32. For her. For Mace
CHAPTER 32
For her. For Mace
CALUM
I didn’t think Pete would call me, but he did. Twice. One, to let me know they were on their way to Cathie’s house. Two, when they arrived. He needed me to stay with her because he had to leave. That might have been his best decision because she was a mess when I entered. I could hear her voice from outside. It hurt then. Even now, with her in my arms, it still hurts.
Cathie whines in her sleep. Her hand blindly reaches for me as if to ensure I’m here. There’s no respite for her in her sleep. She’s still scared. I plant another kiss on her temple. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s perfect. I stare at her until my eyes can’t handle it any longer. I should check on Mace, but I’m afraid she will wake up to see the bed empty and panic.
A knock echoes from behind the door. Pete pushes the door open, and his head pokes in.
“Come in,” I tell him.
Pete enters, holding Mace. There’s an empty crib beside the bed. I try to get off the bed and help, but he shakes his head. “Stay. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Some of the tension in his face ebbs as he lowers Mace into his crib. He stares at Cathie and sighs. “How’s she doing now?”
“Asleep?” I reply. Tears well up in his eyes, and he shakes his head. We are all hurting for her. “She needs to talk to someone. It might be good for her to consider therapy, you know?”
Amelia’s letter firmly stated Cathie needed one. I agree. Pete nods. He sinks to the edge of the bed, his gaze never once leaving his daughter. I pull the cover up to her chin as he leans down for a kiss. Her hair is cut so short his fingers weave in and out of her scalp seamlessly.
“She’s stronger than she thinks,” he says.
“Yeah. But strong people also need a break.”
“You’re right. I’ll talk to her about it.”
We stay in comfortable silence. I sit up against the headboard while he watches Cathie.
“Thanks for coming,” he says. I want to be here. “She has not been the same since you left. I don’t know what happened after…” He leaves the statement hanging, and my mind connects the dots. “But I hope you two can figure it out so I can have my baby girl again. I miss her.”
“You should have reached out,” I whisper.
Cathie is strong but super adamant. She needs a stern figure around the house. To push back. Someone to guide and maybe force her to confront her fears. Pete shakes his head. If he had mentioned Mace, I would never have turned back. I would have waited until she listened.
“I fucked up once by meddling,” he says. His eyes soften as they locate his daughter, and he rubs her feet through the cover. “I wouldn’t dare repeat it. She wouldn’t have forgiven me. But I’m glad you came. And I owe you an apology for trying to stop you earlier. I’m sorry.”
Once Pete leaves, I slide out of bed and go to Mace. I have a son. Calum Dissick has a son, whom Amelia Greene named. Shock and amusement mix in my blood as I stare at my miniature version. I’d love to see the little man when he’s awake. His limbs are so tiny. How can such a small human exist? How did Cathie look when pregnant? Was it easy? Tough?
My attention returns to Cathie. I straighten up, half expecting the worse, as her eyes fly open. She stares at me for ten seconds, and I wish she had slept for longer. It looks like she needs it.
“What are you doing here?” she murmurs. My expression must have made her second guess because she shakes her head. “Forget I asked. How did you know we were coming here?”
“Your dad?” I reply. “He called.”
“Where’s he?”
“He left already, but he will be back soon.”
Our heads turn to the window. Dark clouds have gathered, and the air has grown colder. Cathie tries to sit up, and I place my hand over hers. She flinches and retracts her hand.
“Cathie.”
“Thanks,” Cathie says without looking at me. “You don’t have to stay back. You can go.”
But I want to be here. For her. For Mace. How can she be so far, yet so close?
Mace stirs. His soft cries grab our attention. I rush to him before she gets off the bed. “I’ve got it,” I tell her. But she still climbs off the bed. Always so stubborn. “Let me handle this.”
The request is a waste of time. She stops beside me, and I lean over Mace’s crib. My lips pull into an automatic grin as I’m transfixed by this little human in a grey overall. I. Have. A. Son. His tiny arms stretch out for a hug but lower once our eyes collide. I don’t think he likes me.
Something disconnects and flips inside me. I shouldn’t just stand here gawking. I reach for Mace, and he lets out a wail. Cathie nudges me to the side and takes over. She’s covered. I should also get dressed. Mace welcomes his mother. The boy smiles when she lifts him.
“He doesn’t know who you are yet,” she says into Mace’s shoulder and pats his back.
That doesn’t sting. No, it doesn’t hurt. What am I saying? It hurts too much.
Cathie rocks him until he cools off. I watch mother and son bond without me, feeling like the outcast. I also want him to be enthralled with his father. I move closer to Cathie. She doesn’t smile, but she pries Mace’s hands from her shoulders. He pouts, his confusion endearing.
“You can try,” she says.
Mace doesn’t protest this time. But he’s not as bubbly. His fingers weave into my beard, and he yanks hard. I should have shaved.
Cathie winces on my behalf. “Sorry.” She touches our son’s nose. “Macey, don’t hurt him.”
“It’s fine.” Internally, I grin. She told him not to hurt me.
“Kids will play with anything they encounter. Be careful,” she warns. Note to self: trim your beard, or your son will pull out every strand . But I don’t mind. I smile at him. Her voice goes softer, and she adds, “If you think he’s about to cry, sing to him or walk around for a bit.”
“Cool,” I reply. Cathie watches us with a sad look. I don’t understand what she’s so scared of, but it has me covering the gap. I’ll never take Mace away from her. “You can have him.”
But I don’t make actual efforts to return him. I need more time with my baby boy.
“It’s fine,” she says. Her gaze follows us everywhere. We have a lot to discuss. “You should spend time with him. Mace looks like he’s about to go to sleep. It’s best if you sit down.”
She carries him so I can sit. I create a hammock with my arms, and she offers me a rare smile that’s gone before I can store it in my memory. Maybe it won’t take so much to win her over.
“Do you want anything? You have been here for quite a while,” she murmurs.
I stare fondly at my son. My son. Mine. “No, thanks. I have everything I need right here.”
“Of course,” she grits out.
“Did I say something wrong?” I blurt out.
Cathie turns her back to me, but I notice her shoulders shake. “No. It’s fine. I’ll be back.”
She leaves the room before I can utter a word in my defence. I glance at my son. He’s asleep. As gently as I can, I rise to my feet. “I’ll go check on Mama and be right back, okay?” I tell him. He doesn’t stir, only sucks on air before going quiet. “Just hold on. I’ll fix everything.”
He’s compliant when I set him down. My fingers drag across the wood of his crib. MACE is inscribed into it between two crossed swords. Who made it? On the bedside table, there’s a frame of him. I switch the lamp by Mace’s side and exit the room. The living room is empty. I follow the clangs of pots to the kitchen, announcing my presence by clearing my throat.
“Mace is in his crib,” I explain before she asks.
The best she offers me is a polite smile. Her eyes look worse than they did before she slept. I wish I knew how to help.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pointing at the microwave.
“Heating his milk.”
“What happened to—” my voice trails off, and my eyes drop to her chest. “Why can’t you…” She folds her arms on said chest, and I gulp audibly. Change of tactic. “Is it safe this way?”
A sigh leaves her lips. “I don’t mean it in a bad way,” I add, in case she understood that wrongly. These things are new and so sudden for me. I’m trying to be the best father I can.
“I’m not a bad mother,” she replies. “It’s safe. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be giving it to my son.”
Of course. My eyes soften even more. I walk around the large table, and we stand awkwardly for seconds without saying a word. We need to fix us. Our silence has always been soothing.
“Didn’t say you were.”
“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” she counters.
My arms open in a hug, but I change my mind and step back. I can’t say what she would like. I wrap my arms around my torso in a self-hug, and her smile grows sadder. Should I have hugged her instead?
Desperate to fill the silence, I tell her, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way about the milk.” The microwave pings. She removes the milk and empties it into Mace’s bottle. “Can I help?”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, turning her back to me.
The little control I have vanishes. I move, stopping less than an inch behind her. My hands lower to either side of her hips, caging her between me and the counter. Her breath stutters. It might have been my overactive ears, but she sniffs. My body reacts by leaning forward to touch hers.
“Superstar, I want to help.”
Goosebumps race across her exposed neck. Would it be okay to kiss her there? Or sink my fingers into her scalp to know if the massages still have the same reactions. I inhale her scent.
“Okay,” is all she whispers. “You can help.”
The moment breaks. Cathie shows me how to empty the remaining milk into the bottle while I watch her handle it like a pro like it’s something she does daily. Of course it is. She has taken great care of him for so long. In silence, we return to her room to join our son. She sets the bottle on the table by the bed. My arm brushes hers, and she stiffens. A giant ball of discomfort explodes in my belly. This can’t be it for us. Walking around eggshells? No.
“Do we wake him up to feed him?” I ask.
“It depends. Do you want to feed him?”
“Do you mind?” I say in reply.
“No?” Cathie clears her throat, and her hand trembles as she drops the bottle in my hand. “Mr Dissick, I know you… you think you have to be here, but you don’t have to. I know the band has a tour soon. You should focus on that. Mace will be fine with me. I can take care of him.”
A smile lifts the corners of my lips. This woman thinks I’m here to play. She’s wrong.
“Stop it,” I say. She fists her hands. I might have come under the guise of a condolence visit, but knowing what I have here, I’m not leaving until I have them in my life. “I want to be here. And you’re wrong. I don’t think I should be here. I know I should be here for my son.”
Cathie’s lips disappear into a thin line. Her spine straightens, and she nods. I said the wrong thing again. “Maybe we should let him sleep a little longer. I’ll feed him when he wakes up.”
That sounds like a dismissal. Because that’s what it is. I stare at my feet. I’m not sure how I’ll get to my hotel since Jason drove me here. What did I say wrong? I need to figure it out fast.
“You should leave.” I open my mouth to tell her why that’s a bad reason, but she whispers, “Please, Calum. You can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll open up for you.”
“6 am.”
“7 am,” she argues.
A deadweight drops to my chest. I rub my hands over my hips and sigh softly. Fine. “If you or Mace need anything, you’ll call me? I don’t care how late it is, call. Promise me that.”
“I will. Promise.”
Accepting defeat, I stand. She doesn’t walk me to the front door. I was expecting it, but it still stings. Before I go outside to find a cab, I text Pete to let him know his daughter has kicked me out, but I will return in the morning. I won’t leave Yorkrinth City without my babies.