighter.
Juggling McKenzie’s needs on top of it and watching Valentino become ever more distant.
‘So, the worst-case scenario is that we buy a few days. The best case is we go to term?’
Erica nodded. ‘Spot on.’
‘You hear that, Peyton?’
Valentino’s voice invaded her thoughts and the mental place moved further out of reach. She looked at him but didn’t really see him as a sob caught in her throat. ‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered.
‘No!’
Peyton had started to recede again, but his insistent denial dragged her back. She frowned. ‘What?’
‘I said no.’
Peyton shook her head. He truly didn’t understand how much of her had died last time. ‘Just do what needs to be done,’ she muttered.
He’d said he loved her, hadn’t he? Then he could do that for her.
She was only vaguely aware of Valentino looking at Erica and saying, ‘Do it.’
It was all action stations then. Peyton swallowed pills and lay passively as they put in an IV and gave her a steroid shot and took her blood pressure endlessly.
She didn’t feel the belt of the CTG strapped to her abdomen or notice the contractions slowing and then stopping or Valentino’s bedside vigil when she was finally transferred to Maternity.
Inside her head she was in a warm dark place with her babies – McKenzie and Daisy and her little boy – and she was singing them a lullaby and, as she drifted to sleep, they were all happy.
Two hours after her transfer, Valentino lifted his forehead where it was pressed against Peyton’s mattress to find Erica striding into the room. She headed straight to the constant readout on the graph paper. ‘They’ve stopped,’ she murmured after a close inspection.
Valentino nodded, too exhausted from his flight, which seemed a million years ago now, and worry about Peyton’s mental state to truly appreciate the deep well of relief that his son was doing okay.
That they’d dodged a bullet.
Erica gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘She’ll be all right,’ she murmured. ‘Peyton has been through a lot. It’s just her way of coping. She’ll be a different person when she wakes.’
Valentino nodded but his heart sat like a stone in his chest as Erica left.
He’d been so excited about the baby – his son.
About becoming a father. About the things they’d do together.
So wrapped up in being in love with her and their pie-in-the-sky future, he truly hadn’t considered the mental implications for Peyton.
She’d tried to tell him she couldn’t cope with another poor outcome and he’d swept all her objections aside, promising her hearts and rainbows.
He’d been so fucking arrogant.
Even today, striding into her office earlier, straight off the plane expecting some kind of hero’s welcome. Sure, the way they’d left things had been wobbly, but he’d hoped she’d missed him a little. He hoped there might be warmth, maybe even pleasure lighting those expressive grey eyes.
Not polite coolness. Not her teeth-aching formality.
He’d wanted – expected – to sweep her up, take her home, lay her down. Put his hands on her belly, see how much it had grown in the interminable two weeks he’d been away. Kiss it. Kiss her. Tell her how much he loved her…
So, her anger over him not keeping in close contact had been a surprise. A good thing, he’d hoped, because it meant she’d been thinking about him – that she cared.
But she hadn’t been willing to give him an inch as she’d glared at him across her desk, her anger so damn potent.
Not that he could blame her because the fact was, he hadn’t called. Deliberately. Because he’d known that the minute he heard her voice, he would have blurted it out and he hadn’t wanted to confess something so huge on the phone.
He’d wanted to say the words face to face.
Also, he’d had to consider the flip side. If he’d told her he loved her and she’d rejected him or, worse – panicked and ran – he would have been a half a world away, unable to do anything about it. At least face to face she couldn’t run or hide.
So, no, he hadn’t rung. But he’d dialled her number a hundred times and listened to her messages over and over again, wishing she was by his side. And that’s what he’d been about to explain before she’d doubled over and everything had gone to hell.
Valentino fought another tidal wave of emotions at the events of the day – one of the longest of his life – still in disbelief over what was happening. The very thing he’d assured Peyton would not happen.
Her distress… her anguish… her pain – both physical and mental – had been hard to watch.
Her face red and blotchy, her nose and eyes streaming.
Her accusation, her wounded I told you this would happen and you made me want him had been hard to hear, landing with the power of a heavy weight punch square to the chin.
And his baby, his son, possibly also in distress, possibly too young to survive.
All because in his arrogance he’d been certain everything would be okay. Because he was Valentino Lombardi and things always worked out okay. Completely dismissing her concerns and her obstetric history, making assurances he never should have made.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered at her sleeping profile, looking still and pale in her white hospital gown against the white sheets.
But he couldn’t afford to let the wave sweep him up and carry him out to sea. She needed him. So did his son. Because her state of defeat at the end had been the worst of all. This wasn’t a battle he could fight on his own; neither could their baby.
Peyton had to believe it was going to be okay too…
Peyton’s arm slipped off the bed and she jolted awake, momentarily disorientated.
‘What is it? Are you okay?’ Valentino woke suddenly, lifting his head, blinking blearily as he hauled himself to his feet.
Ignoring him, Peyton took in the room and the drip and tried to remember what had happened. Her mouth was dry and she had a headache. Then she remembered. ‘The baby?’ Had they taken the baby?
Her hand slipped to her belly, expecting flatness and to feel pain from an incision, but there was none.
‘It’s okay,’ he soothed, placing his hand on top of hers. ‘He’s still there. Feel him.’ He moved her palm around her bump, slightly hampered by the straps of the CTG machine. ‘The contractions stopped.’
She watched as he reached out to the graph paper still spilling from the machine and tore some off, briefly inspecting the squiggles. ‘Nothing,’ he said, holding the piece up. ‘Not one single contraction.’
Peyton’s heart banged in her chest. ‘None?’ A bubble of hope floated in her chest. Could that really be true?
He smiled. ‘None.’
‘So… it’s going to be okay?’
‘Erica’s encouraged by your uterus’s rapid response to the medication. You’ll need to stay on it but…’
Peyton couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The last thing she remembered was preparing herself for the worst. ‘I’ll take a truckload of it if necessary.’
His chuckle soothed all her raw, ragged edges. ‘Two a day should be enough.’
Peyton laughed as Valentino got back in his chair. He looked utterly exhausted. His stubble darker than earlier, his clothes more rumpled. His hair looked as if it had been raked to within an inch of its life. ‘You should go home,’ she murmured. ‘You look totally wrecked.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not leaving,’ he said. ‘I’m never leaving.’
Peyton swallowed. She believed him. The man had seen her at her lowest ebb and was still here. Arnie had never been good with her tears and hadn’t been able to cope with her grief. He certainly would have been at a loss with her withdrawn state.
Valentino had just taken it in his stride.
‘I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know where I went… I totally freaked out.’
His hand slid back to re-join hers nestled against her belly. ‘You went where you needed to go. It’s okay.’
Peyton gave him a small smile and yawned as her eyelids fluttered shut.
‘Go to sleep,’ he urged. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
The words were like music to her ears, but something niggled at the back of her mind as she drifted off. Three seconds later she was wide awake, rising to her elbows, her heart in her mouth. ‘McKenzie!’
‘She’s fine,’ he said. ‘She’s at your parents’. I’ve been giving them regular updates.’
‘Really?’ she demanded, her pulse still racing as she castigated herself for being so self-absorbed that she’d completely forgotten about her daughter. McKenzie had been with her parents when it had all gone down but still…