32. Dexter
DEXTER
The call came on a Tuesday evening. I was in the kitchen with Janey, preparing to lock up for the night. We had a huge supply of baking goods being delivered at the ass crack of dawn, and my feet were killing me.
My thoughts flitted from holiday ideas to my mom’s email from earlier.
She’d doubled down on the idea of opening a Dexter’s Donuts in Grosse Pointe, sending me spreadsheets and photos of the property.
She made a compelling argument, but it was a lot to think about with a baby on the way. I wanted to talk to Viggo and—
And then I remembered that I had to give him space.
I couldn’t lean on him anymore. The writing was on the wall.
I could feel him pulling away, a little every day…
like he was reestablishing boundaries. He’d taken on a project in Rutland last week that required long hours and a daily commute.
For the first time in weeks I wasn’t sure when he’d be home or if I should ask.
I fucking hated it, but I understood. I mean, my stomach hurt and the headache I had earlier in the day scared the hell out of me, but I understood.
“Chris is making pot pie, bless his soul. I’m mentally prepared to find a black hole where my stove should be,” Janey snarked.
I rolled my eyes as I shrugged on my jacket. “Good luck.”
Buzz buzz
“I’ll need it. Your cell is vibrating on the counter, by the way.” She tugged a beanie over her short hair.
“Ah, thanks. See you tomorrow, Janey.”
“Bright and early!”
Buzz buzz
I waved, then reached for my phone, smiling at the caller ID. “Hi, Freya. How are you?”
“N-not good. I’m at the hospital. I think something’s wrong.” Her voice broke. “Call Viggo for me, please. Hurry.”
My heart lodged in my throat as a chill crept up my spine.
“I’m…okay. I’m on my way.”
Please let her be okay. Please, please, please.
I left a message for Viggo on my way to the hospital.
Two fucking hours on the road was torture.
I’d said I was going to stay in Burlington as she got closer to the due date, but I hadn’t done anything about that.
I’d been too busy, and Freya had seemed fine.
And I hadn’t wanted to be away from Viggo and… oh, fuck, my head hurt.
The last time I’d thought I was on the brink of a dream come true, I’d lost everything. I wasn’t sure I could go through that again. But this was different. The stakes were higher.
Much higher.
This wasn’t just about me. There was a woman grieving her friend, a brother honoring his sister’s memory, a grandmother grappling with her definition of family and duty…
and the man who wanted to be the father his wasn’t.
So much hope, forgiveness, and promise riding on this little person. It seemed like an unfair burden.
All I could think was that I wished Viggo was with me. I wanted to hear the low rumble of his voice reassuring me that everything was going to be okay.
The second I peeled into the hospital parking lot, I was out of my SUV and racing for the main lobby.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Freya again.
“I’m doing better. Don’t worry, okay? Viggo is here and—”
“He’s here? I’m here too. I just arrived.” I raked my fingers through my hair and massaged my temple.
She said she was in the maternity ward. She sounded a thousand times better than she had earlier. Chatty, even. Her friend Alice was with her, Viggo was pacing, but everything was okay. “I’m sorry, Dex. I feel terrible.”
“Don’t. I’m relieved.”
I was also on the verge of a nervous breakdown, thank you very much.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing my blood pressure to return to normal.
You’ve got this. Your head isn’t going to explode. It’s just a little stress. You can do this on your own.
Freya lay propped in a hospital bed, her hair cascading on her pillow like a golden halo as she chatted amicably with Dr. Razminski and a pretty woman with brown curls she introduced as her friend and neighbor, Alice. And Viggo…standing like a statue at the window.
The episode of The Office muted on the small screen TV and the bag of M&M’s and sunflower seeds on the credenza juxtaposed the scary hospital vibe. But I was riding a two-plus hour wave of terror and wasn’t quite able to process the downgraded sense of urgency.
“We’re treating her for mild preeclampsia,” Dr. Razminski explained. “Her blood pressure was elevated, which isn’t uncommon at this stage of pregnancy. It can manifest in a variety of symptoms—headaches, sudden swelling, abdominal pain.”
I glanced helplessly from Freya to Viggo to the doctor. “Will you induce labor or—”
“No, no. We did an ultrasound and the baby is under no stress whatsoever. You’ve got a good two to three weeks to go. She just needs to put her feet up and relax. No more trips out of town.”
I furrowed my brow. “What about medication?”
“None necessary. Freya needs to rest and relax. That’s the best cure.” Dr. Razminski smiled kindly. “I’ll sign release papers now. Have a good night and please…don’t worry, Dads. She’s fine.”
I rubbed my jaw and glanced at Viggo. He hadn’t moved a muscle or said a word. That was worrisome, but my sense of relief outweighed my anxiety.
I collapsed in the chair next to Alice’s and took Freya’s hand. “Fuck, you scared me.”
Freya cradled her belly protectively. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. It all happened at once—a terrible headache and my ankles looked like I had melons attached to them, and my stomach was aching everywhere. Alice lives next door. She’s a writer and she works from home.”
“We check on each other every day,” Alice said.
“Thank you for that.” I patted Alice’s arm.
“Viggo?” Freya tilted her chin and held a hand out. She spoke in Swedish, her tone soft and soothing. He finally stirred, moved to the opposite side of the bed, and linked their fingers. His expression remained hard and unreadable.
Months ago, I might have thought he was cold and emotionally stunted. Now I knew he simply felt too much.
They spoke in hushed tones in Swedish. I didn’t know the language, but I didn’t need to. I could tell he was upset and that she was comforting him.
The sense of helplessness overwhelmed me. I wasn’t sure what to do or say. He seemed to be in pain, though. Real pain. It was in the slump of his shoulders and the firm set of his jaw. He’d been here before…or hadn’t been and he was scared.
Fuck, I was scared.
Viggo met my gaze and tried to smile. “I told you it would be okay.”
I blubbered a half-laugh and for the first time in hours felt my shoulders relax. But as I stood and stepped toward him, Viggo squeezed my elbow and walked out the door.
I stared after him helplessly. “He’s not okay.”
“No.” Freya shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Please go.”
I caught up to Viggo at the elevator. He stood in the far corner, arms crossed, oozing serious Do Not Disturb vibes. I gave him space and followed him outside to the knoll with brown grass and bare trees beside the parking lot.
He zipped his jacket and faced me, his eyes haunted. “You should stay.”
“I will. I just…what about you?”
“I don’t belong here.”
“Yes, you do,” I countered. “Of course you do. For me, for Freya, and the baby, and—”
“No. Not again. This”—he gestured wildly in the direction of the hospital—“this is what I can’t do.”
“Because of Annika?”
Viggo growled angrily. “Not her. You.”
“Me? I-I don’t understand.”
He shook his head and spoke in Swedish. “I can’t have these feelings for you and have this happen. I can’t…”
“Viggo…nothing is going to happen. You heard the doctor. She says it’s normal and c’mon…you just told me it’s okay, and it is okay. It’s—”
“Stop. I’m not okay with this. Me. And it’s happening anyway. Fuck.”
“Viggo, what are you talking about?”
“Jag ?lskar dig.” His bottom lip trembled and his eyes blazed with fury or fear, I couldn’t be sure.
I froze. “What does that mean?”
“It means…go take care of Freya. Go be a dad. Go live your dream and be happy. It’s time for you to do it on your own now. It’s time, Dex. It’s time.” With that, Viggo cupped my chin and kissed me, and enveloped me in a bearlike embrace, repeating over and over, “Jag ?lskar dig. Jag ?lskar dig.”
I was briefly surrounded by the familiar scent of pine forest and the man I was head over heels for.
And then he was gone.
Me? I was reeling. I didn’t understand what was happening and at the same time…
I did. We’d been dancing around good-bye for weeks, ignoring the calendar and carrying on as if another solution would magically appear.
If something was wrong with Freya or the baby, he’d stay and it would be for all the right reasons, but we were never supposed to factor into the equation.
There was no “we.”
There was no “us.”