Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Wade
“I’m not going to be worth shit tomorrow.”
My reflection stares back at me. Much to my dismay, I look as tired as I feel. My forehead is streaked with a set of deep horizontal lines that are more evident when I’m exhausted. The dark splotches that sit below my eyes are indicative of the hour.
I’m never up at one in the morning. Ever.
I wipe off the sink, soaking up the splashes of water on the marble from brushing my teeth, and then hang up the towel on the hook next to my robe. The light is off with a simple flick of my wrist, and I walk into my bedroom.
Sinatra croons from the surround sound, his voice pairing with the warmth of the fireplace perfectly. It should create a relaxing atmosphere to assist me in winding down from the day … but it doesn’t.
Not tonight.
I sit on the edge of my bed and run a hand through my damp hair.
My inability to relax enough to wind down did result in a wave of productivity. Instead of going to bed at ten, as I do every night, I headed to my office downstairs and caught up on a number of peripheral projects. Hopefully, it’ll help take some pressure off tomorrow.
Because God knows I’ll have my hands full.
A smirk touches my lips as my mind drifts to Dara. I’m not sure what to think about her. She’s captivating with her quick wit and seemingly boundless energy. Her refusal to simply answer a question without spinning it into a conversation about some esoteric topic is also frustrating.
And that body? Fuck my life.
I should’ve called this whole thing off from the get-go. My gut told me to tell Oliver no, to refuse to participate in this time-consuming situation. I definitely knew it was a bad idea when she marched into my office … and hugged me.
“Dammit,” I groan, tugging at the roots of my hair.
If I’m going to do this, and I’m in too far not to do it at this point, I’ll have to figure out how to separate Dara from everything else.
Her project will get a set time each day, just like any other project.
I’m not giving it any special attention.
No matter what happens, her design cannot and will not bleed into the rest of my work.
It’s just another job. She’s just another client.
I flip off the light and quiet Sinatra. I reach for the remote to disable the fireplace but choose to leave it on at the last second. Maybe it’ll help me sleep.
The bed is cool, the sheets crisp, as I slide into my spot. I toss and turn a little until I finally get comfortable. The stress in my body eases as I sink into the soft mattress.
My eyes close. My mind moves away from work, and I use the moment of peace to whisper my prayers. Just as I’m starting to drift off, a buzzing sound rips through the air.
“What the hell?” I reach for my phone and flip it over. When I see Coy’s name, I sit up. “Hello?”
“Hey, Wade.”
Coy’s voice is low, just a few decibels above a whisper.
I can count on one hand how many times Coy has called me in the middle of the night.
Once was a butt dial that he never repeated.
Another time he was drunk and had a math problem he’d wagered one hundred dollars on and wanted me to give him and his buddies the answer.
I did not comply. The third time was for bail money after he visited a bar that I warned him not to visit.
That time, I did help him out.
But this is different. I can hear it in his voice. A ripple of something woven into his tone has my stomach tightening as I listen.
“You busy?” he asks.
I rough a hand over my face. “Well, it’s after one in the morning, so take that for what you will. Why? What’s up?”
There’s a pause. A long one.
I climb out of bed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Everything is fine. I just … I brought Bells back to the hospital a little bit ago.”
I still. “Is she all right?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah. She’s fine. The doctor said everything looks good and that we should have a baby sometime today.”
A hefty stream of air escapes my lungs as my body relaxes. “That’s good news.”
“For sure.”
A chair squeaks in the background as Coy sighs. I walk to the window overlooking the pool below and wonder what he’s thinking. But as soon as my mind triggers that thought process, my stomach twists so hard that I think I might hurl.
“Bells doesn’t want me to call Mom or her dad or anyone until morning,” he says softly. “She feels bad that they were here all day for nothing.”
“It’s not like she was wasting their time on purpose.”
“I know. The doctor said it could be a long time yet, and she doesn’t want people sitting around all night.”
The solar lights outside light up the pool area with a soft glow. When was the last time I spent time out there? I have no idea. Before I can figure it out, Coy sighs again.
I scratch the top of my head. “So, did you call me just to shoot the shit? Boone is great at that, you know.”
Coy chuckles, but it’s not a free, easygoing sound. It’s stifled. Stressed. And I read between the lines … even if I don’t want to.
This is the last thing I want to do tonight. Or, really, ever. I contemplate telling him to call Oliver or Holt—he’d be happy to moan on and on about his wedding, and they could distract each other until the sun comes up. Even though it’s what I want to do, I can’t.
“I’ll let you go,” Coy says. “Bellamy is stirring. She might need some ice or something.”
“All right. Go take care of her.”
“Hey, Wade?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice tense.
“Thanks for answering.”
“You know it.”
The line disconnects, and I head back to the bathroom.
“Thank you,” I whisper and head down the corridor.
My stomach roils with the stench of artificial cleaners and soaps. I’ll have to shower as soon as I get back home because the antiseptic scent of the hospital will attach itself to me somehow.
Happens every time.
I knock softly against the door to Suite 4A. Then I crack it open until I spot my brother sitting in a chair. The movement catches Coy’s attention, and he looks up.
“Wade,” he whispers, sitting upright. “What are you doing here?”
I step inside the room. Bellamy is fast asleep as monitors beep all around her.
My throat goes dry. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Coy gets to his feet and walks across the room. Before I can change the subject, he pulls me into a hug.
“It’s good to see you, man,” he says as he pulls back.
I glance at Bellamy again before looking back at my brother. “You want to take a walk? Get some coffee or something in the cafeteria?”
He reaches toward the edge of the bed and rests his hand on Bellamy’s foot. The trepidation in Coy’s face sits right on the surface.
“She’ll be okay,” I tell him. “We’ll tell the nurse where we’re going, and we won’t be gone long.”
He nods, still unsure, but trusts me to lead him out of the room. After a quick stop to converse with the nurse, we’re on an elevator downstairs.
I jam my hands in the pocket of my jeans and try to feel out the situation. My head is foggy from the lack of sleep. Further, I have no idea how to handle this. Despite my natural inclination to approach it from a logical standpoint, I’m aware that my brother’s emotions are running high.
Why couldn’t he have called Oliver?
“Mom doesn’t know you’re here?” I ask as the elevator doors open.
“No. I’ll call her in the morning.”
We start down the hallway toward the cafeteria.
“But you decided you’d call me,” I say, putting the obvious out there.
“Funny, right?”
“It would’ve been more amusing around eight o’clock—morning or evening. You pick.”
He grins as we make our way to the coffee bar but doesn’t reply. We work quietly side by side, filling our small cups with coffee. Coy adds both sugar and cream to his while I make my way to the cashier and pay.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Hollis,” Coy says, his voice distant as we walk toward a table.
“How’s he doing?”
“I mean, he’s okay. Sad as hell. Can you imagine being separated from us, having a hell of a life, and finally getting yourself to a point when you can go back and try to locate us …
to find out we’re dead?” He sits in the chair across from the one I pull out for myself.
“I hate it for him. I really hoped things would be different for the guy.”
I swirl my coffee around in my cup. “Guess we don’t always get what we want, huh?”
Coy’s head bows. “You know, I bet Hollis’s parents didn’t expect to lose their kids when they were born.”
“Coy …”
He looks up, his eyes wide and wild. “Wade, what if … what if I can’t do this? What if I can’t be a dad?”
I set my cup down and fold my hands in front of me.
“I’m sitting in this chair for hours on end while Bellamy is in a misery that I can’t stop,” he says hurriedly. “And in a matter of hours, there will be another human being in this world, and I will be responsible for him.”
“It’s a little late to be considering this angle.”
He gives me a look that’s half shock, half glare. “Is that your attempt at a joke?”
“It would be funny if it weren’t true.” I shift in my seat. “But if you’re being serious and wondering if your kid is going to grow up in foster care and come looking for you someday, the answer is no. Mom won’t let that happen.”
He sighs and sits back in his chair.
I mirror his reaction. “I know you must be … I don’t know—fearful? Anxious?”
“What if I fuck this up, Wade? What if I don’t know what to do? What if—”
“What if you’re great at it?”
I want to roll my eyes at my own words. They’re so fucking cheesy. But I don’t know how else to say it.
Despite my hope that he takes this at surface level, he doesn’t. He just sits in his chair with his coffee in his hand and waits as though he expects me to expound on why he’ll be a successful parent.
“Look,” I say, sucking in a breath as I prepare myself for what’s about to come out of my mouth.
“I know you must be feeling a number of ways right now. That’s what happens before the biggest events of our life.
But you have to back away from all of that emotion and think back to the version of you that got you into this mess—I mean, situation. ”
Coy grins.
I shake my head, refocusing. “There was a day, a month, whatever that you were sober and of sound mind, and you made a decision to start a family with Bellamy. Although I can’t fathom why she agreed.
” I return his smile. “And now, here you are, about to realize your dreams for a little mini-Coy, and that’s exciting stuff if that’s your thing.
It’s apparently your thing since you chose this. ”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be good at it.”
His tone lacks the conviction from earlier. It’s more conversational, more humor me. Even though I very rarely humor anyone, especially my brothers, it’s well after two in the morning, and I’m already here.
So fuck it.
“What’s the most important thing in the world?” I ask him.
“Family.”
“You said that without thinking. No hesitation.”
He shrugs. “What’s there to think about? I’d do anything for you guys. Obviously for Bellamy. For Hollis and Riss.”
“And that’s why you are going to be a great dad.”
He mulls that over, sipping his coffee. If I thought I looked tired earlier, Coy looks exhausted. But there’s a hint of something in his eyes as though he could flip a switch and bust out a marathon.
I do not have that.
“You aren’t going to do this alone,” I say, yawning. “Bellamy is entirely more intelligent than you. You have Mom. And Dad, if you’re being ballsy.”
We exchange a grin.
“You have Holt. Ollie. Boone and he even did something productive and had a child for you so yours has a cousin. And a babysitter in a few years.” I lean back in my chair. “Look at that. Boone being helpful. Wow.”
Coy smirks. “And you.”
“Me? What about me?”
“And I have you.”
I scoff, shoving my chair back. “I’m not the one, Coy. I assure you.”
We stand, straightening our table before heading toward the recycling receptacle. We toss our cups in the bin and then head toward the elevators.
Once we get to the doors, we stop.
Coy looks at me. “Wonder why I called you tonight?”
“Well, the question did cross my mind.”
“Because I knew that out of all of my brothers, you would be the one to tell me the truth.”
I chuckle. “What if I would’ve told you that you were going to suck as a dad?”
“Then I would’ve called Oliver, listened to him tell me you were an idiot, and took his side.”
My chuckle grows louder.
“Thanks for coming, Wade. When I called you, I didn’t expect this, and it means a lot. Truly.”
I take a step back. I don’t want or need his gratitude. He’s family, and short of taking deals that I truly don’t want to touch, I’d do anything for them.
Because that’s what you do.
“It’s fine. No big deal,” I say.
“It is a big deal.”
“You, uh, have a wife upstairs who’s probably looking for you, and I have a bed that’s missing me. So, if your confidence is boosted and you’re good to go, I’m going to go too.”
Coy pushes the button to go up. “My ego has been restored. Thank you.”
“I’d say it was my pleasure, but I’d rather not start my day off by lying.” I tap him on the shoulder as I head toward the exit. “If you need me … call Oliver.”
Coy’s laughter follows me through the automatic doors.
Something else follows me—a memory from long ago. It was spurred by the scent that lingers on my clothes, the same one from that night in college.
The one I try to forget.
The one I’m never fully able to forget.
I climb in my Mercedes and turn on the radio. As Ray LaMontagne begins to sing, my mind struggles to adjust. So, I make a conscious decision—just this one time—to let it fall to the one thing, the one person who I know will distract me: Dara.
In the darkness of the car, alone in the middle of the night, I let myself smile while I think of the little spitfire I’ll see in just a few hours.