Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
PASTEUR
Louis fought to keep his emotions in check, to keep from drowning in the weight of everything pressing down on him. But mannn …
Lila.
She was sitting right there beside him, silent, her hands clenched in her lap, and he felt like he was watching a fragile thread unravel right before his eyes. He had spent countless nights talking to her, looking forward to those stolen moments of connection—his bestie , as Trophy’s little sister would call it. And yet, here she was, just inches away, yet feeling worlds apart as they drove toward the hospital.
After what had to be the worst night of his life, this moment should have been good , something solid. Instead, he felt like he was walking on thin ice, and every step threatened to crack beneath him.
He turned onto the parking garage ramp, keeping his hands steady on the wheel even as his pulse thundered in his ears. She was incredible, and he was falling for this woman, his friend. He truly liked her. His heart was on the line, so quickly, so fast, but it wasn’t just a fleeting thing but something deeper because he knew her.
He knew her from their texts, from their casual remarks tossed lightly between them, and his best friend was suddenly housed within this regal woman beside him. And it wasn’t just his feelings anymore to consider—it was hers, too.
Lila just didn’t feel the same, and he knew it. She had too many personal battles, too many demons, and he was fully aware that this might be a losing battle he was preparing for. That realization burned. It settled in his chest like an open wound, raw and unrelenting.
And yet, none of it mattered when he looked at her. When he really looked at her.
Her face was ashen despite the time they’d spent outside in the sun. Her lips were bloodless, pressed so tight together that it sent a sharp pang of fear through him. It was like watching someone brace for a collision they couldn’t avoid.
She’s not okay.
The moment he eased into a parking spot near the elevators, he exhaled, gripping the wheel. The words felt heavy, but they had to be said.
“I’m excited to celebrate the arrival of the baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, careful, deliberate. “But not at the expense of my friend. Do you want to sit here and talk for a moment?”
He reached for her hand, holding it carefully like he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers.
“I hear that I’m a pretty good listener…”
Her laugh came, but it was thick, strained. When she glanced at him, he saw the sheen of unshed tears in her dark eyes, a betrayal of the words that followed.
“I’ll be fine.”
But he could hear the unspoken lie in it.
“If you’re not – that’s okay,” he said, his voice steady even as he felt his chest tighten. “You’re not alone.”
Her gaze met his, searching, uncertain. And then, with the smallest nod, she bit her lip—almost shyly.
“I think that is why I’ll be okay.”
“If you fall, I’ll catch you—I promise.”
The breath she let out was shaky, but she held onto his words like a lifeline.
“Thank you,” she whispered, so softly he barely heard it. Then, she pulled in another ragged breath, one that hurt to listen to.
“It’s just hard, you know? I’ve been here. Well, not here , but another hospital floor, and nothing can ever…”
She trailed off, and he didn’t push. He just squeezed her hand, an unspoken reminder that she wasn’t alone, that she didn’t have to be.
Her voice, when it came again, was raw, the kind of pain that scraped against the soul.
“Nothing can prepare you for that kind of loss.”
Louis felt his throat tighten.
“I can’t… imagine,” he admitted, and the words felt weak. He hated that. Because nothing— nothing —could compare to what she’d lost.
Her baby.
Her sense of safety.
Her entire world was ripped apart by the man who was supposed to stand beside her.
And yet, she was still here.
She looked at him then, studying him in a way that made him feel like she was peeling back the layers, seeing parts of him no one else did.
He swallowed hard.
“I wouldn’t dare try to assume I know what that’s like because you had the most foundational things to any person, any woman, ripped from you – and I’m so lost, so sorry, because I feel so helpless wanting to say the right things but words are just formed grunts pushed with air pushed through vocal cords…” He laid a hand over his chest as if trying to hold together everything unraveling inside him.
“But I am here,” he whispered. “I feel it here for you because I can see you are hurting… and I wish I could explain that while I know you are feeling a lot, this visit will be different for you. That’s part of your past, and while hurting is all right, validated, and deserved , that shouldn’t take from your chance to be a part of the present or the future. I hope you smile when you see their baby and think of your own miracle taken from you but find joy in theirs. Does that make sense?”
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Louis braced himself for anger. For a cutting remark, for a demand that he leave her alone. Instead, she swallowed, her expression so full of emotion it nearly shattered him.
“I know – and I’m going to be okay,” she said hoarsely. “I think I needed to hear that.”
His heart clenched.
“I’ll be right there, holding your hand, my friend,” he promised, meaning every word. “If you need to leave – say the word or squeeze my hand a few times, and I’ll make some excuse to get you out of there fast.”
She nodded, inhaling deeply, before pushing the car door open like she was gearing herself up for battle.
And she was.
Louis watched her, his heart aching, his fists clenching at his sides. Why had they invited her? He knew Trophy and Stephanie hadn’t meant harm, but this was torture for Lila. And what kind of friends forced her into this moment without thinking of what it might do to her?
He leaped out of the car, quick to catch up, quick to be where she needed him to be.
She walked toward the elevator with her shoulders squared and her chin up. Brave. Fierce. Like a soldier stepping onto the battlefield, knowing the scars it might leave behind.
Louis did the only thing he could—he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. A silent I’m here .
She looked at him then, her dark gaze unwavering, and he marveled at her. Nations could fall before Lila would ever let someone see her pain.
And yet, she had let him see it.
They stood together in the elevator, side by side. Marched into the waiting area. And to his surprise, Ohio, Memphis, Orion, and a few others were there, but the rest of the team was missing.
“Where is everyone?”
“Tic-Tak had duty and so did Shellac…”
“Ahh.” He nodded, mind still half on Lila. “Has Stephanie had the baby yet?”
“Nope.”
“She hasn’t?” Lila’s voice came out sharp, unsteady.
Louis felt her stagger, and without thinking, he pulled her into him, wrapping an arm around her like a shield.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh yeah,” Memphis grinned. “It’s just gonna be a long while now. We’re gonna hang out here for a bit before heading home. The nurse just updated us, and they said Stephanie is only dilated to a five.”
That meant nothing to Louis, but it seemed to ease the tension in Lila’s shoulders. She drew in a deep breath and stepped away, but not far.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Maybe in a little bit. Is it okay if we sit down?”
“Yup.”
He could feel the others watching them, silent questions burning in their gazes.
But he didn’t care.
For now, he was where he needed to be.
Hours later, Lila rested her eyes beside him, their fingers still entwined—a lifeline neither of them dared release. The waiting room had emptied, the soft hum of fluorescent lights the only witness to their silent vigil. Most of the team had gone, but Lila had wanted to stay.
So they stayed.
It was that simple.
Louis wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or something deeper that kept him tethered to this moment, to her. But when he saw Trophy appear in the distance, everything else faded.
Trophy’s easy smile wavered, a raw, almost staggering emotion flickering across his face. He looked wrecked, like a man who had walked through fire and emerged, not unscathed, but victorious. Relief and disbelief warred in his eyes, and Louis felt his own throat tighten in response.
He turned to Lila, his voice low, rougher than he intended.
“Lila…?” He hesitated, wanting— aching —to touch her in some small way beyond the steady clasp of their fingers. A brush of his knuckles against her cheek. The lightest press of his lips against her temple. But he swallowed the impulse. “Lila, Trophy just…”
She bolted upright, tension snapping through her frame.
“The baby?”
Louis barely had time to register the way her voice cracked before Trophy sank onto the chair beside her. And then, like a dam breaking, the weight of this moment crashed down on all of them.
“Stephanie’s fine—and so is our daughter,” Trophy said, his voice thick with restrained emotion. His jaw tightened, his composure slipping as he tried to hold back tears. “She’s a little angel… and so beautiful.”
He paused, and then—against all odds—he laughed.
“Angry…” He shook his head in disbelief. “She was pissed off at being born and can shatter glass with those lungs.”
Louis let out a quiet chuckle, but his focus never left Lila. She was trembling. Silent. The way someone is when standing on the edge of a breaking point, barely breathing, barely holding on.
Trophy exhaled, glancing between them as if sensing the storm just beneath the surface. “I’m gonna go check on Stephanie, but I wanted to let whoever was still here waiting know what was going on. The baby’s in the nursery, and if you see a cherub with an attitude—that’s my girl.” He sniffed, dragging a hand over his face before casting Louis a pointed look. “Pasteur, nobody gets to know how close I am to bawling, dude.”
Louis forced a smirk, bumping knuckles with him in a gesture that felt both lighthearted and unbearably heavy. “Your secret is safe… papa.” His voice caught on the last word.
“I’m glad you’re both here—I’ll let Stephanie know. Go take care of yourselves and get some rest. We’ll see y’all tomorrow.” Trophy nodded, clapping him on the shoulder before walking off.
The moment he was gone, Louis moved without thinking. He grabbed the box of Kleenex and shoved it onto Lila’s lap—but she didn’t move, didn’t even blink.
She was somewhere else.
Lost.
Memories pulled her under, grief tightening around her like a vice. He could see it—the way her shoulders curled inward, the way her breath hitched but never fully came.
He turned, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was facing her fully. Then, without a word, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in. A silent offering. A shelter against whatever storm raged inside her.
She shattered.
A muffled, broken wail tore from her throat, buried against his shoulder as she trembled violently in his hold. The force of it nearly undid him and sent a deep ache spiraling through his chest.
“I’ve got you…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, thick and raw. “I’ve got you, Lila…”
These weren’t tears of joy. They weren’t born from the beauty of new life or the happiness of a friend’s triumph. They were older, deeper—wounds left untouched for far too long. Pain never spoken, never given the space to exist. Until now.
So he held her.
Not because words would fix it.
Not because he had answers.
But because sometimes, the greatest act of love wasn’t speaking. It was staying. It was being the foundation when someone had lost theirs. It was holding them steady as they fought their battles—until they realized they weren’t fighting alone.
And heaven help him… he cared. More than he should. More than he could ever say, praying that he didn’t end up doing the same thing months from now when Lila destroyed him.
“Shhh… I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, the only anchor in the storm of her grief. He held her close, feeling every tremor that wracked her frame, absorbing each quiet, heart-wrenching sob as if he could bear the weight of her pain for her.
Time stretched between them, measured not in seconds, but in the ragged breaths she took against his shoulder. When she finally pulled away, his arms loosened reluctantly, and he felt the cold absence of her warmth instantly.
She wiped at her eyes with shaking hands, her gaze skittering away, and the pang of it hit him deep—because he understood. She was ashamed, not of her tears, but of needing someone. She didn’t trust him yet.
Not fully.
That truth lodged itself in his chest, heavy and unmovable, but he didn’t push. Trust was built in inches, not leaps.
And he would wait.
When she stood, he rose beside her without hesitation, their hands finding each other again in the silence. No words were spoken, but his thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, a quiet reassurance, a vow unspoken. He walked with her down the hallway, his eyes flicking to her profile, watching the way she forced herself to hold steady, to swallow back the wreckage of her emotions. She was stronger than she knew.
As they reached the nursery window, his breath caught.
A small basin sat beneath the soft glow of fluorescent lights, a card labeled Baby Cavanaugh propped at the edge. Inside, swaddled in white and pink, lay a tiny bundle. A fragile head peeked out beneath a knit cap, and his lips twitched in amusement. The baby was all cheeks, all soft folds, and delicate sighs, wrapped so tightly in a receiving blanket that only the barest hint of her features could be seen.
A hushed, reverent whisper broke the silence.
“Oh my…” Lila’s voice wavered, thick with emotion. “Those cheeks, Louis…”
A soft chuckle escaped him, warmth blooming in his chest. “I know…”
Without thinking, his arm moved, settling against her hip, pulling her close—not in possession, not in expectation, but because it felt natural. Because for the first time in a long time, something felt right.
She turned then, and his breath stilled.
Her eyes, glassy and full of something raw and unguarded, met his, and the world around them fell away. The walls she so carefully kept in place had cracked, just for a moment, just enough for him to see past them. And what he saw stole the air from his lungs.
Something passed between them—silent, powerful, undeniable. Her lips parted, but no words came. They didn’t need to.
“ Beautiful …”
The word left him unbidden, an exhale of truth.
Lila inhaled sharply.
“ Incredible ,” she whispered back, voice barely above a breath.
And he knew.
They weren’t talking about the baby.
The urge to close the space between them, to cradle her face in his hands, to press his forehead to hers and whisper all the things he wasn’t ready to say yet—it burned through him, insistent and fierce. He ached to tell her that she was safe with him, and she didn’t have to be afraid. That she could lean on him, just this once, just forever.
But she wasn’t ready.
So he swallowed it all, locking the words away with quiet determination. He would be patient. He would be steady. He would wait—however long it took.
His voice was soft, careful as he finally spoke. “The baby is beyond lovely.” A pause. A quiet out for her to take. “Those cheeks are incredible.”
And there it was—the flicker in her gaze, the subtle shift as she pulled back behind her walls. The moment was gone, but not lost. He had seen her , if only for a second.
Someday, it would be a minute.
Then, an hour.
Then, a lifetime.
And Louis?
He would wait for her.
Always.