17. James
— · —
James
Three Years Ago
The monitor beside Haley’s bed beeped in a steady rhythm, the only sound in the room besides her breathing. She had been asleep for hours, her face pale against the pillow, her body recovering from the surgery that had brought Lily into the world.
The minutes she’d been inside the OR had been the longest. Then a nurse came out. I was in her face before she could take two steps.
“Is she okay? The baby, is the baby okay?”
“They’re both fine.” She smiled at me, and I felt my knees nearly buckle. “Mom lost a little more blood than we’d like, but we got it under control. Baby came out screaming. Ten fingers, ten toes, healthy lungs.”
“Can I see her?”
“Give us a few minutes to get her settled, and then yes.”
I leaned against the wall and let myself breathe.
Now, hours later, I sat in the chair beside Haley’s bed and watched her sleep.
The baby was in the nursery. The nurses had taken her to let Haley rest, promising to bring her back when it was time to feed.
So it was just me and Haley in the dim room, the night pressing against the windows, the world outside completely irrelevant.
She stirred.
I leaned forward, watching her face as her eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused, glazed with whatever medication they had given her for the pain. When they finally landed on me, it took her a moment to recognize who I was.
“James.” Her voice came out soft, slurred at the edges. “You’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know.” She blinked slowly, like even that small movement required effort. “Home? Work? Literally anywhere that isn’t a hospital room at three in the morning?”
“This is exactly where I want to be.”
She smiled at that, loopy and lopsided, and my chest did a complicated thing I refused to examine.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Like someone reached inside me and rearranged my organs.” She shifted slightly against the pillow and winced. “Which I guess is technically what happened. How’s Lily? Is she okay? They took her so fast, I barely got to see her.”
“She’s perfect. Lungs like an opera singer.” I pulled out my phone and showed her the picture I had taken in the nursery. “See? Already plotting world domination.”
Haley laughed, then immediately groaned. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” But she was still smiling, her eyes soft as she looked at the photo. “She’s really okay?”
“She’s really okay. You both are.”
“Thanks for being there.” She reached for my hand and I gave it to her, her fingers wrapping loosely around mine.
“You were incredible.”
“I didn’t do anything.” She laughed again, softer this time, careful of her stitches. “I just lay there while they did all the work.”
“You grew a human being for nine months. You went through labor, you survived a complication, and you’re already asking about your daughter instead of yourself.” I squeezed her hand gently. “That’s not nothing, Haley. That’s everything.”
She was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing slow patterns on the back of my hand. The medication made her movements loose, uncoordinated, but there was an intentionality to the touch that made my pulse pick up.
“James.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
She turned her head on the pillow to look at me fully. Even glazed with drugs and exhausted from surgery, her eyes held a sharpness that caught me off guard.
“God, I can never tell what’s going on in your head.” She said it softly, almost to herself. “You’re always so careful. So controlled. Like you’re constantly editing yourself before you speak.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look at me like you want to say things.” Her fingers tightened slightly on mine. “But then you don’t. You just look, and I can feel all these words building up behind your eyes, and then you swallow them down and change the subject. Or make a joke. Or find a reason to leave the room.”
My throat felt tight. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to respond to an observation that cut so close to the bone it felt like she had reached into my chest and pulled out my secrets one by one.
“Haley, you’re on a lot of medication right now.”
“I know.” That loopy smile again. “That’s probably why I’m saying this. Normally I wouldn’t. Normally I’d just wonder and never ask. But my filter is completely gone, and I figured I might as well take advantage of that while I can.”
“Your filter being gone doesn’t mean I should tell you things you might not want to hear.”
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” She tugged gently on my hand, pulling me closer to the bed. “You just did it again. Deflected. Changed the subject. Made it about what I want instead of answering the question.”
“What question? You haven’t actually asked me anything yet.”
“Fine.” She held my gaze, and even through the medication haze, I could see her searching for answers. “What is it you want to say to me, James? When you look at me like that, what are you thinking?”
I stared at her. At her tired eyes and her pale face and the IV in her arm and the hospital gown that made her look fragile in a way she never actually was.
She had just given birth to my brother’s child. She was drugged and exhausted and probably wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.
And she was asking me to tell her the truth.
“I think about how brave you are. You walked away from your marriage when most people would have stayed and tried to fix things. I respect how you built a new life from nothing, and did all of it while pregnant, and never once let anyone see you break.”
“That’s not what you’re thinking right now.”
“Haley.”
“Right now.” She tugged on my hand again, and I found myself leaning closer, my face inches from hers. “When you’re looking at me right now, in this room, at three in the morning. What are you thinking?”
I could see the gold flecks in her eyes. Could smell the antiseptic and underneath it, faintly, the scent that was just her.
“I’m thinking that I’m in trouble.” The confession came out barely above a whisper. “I’m thinking that I have been for a long time. And I’m thinking that if you weren’t drugged out of your mind right now, I would never say any of this out loud.”
She smiled. Soft. Knowing. Like she had been waiting for exactly those words.
“Good thing I’m drugged, then.”
And then she pulled me down and kissed me.
Her lips were soft against mine, tentative at first, then more certain. I froze for a moment, my brain short-circuiting, every rational thought replaced by the simple reality of her mouth on mine.
Then I kissed her back.
It was gentle. Nothing like the urgent, desperate kisses I had imagined in my weakest moments. It was tender, her fingers tangling in my hair, her breath warm against my face. I could taste the hospital on her lips and underneath it, faintly, cherry ChapStick.
It lasted maybe ten seconds. Maybe less. And then her hand went slack, her head fell back against the pillow, and her eyes drifted closed.
She was asleep.
I sat back in my chair, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, my lips still tingling with the memory of her.
What the fuck just happened.
I stared at her sleeping face, half expecting her to open her eyes and laugh, to tell me she had been joking, to take it back somehow. But her breathing had evened out, her features slack with genuine sleep, and I was left alone with the echo of those ten seconds playing on repeat in my head.
I didn’t sleep that night. Couldn’t have even if I tried. I just sat there in that uncomfortable hospital chair and watched her breathe and replayed the kiss over and over until the sun came up and painted the room in shades of gold.
When she woke up the next morning, her eyes were clear. The medication had worn off.
“Have you been here all night?” She looked at me with concern, pushing herself up slightly against the pillows. “James, you should have gone home. You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine.” I searched her face for any sign of recognition. Any hint that she remembered what had happened between us. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Hungry. Desperate for a shower.” She smiled at me, that familiar smile that held no trace of the soft, knowing one from the night before. “But mostly just excited to see Lily again. The nurses said they’re bringing her in soon.”
“That’s great.”
“Will you stay? I want you to be here when I hold her properly for the first time.”
“Of course.”
She squeezed my hand, the gesture casual and friendly, and I felt something in my chest quietly break.
She didn’t remember.
Or she did remember and was choosing not to acknowledge it. I couldn’t tell which was worse.
Present Day
The pharmacy bag was still in my hand as I stood in the doorway of Lily’s hospital room.
Three years. Three years since that night, and I could still feel the ghost of her lips against mine if I let myself think about it too long.
A nurse appeared beside me, her voice low. “You can set that on the table. I’ll administer it when the little one wakes up.”
“Thanks.” I walked into the room and set the medication down beside Lily’s bed. She was sleeping peacefully, her fever-flushed cheeks already looking better than they had a few hours ago.
“Long night?” the nurse asked.
“You could say that.”
She glanced at Haley, then back at me. “Your wife’s lucky to have someone who stays.”
I didn’t correct her.
She left, and I lowered myself into the chair beside Haley, careful not to wake her. She stirred slightly at the movement, her face turning toward me, but her eyes stayed closed.
Sitting here now, watching her chest rise and fall, her fingers still curled loosely around the edge of my jacket, I couldn’t help wondering if pretending was still the right choice.
Or if three years of silence had been the biggest mistake of my life.