Two
Peter
Sarah’s warm hand squeezed mine as the white, tiled hallways melted into baby pinks and blues. With a step over the threshold, the hospital atmosphere morphed—from cold and clinical to warm and happy.
Exactly how a maternity ward should be.
I glanced down at my wife, noting the way her teeth worked her full bottom lip, like she was holding in a squeal, and the way her blue eyes shimmered with light.
With her left hand she clasped an aged fleece blanket around her shoulders.
Underneath was a merlot-colored dress that somehow made her red hair look like flames cascading down her back.
Her ironed-in curls were relaxed now, falling loose after all the movement and chaos of chasing kids and cleaning up after a wedding.
I gave a breathy chuckle, yanking her closer to me.
She looked up. “What?”
“You’re floating.”
She bumped my shoulder with hers. “So are you.”
Yeah, I was, surprisingly. I’d been concerned about my sister, Bea, for the last couple years.
She picked up her life and moved all her gigantic dreams to Texas for a cowboy I didn’t know from Adam.
And even though I’d gotten to know Tag a little bit, it was my big brother duty to worry about her.
Tag was a good dude—the best for Bea. I could say that confidently now.
Finally arriving, Sarah rapped on their door, and we were answered by a familiar song-like voice. “Come in!”
Bea reclined on the hospital bed with a little wad of pink blanket clutched against her chest. Sarah gasped and flew to Bea’s side—cooing and swooning.
She lifted a hand to her heart, going weak at the knees at the sight of the baby.
Mom sat on the couch nearby, and Tag stood from the edge of the bed and made his way toward me.
I lifted my hand to shake his. “Hey, man. Congratulations.”
“Thanks so much.” Tag’s ash brown curls, usually squished under a cowboy hat, were free and wild, like he’d been running his hands through them.
But his grey eyes shone with so much pride and contentment that I couldn’t help but smile.
Poor guy still wore slacks and a button-up shirt from the wedding.
So did I. Bea’s labor went so fast, no one even thought to change.
“How are you?”
“Doin’ great now.”
“I heard that drive aged you a little.”
Tag chuckled, shaking his head. “Might take a minute to recover from that.”
Mom came up behind him, arms outstretched. I bent down to hug her small frame as she kissed me on the cheek. “Tag should win an award for the way he was driving. Like a street racer!”
That made Tag laugh. “I didn’t wanna have a baby on the side of the highway.”
“Well, I’m starting to think you missed your calling to NASCAR.” Mom patted his shoulder.
Bea chimed in from the bed. “I had no idea he could drive like that.”
We all looked her direction and when my sister’s brown eyes met mine, I left my brother-in-law behind. Sidling up to the bed, I peered into a scrunched, pink face with some seriously droopy cheeks. An involuntary laugh lifted from my throat. “Oh my gosh, Bea! Those cheeks!”
Bea giggled. “I know! Aren’t they amazing?”
“Sis, she’s beautiful.”
Sarah thrust a container of hand sanitizer at me and I dutifully applied. Bea patted the edge of the bed, and the mattress bucked as I perched on it. “Do we finally get to learn her name?” I asked.
“It’s Wren Hope.”
Bea told us her birth story. How Wren wanted to arrive in the car.
How there wasn’t time for an epidural. How Tag was white as a sheet, but the perfect support.
Tag and Mom added their points of view a few times, and we laughed together.
Both Sarah and I got a turn holding Wren.
And even though Bea’s happiness was mesmerizing, I couldn’t take my eyes off my wife.
She held Wren like a natural, her smile radiating a level of joy I wondered if I’d ever feel while holding a baby. She ran the pads of her fingers over Wren’s cheeks and fussed with her hat and blanket. She hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, repeatedly tearing up.
Sarah was ready for this step.
I couldn’t deny that our future family had been rolling around my head more often than usual.
Maybe I was ready, too. For her sake, I wanted to be.
But, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that something terrible was going to happen.
I hadn’t always been a pessimist, a better-safe-than-sorry type, but it was hard to be positive about the future when life had handed us so many blows.
For the most part, Sarah and I were used to rolling with the punches—but with our babies, each try would be costly.
Physically and financially. That weighed heavy on me.
I knew there wouldn’t be a stars-aligning moment to let us know the coast was clear, but I couldn’t deny that I wanted a sign written on the wall that it was time to try.
And that the outcomes would be everything we hoped for.
Because if they weren’t, I would be all she ever had. She said she was okay with that, but watching her cradle a baby made me doubt. She’d be okay, maybe, but she wouldn’t be happy.
And if anyone deserved happiness, it was Sarah.
Back at Meadowbrook, Sarah stood in front of the bathroom mirror, removing her make-up with a cotton ball.
We were staying in Suite C at the bed and breakfast—for the second time in the same year.
First when Bea got married, and now for my oldest sister Hollie’s wedding.
I could only hope my remaining sisters would fall in love and settle down in Denver where they belonged.
I didn’t think I could handle any more of my family moving so far away.
Lost in thought, I unbuttoned my shirt, planning to take a quick shower.
Sarah breathed a quiet laugh. “What are you thinking about?”
I caught her gaze in the mirror. “Nothing.”
“You have the line.” She smirked.
I rolled my eyes. “I do not.” According to Sarah, I got a particular crease in my forehead when I fretted about something. I looked at my face in the mirror. She was right—I had the line.
“You cannot hide your worry from me.”
“I didn’t realize I was worrying.”
“I know. What is it this time?”
She reached up to pull the bobby pins from her half-way-up hairstyle. But I stepped behind her, taking over the task. Pressing my fingers into her curls, I searched my thoughts. “I think I was imagining the rest of my sisters married off to Texas cowboys.”
She hummed. “Cowboys suit the Thompson girls.”
I scowled at her. “No, they don’t.” I started a pile of pins on the edge of the ceramic sink.
She giggled, completely unphased by my grumping. “Have you ever seen Hollie so happy? She was absolutely glowing today. And Jesse might be one of the nicest guys I have ever met. He’s perfect for her. She’s like a completely different person.”
I nodded. She was—no one in their right mind would deny it.
“And Bea? She’s happy too, Peter.”
Bea was my favorite. Maybe the oldest son in the family wasn’t supposed to play favorites, but I did.
Everyone knew it, too. Bea and I were less than a year apart and she was my favorite person on earth besides my wife.
Her move to Texas, her marriage, and immediate pregnancy came like blows to me.
Even before she met Tag, when she left home to go on her music tours—I hated them.
Not because I wasn’t supportive, but because we had done every phase of life together, and the end of that era wounded my spirit more than it should have.
“I know.” I conceded with a long sigh. “You’re right.”
Her brows shot up as her eyes lit with fire. “I’m sorry? What did you just say?”
A helpless smile spread across my face as I removed the last pin and sank my fingers into the roots of her hair, gently scraping her scalp. Turning her head with my hands, I leaned over her ear and whispered, “You…are…right.”
She gave a dramatic, guttural hum. “How I love those words.”
I pressed a kiss to her jaw. “You’re right about most things.”
“Oh, you’re talking dirty now.”
My lips moved to her neck. She tipped her head to the side, granting me passage to the freckled column of her neck.
I took my time trailing kisses down to the tiny strap of her dress, which I brushed off the edge of her shoulder to clear a path.
My hands wound around her hips, pulling her flush against my body.
She hummed again—a low purr of contentment I’d heard many, many times.
Need flickered to life in my chest at that soft sound.
It took so little from Sarah to turn me into a beggar. I pushed my nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. Tugging on the strap hanging off her shoulder, I murmured, “Have I told you how sexy you look in this color?”
“Only about twenty times.”
“You smell good.”
She giggled. “Thank you.”
“I want you.”
“Honey, it’s like two in the morning. You need to sleep or you’ll—”
“Shhh.” I lifted a finger to her lips and raised my head, our eyes connecting through the mirror. Ever since my first seizure, Sarah became my volunteer hydration, nutrition, and slumber police. “I’ve already lost an entire night of sleep. What’s thirty more minutes?”
“Just thirty?”
“Fine. An hour.”
I slipped my hands over the slopes of her curves, relishing in the way she melted against me.
She whispered, her voice breathless, “We—have to leave early for our flight.”
“We’ll sleep on the plane.”
She deadpanned. “You’ve never taken a nap on a plane in your life.”
“Hush.” My fingers found the zipper on the back of her dress, slowly freeing her from the confining fabric she’d worn all day. “Shower with me.”
Leaving her to shimmy free, I turned on the water, finding the temperature she preferred—one degree under skin-boiling. Steam billowed into the room as I pulled off my shirt and slacks. And when I turned back to her, Sarah went up on her toes to kiss me.