Chapter 64
SIXTY-FOUR
WARREN
Six months ago, walking into this office felt like a prison sentence.
At first, it was just a way to return to my job, and now, it’s a necessity to my wellbeing and recovery.
I understand what Kevin meant now when he explained therapy is about healing, not fixing. Healing requires time and patience. I’d covered up my scars and bruises poorly, never giving them the care and attention they truly required.
There are days I still feel like a patchwork quilt of emotions, but the stitching is stronger, the edges less frayed.
We’ve spent the last three sessions discussing the days leading up to the explosion and afterward. It was difficult to relay everything at first, but with the weight of my past no longer sitting on top of me, I’m learning to accept it for what it is.
“How’s Harriet?” Kevin asks. We only have a few minutes remaining.
“Very pregnant and not staying off her feet.” I huff in feigned annoyance. “She’ll be thirty-eight weeks tomorrow. Her last checkup showed the baby is growing nicely, so it could be any day now.”
She scoffs whenever I tell her how beautiful she is, arguing that trapped wind and acid reflux are the opposite of beautiful. We agree to disagree.
“Are you ready? And I mean in general, not as a therapist.”
“Yes? She’s calm as anything, which helps me remain levelheaded.” It’s true. There are days she panics about not being prepared or going into labor early, but otherwise Harriet has handled every stage of her pregnancy with grace and peacefulness few people possess.
“That’s good.” He looks at the clock and taps the edge of his notepad. “You better get going. Good luck at the firehouse. What you’re doing is admirable, and if it doesn’t go as planned with the department board, there are plenty of mental health organizations I can put you in touch with.”
I rise, returning his smile. As I’m about to turn away, I stop. “Thanks for not giving up on me. I wasn’t the easiest patient.”
“Easy isn’t why I do it, Warren.” He blinks in surprise. “Thank you for not giving up on yourself.”
“You’re sure?” Marcus asks for the tenth time.
“I’m positive.” I can see how my decision might seem hasty, considering how frustrated I was during desk-duties, but deep down, he knows this is the right move.
Forcing myself to stay in this job is slowly killing me, and if I’m serious about treatment for my PTSD, something has to change.
He raps his knuckles on his desk. “You know I’m fucking proud of you?”
I shift in my seat. “Don’t get mushy on me.” The sarcasm does nothing to stop the mist hazing my vision. “But yeah, I know. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
He halts his argument when I raise a hand.
“You put up with my shit for longer than anyone should have to, and while I’m sorry for crashing on your sofa and making your job difficult, I’m grateful you never gave up on me.
” It takes two attempts to clear my throat.
“I’ll miss parts of the job, but I won’t miss the reminders of my darkest days. You can’t change that. Only I can.”
He sniffs. “I’ll do what I can to convince the board to keep you on as a trainer. Selling the mental health part is going to be tricky. The budget is tight this year.”
“If it doesn’t work out, there are other ways I can help first responders.” I’ve already begun volunteering at a local crisis hotline and plan on starting an online forum for men’s mental health where people can reach out anonymously.
We share a look, exchanging words neither of us is ready to speak aloud right now.
“I remember how pissed you were about attending Oktoberfest for Ben’s bachelor party.” Marcus’s tone turns light as he smirks. “Imagine if you allowed your grumpy, anti-social ass to stay at home.”
I refuse to imagine what life would be like. It’s an alternative universe, something darker for sure. My mind only pictures the now.
My reality is lazy mornings in bed with my girl, dry cereal, scratchy records, and sweet laughter. It’s a reality that felt like sand slipping through my fingers at one point. Now, it’s tangible, more precious than all the jewels on the planet, and sits perfectly in the palms of my hands.
My phone dings, and Harriet’s name lights up the screen.
Marcus smiles. “There’s the object of your affection.”
“Screw you.” I laugh and unlock my phone.
Harriet: How did it go?
Warren: He’s sad. We both are. But it’s time.
Warren: The bigger question: how did your meeting go?
Harriet: Oh, you know. There are more pressing matters at hand.
I frown.
Warren: ???
Harriet: Don’t panic.
A sentence sure to cause panic.
I pale, and Marcus notices the shift in the air.
Harriet: I’m fine.
Harriet: Tate is with me.
Harriet: But there’s a high possibility I’m in labor.
The chair clatters to the floor as I dart to my feet.
Calm. Remain calm. She’s texting, which is a good sign.
Warren: How high?
Harriet: Like 100%.
Warren: I’m on my way.
This is the third time me or Harriet have been summoned to the hospital. I’m shaking, scared out of my wits, but I refuse to let this occasion be anything but positive.
I called her while I peeled out of the firehouse parking lot.
Harriet’s only request during her labor is calm.
So, before I enter the labor and delivery unit, I stop and breathe.
Harriet’s contractions are close together, but far enough apart that I had time to collect the hospital bags and triple-check the car seat. It’s progressing a lot quicker than most first time moms, and right after we hung up the phone, her water broke.
I’m buzzed through the double doors and directed down the corridor. I stop in my tracks at the sight of a tall man standing guard outside Harriet’s room. Thanks to my shameless Google searches, I quickly determine him to be Tate Brooks.
I’m not sure what to think of him. No one has technically said a bad word about the guy, and he drove Harriet here, but he’s also Talia’s ex. Or soon to be? Somewhere, hidden in the thick book of Girl Code, there’s an answer. I stick to being cordial as I approach him and stick out my hand.
“Tate?”
He looks up and straightens before gripping my hand. “That’s me. And you’re Warren? Harry’s man?”
“Yeah.” I nod at the closed door behind him. “I appreciate you driving her here.”
He scoops his hat off the floor and offers me a curt smile. “Glad I could be of service. I’ll head out, but I wish you all the best. She’s a great girl. You’re a lucky man.”
“I am.” A low moan from behind the door drag’s my attention away. “See you around.”
“Probably not,” he murmurs before disappearing around the corner.
Harriet sobs out my name as I barrel into the room. Far from calm.
I ignore the doctor and nurse surrounding Harriet’s bed and make a beeline for her. She’s standing next to the bed, bent over the mattress, and rocking side-to-side on her forearms. The bags thump to the floor as I curl my body over hers and press a kiss to her temple.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” I whisper into her hairline.
“It hurts. A lot.” She sucks in a breath then offers me a wobbly smile. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. I’ve got you.” I gather her long hair off her sweaty neck. “Do you want this tied back?”
“I would love that. And maybe a cold towel for my neck?”
I chuckle. “You don’t need to ask. Shout, and I’ll get you what you need.”
While I grab her a wet cloth, the doctor checks Harriet’s progress.
“I know you were concerned it’s a little early, but you’re almost full-term, and baby’s heart rate is great. Keep it going. Not long left. Dad, you made it just in time.” The doctor removes her gloves and gives us a warm smile. “I’ll be back soon to check in on you but buzz if you need anything.”
A few nurses enter the room, and I unpack Harriet’s handheld fan and a couple of cereal bars.
She decided against an epidural and takes each contraction like a fucking champ.
I do what I can to maintain a tranquil setting for her but I feel fucking useless standing on the sidelines.
The nurses do what they can to make me feel part of the process, which I appreciate.
I’d do anything to trade places with her or take away the pain.
Above everything, I’m willing the silent fear that’s slowly risen since she texted me to go away.
I don’t dare voice it, but I can’t help worrying that she and the baby are okay. Because they have to be. There isn’t any other option.
For months she’s been my anchor and rebuilt me from a pile of ruins.
Now it’s my turn to be hers.
Each time her body seizes with a contraction and she grips my hand tightly, I remind her exactly what we are. A team. And right now, she’s carrying us with her incredible strength and resilience.
A couple of hours later, the doctor returns. “You’re contractions are about two minutes apart. I think it’s time for another check to see how you’re progressing.”
Harriet gets back into bed and the doctor dons her gloves for an exam.
“Harriet, you’re ten centimeters.”
“Already?” she gasps.
“Baby wants to meet their parents.” She smiles reassuringly. “Do you want to stay on the bed or stand up again?”
“Bed. My legs are going to give out.” Harriet’s slightly panicked eyes meet mine and she reaches for me.
I’m there in a flash to help her into a comfortable position on her back while the doctors and nurses move around the room, preparing for the baby’s arrival. Harriet stares up at me, and the tears streaming down her cheeks knock the wind out of my sails.
“What’s wrong?” I duck my head.
“I’m scared.” She grasps my hand as another contraction takes control of her body. I welcome the crack of my knuckles if it lessens her pain.
I press our foreheads together. “I know, and you’re doing fucking amazing. It’s okay to be scared. Remember what you said? Fear drives us forward. You’re so brave and brilliant, and once you do this, you’ll meet our baby.”
“Our baby,” she echoes, and a soft smile cracks through the pain. “I love you.”
“I love you. So much. You can do this.” Her body goes rigid again, eyes scrunching shut.
“If you feel the urge to push, Harriet, now is the time,” a nurse says.
“You’ve got this. I’m right here.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders, eyes never leaving hers. “Let’s meet Button.”
Harriet nods adamantly, and then it’s go time.
She’s had me awestruck since the night we met, but witnessing her transition into motherhood so gracefully and fearlessly is a moment I’ll remember until the end of my days.
After twenty minutes of pushing, a nurse places a blanket on her chest. I hold her hand and with one final push, a baby is placed on her chest. The nurse on the opposite side of the bed uses the blanket to wipe them down and I hold my breath staring down at the baby—our baby.
Then everything changes when a tiny cry pierces the room.
“Congrats, Mom and Dad. It’s a boy.”
A boy.
A son.
Our son.
My son.
“Oh my god. Hi, baby. Hi, beautiful boy.” Harriet smiles, crying as the little miracle blinks slowly before staring up at his mama. “Warren. A boy. Look at him.”
I could fall to my knees and praise to every deity written, but to tear my gaze away from these two would be a crime. My heart was already overfilled with love for Harriet, and as I watch them both, my chest expands, making room for this baby boy.
I don’t wipe away the tears falling freely as I reach out, hand shaking, and gently stroke his cheek. “He’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. God, Harriet, you’re incredible.”
She beams at me, and I bend down, stealing a kiss before our attention returns to our son.
Our son.
If I needed another reason to be on this Earth, it would be to protect this little life. One look into his big, round eyes, and he owns me, as does his mother, without question. How I can love someone so fiercely after only just meeting them is beyond me.
“Thank you,” I say to them both. “Thank you for choosing me.”
Harriet cradles the baby to her breast. He settles, less startled after his dramatic entry into the world. “We’d choose you in every lifetime. Thank you for trusting us with your heart.”
Our gazes lock, sharing a million words.
We’re about to embark on an endless and beautiful adventure together, and I couldn’t be more grateful to be a part of it.
This isn’t just a team; it’s my family.