Chapter 25 #2
Especially when the life I thought I was coming back to—my wife, possibly starting a family—didn’t wait for me.
I can see Faith wants to ask if I am, indeed, mentally or physically damaged, but she leaves me with the kind of polite end of a discussion that a lot of public servants give me when they hear about the SEALs. “Well, thank you for your service.”
I’m not a point scorer, and maybe I’d be doing better with Faith if I were, but it seems like being a military man has given me a tick in the pro column, and you never know with people how they’re going to react to it, especially when they know you’re able to keep secrets, so I take it as a win.
I’m guessing Faith has had to keep secrets more than once in her career, too.
Faith takes another sip of her juice and sets the glass down with a quiet clink. “Well,” she says, “if we need to be out the door soon, I suppose we should freshen up.”
Freya nods and pushes back her chair. “Bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the left.”
Faith moves briskly in that direction, her spine straight as a rail.
Lita watches her go with a knowing look, then turns back to me. “She’s not trying to be difficult, baby.”
Somehow, Lita calling me baby affects me. It’s…homely.
She pats my arm. “That one just needs time to warm up.”
“Understood,” I say, meaning it. It’s a lot.
Lita smiles demurely. “But between you and me? If you’re baking my granddaughter muffins on a weekday morning and making cribs in your workshop, I’d say you’re worth adjusting to.”
“Thanks, Lita.” My throat tightens slightly around the words.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had this kind of maternal energy in my life.
It feels good. It feels like a future.
Freya catches my eye, pulling me back to yesterday—to how good it felt to be real with her, to have her in my arms. She’s not ready to talk yet. I saw that yesterday when we walked over to the ranch offices, and I respect it. Freya doesn’t rush her words.
But when she is ready, I will be, too.
I want her. I want this.
Freya nods toward the front door. “We should get our things together.”
Lita taps my arm. “I don’t suppose you could pack some baked goods for the road?”
“You got it,” I say, and I put a couple of muffins into a plastic container while putting the other items away.
Freya comes to help, but her mom emerges from down the hall. “I got it. Catch up with your family.”
The ladies chat about the maternity clothes Faith and Lita brought for Freya, and of course, ask if we thought about names.
Eventually, everything is wrapped up in the kitchen.
I move to grab Lita’s coat and scarf from the hook by the door and help her into it. Faith slips back into her shoes. We ready ourselves for the trip to the hospital.
Lita and Faith head out before us and down the stairs to the truck so I can lock up.
Freya hangs back. “Thanks for all that.”
“Anytime,” I murmur. “You okay?”
She pauses. “Ask me after the scan.”
She didn’t seem at all worried this morning.
God must be a woman because I’ve never met a man able to think of so many epic things at once and handle them with grace.
I offer my arm for her to go down the stairs. “I’m right there with you.
She squeezes my arm. “Let’s go meet our baby.”
After checking in at the reception desk, we all take a seat in the waiting room. The medical center isn’t a big one. But, despite being on time, we are waiting.
I sit next to Lita, who has taken a Gen X crossword out of her purse. I’m a millennial, but still potentially better poised to answer these questions. She reads out every clue.
“Flannel fashion statement, seven letters, second letter is L.” She looks at me because with most of these, Lita doesn’t even try to answer. I pause to think, and then Freya leans over. “Flannel.”
“Oh!” She talks while writing the answer. “Your Uncle Marcus gave me this, and it’s really annoying. I wasn’t paying attention in the nineties.” She reads out the next clue. “Tupac’s last name…”
I start, “Sh….”
“No!” She holds up her pencil to stop me. “I know this one because that poor boy was way too handsome to die young.” She starts to write. “Is it S-H-A-K…U…?”
Just then, a nurse approaches us. “Freya Johnson?”
We all stand in unison; clearly, Freya and I aren’t the only nervous ones.
“Hi…” the nurse’s voice trails off as she contemplates our group. She addresses Freya. “You’re in Room Three, but…you can only take one person in, I’m afraid. The rooms are very small.”
“Just one?” Faith’s voice lifts slightly, surprised. She turns to Freya, then looks at me, then back at Freya. “Well then, I’ll come in with you.”
And for half a second, the floor tilts under me.
This scan is not just a formality. It’s the moment I see my child for the first time. It’s a moment Freya and I will never forget. And what if, God forbid, anything is wrong? It’s Freya and I who need to stand by each other.
I already missed her first one. This is a chance I never thought I’d have in my lifetime. My first glimpse of the life we made. The proof. The heartbeat…
And now I might miss it?
I can’t.
Even if it means pissing off the woman who raised the woman I care about. Even if it means stepping into uncomfortable territory. Even if it means Faith Johnson never forgives me.
She’s protective—I get that.
So am I.
I step forward before I can talk myself out of it. “Respectfully, Mrs. Johnson…I can’t miss this.”
Her gaze lands on me, sharp and assessing.
There’s no open challenge. No threat. Just a quiet, mutual sizing up. Like two people silently asking, How far would you go for her?
Her posture doesn’t shift. But her eyes finally do. They flick to Freya.
“Mom…” Freya doesn’t hesitate, and her certainty makes my bones fucking ignite. “Anton should be the one with me.”
It’s the first time Faith has shown true emotion since I met her. Her features are frozen in shock.
But Lita steps in, light as air, and lays a hand on Faith’s arm, just like she did at the breakfast table. Her hand seems to be a magical nudge and comfort rolled into one.
Faith’s mouth presses into a thin line of resolve. She releases the strap of her purse, putting the fancy leather bag down on a chair before sitting back down in the one next to it.
Lita sits, too. “You’re doing great, you two.”
The nurse smiles. “Right this way.”
Freya reaches for my hand.
And we follow like a team. Like a couple. And fuck, I could get used to this.
I just hope Freya agrees.
The nurse leads us down a quiet hallway, the walls painted in pale blue, every detail trying its best to be calming. But nothing about this moment feels calm. It feels monumental as stepping off a ledge into something irreversible.
Freya squeezes my hand tighter as we reach the door marked Room Three.
Inside, it’s dim. A small screen glows beside the monitor. There’s a paper-covered bed, a rolling stool, and the low hum of machines. The tech greets us warmly, introduces herself, then motions to the bed.
Freya lies back and rolls up her shirt. I move to the chair at her side, but I don’t sit. I can’t. My hands won’t stop twitching.
Then the screen flares to life.
The wand glides over her stomach, and static shifts into form. For a few seconds, all I see is grainy white and black. Then—
There.
A profile. The unmistakable outline of a little human.
I grip the edge of the chair, still not sitting. Can’t. My heart’s not in my chest anymore—it’s on that damn screen.
“There’s your baby,” the nurse says gently, clicking and taking measurements. “Measuring well. Moving around like a champ.”
Freya lets out a sound I’ve never heard from her before. Half laugh, half sob. I slide my hand into hers.
The sonographer takes what feels like an infinite amount of measurements, reassuring us along the way, and my pulse steadies slowly as she seems to approve of every test she makes.
“Alright, I have all the measurements I need now, and it’s all looking healthy on screen.” The sonographer grins. “Interested in knowing the gender?”
“Yes, please,” Freya says. “If you can see that, we want to know.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Get ready for trouble because you have a little girl on the way.”
Time stutters.
A girl.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the sternum and kissed by God at the same time.
A daughter.
I picture her little fingers curled around mine. A tiny body pressed to my chest. I picture Freya’s fire in a smaller form—her curiosity, her stubbornness, her beautiful curls… And it hits me like a freight train.
I stare at the screen in awe. She’s real.
And I get to be her dad.
Freya looks over at me. “You okay?”
I nod, then laugh because I can’t speak. I’m not okay. I’m something better. Something I didn’t think I could be again.
Alive. Hopeful. Lit up from the inside.
I have to be with Freya. I have to see my little girl every day. In an instant, I know I can’t be a part-time dad, and I don’t want to be part-time anything to this beautiful woman either. I want it all.
I need it.
Freya laughs again, but she’s really swallowing relief. “She’s going to own you. I feel it already.”
I laugh roughly, but I’m choked up. “There’s no shame in that.”
I press a hand to Freya’s belly and lean in to whisper. “Hey, baby girl. You want the moon? Just point me to the sky.”
I glance up, and the sonographer is staring at me warmly. Freya rolls her eyes, but they’re glassy.
“You are in trouble.”
“I like trouble,” I answer.
Yeah, I don’t mind this little girl wrapping me around her finger. That’s trouble I can handle and welcome a million times over.
But as I stare at Freya, the mother of my child, hell, the woman I love, I see the trouble is bigger than that.
I’m not going anywhere.
Whether she chooses me…that part isn’t mine to decide.