60. Kendra
Kendra
“She’s my girlfriend and we live together.” Eli stiffens.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Hargrove, it’s hospital policy.” The nurse tries to reason with an unreasonable Eli again.
“Get a fucking pastor up here and I’ll marry her right now!” he shouts.
“Even a, um, marriage right this second wouldn’t automatically make her Wren’s legal guardian, Mr. Hargrove, it doesn’t work like that. Again, I’m sorry.” The nurse looks uncomfortable now.
I give her a sympathetic smile and tug on Eli’s arm, pulling him just inside of Wren’s new room located on the pediatric floor.
“Shhh! Stop! Hulk, it’s fine,” I say, trying to lighten his mood. “Babies, children are sleeping, stop with the bulging veins. I will just come back in a few hours, and then I can bring you stuff from home that you need anyways.”
“It’s a stupid rule,” Eli grumbles.
“No, it’s not. It’s about safety and I get it.” I go up on my tiptoes and run my fingers through his dark hair.
“Fine, but you better be back here at eight a.m. on the fucking dot,” he demands, bending closer to me.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper in his ear. He groans, and I know I got him to loosen up at least a tiny bit.
Eli leans down farther and kisses me. “I, I . . . I’ll see you soon.” He swallows back those unsaid words again.
“See you soon.” I go over to the hospital crib where Wren is finally sleeping, hooked up to an IV, monitors, and too many things that beep and bring up memories that I don’t want to think about from my mom.
I kiss her forehead with a featherlight pressure so I don’t disturb her.
“See you soon too, peanut. I love you,” I whisper so only she can hear my words.
Not her legal guardian and can’t make any decisions regarding her care.
Not listed on her emergency contact forms.
Can’t stay.
Only welcome during visiting hours.
I understand why I was not allowed to stay. I do. Rationally it made total sense. Emotionally? It was ripping me apart, but I couldn’t let Eli know that and would not let him take on my insecurities when his focus needed to be on his daughter.
Stepping back into his silent house alone felt eerie.
After the commotion, adrenaline, and panic flowing through me as I left not that long ago, this feels wrong.
Not having Eli and Wren also feels wrong.
Walking away at the hospital felt the most wrong.
But there is absolutely nothing I could do about it.
When Eli shouted for a pastor I almost passed out—then I could have stayed at the hospital, in my own bed with another concussion and some stitches most likely. It was obvious that he said it in the heat of the moment, but . . .
Don’t even go there. Just because he called you his girlfriend, literally for the first time ever, and then followed it up by that proclamation seconds later doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, Kendra Elizabeth.
I needed a power nap, a shower, a thousand gallons of coffee, and then to pack up Eli’s and Wren’s things so I can get back up to the hospital in time for Eli’s mandatory eight a.m. expectation.
There is no way of knowing how long Wren will need to stay at the hospital, but I figure I can refresh her bag and Eli’s as often as needed.
Her stuff was easier to pack because I knew they would be providing all the diapers and formula Wren would use.
I pulled together some of her favorite toys, books Eli liked to read to her the most, extra pacifiers, pajamas, and two more blankets to keep her cozy as we held her.
Standing in the doorway of Eli’s bedroom felt oddly intimate and intimidating.
We don’t really spend time in here together.
When we were playing with Wren it was downstairs or in her room, sometimes snuggling with her but always in my bed or on the couch.
The only time we had fallen asleep together was also in my room.
Eli hasn’t done much to claim this room as his own other than push his massive king-sized bed against the center wall and place a nightstand on the side of the bed that he obviously claimed as “his.” The deep-blue-patterned quilt and crisp white sheets are surprisingly made up neatly, pillows nicely arranged and chopped in the middle, leaning on the wall since there is no headboard.
The outdated maroon paint and worn carpet are still classic Savelli and held no trace of what Eli would like.
This is just a landing zone for him. A place to sleep, nothing more.
All his focus had been on finding a home for his daughter and plans for making her space special.
There were things he wanted to do to the house, but they all revolved around how it would benefit Wren.
I had a feeling his own room would be last on his long list of changes around here .
. . and it made me sad to think that I wouldn’t be under the same roof day-to-day seeing them happen.
The attached bathroom is a decent size, and I see Eli’s black Dopp Kit bag sitting on the counter unzipped and half strewn across the double vanity when I walk in.
That will at least make my job a little easier.
I scoop up the items and put them back making sure he has the essentials like a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant.
And like a crazy person, I smell it because I miss him.
The potency of a hit straight from the source makes me feel dizzy.
It is good, but also missing the unique mix of just Eli that intoxicates me the most.
Next I make my way to the single mirrored dresser across from his bed.
I feel bad going through the drawers to get the things I need to pack in the duffle bag Eli told me I’d find in the bottom of his closet, but then I remember how he’d also done the same for me not that long ago.
And my packing was a much more extensive process than tossing a few T-shirts in a bag.
Getting over my discomfort, I get to work.
A pair of jeans, sweats, a couple shirts, a hoodie in case he gets cold, socks. Now underwear . . .
I blush as I slide open the drawer that holds dozens of the same style of black boxer briefs.
The ones that I saw with my own eyes on Eli in my studio and recurrent dreams since.
Squeezing my eyes closed I jam my hand into the drawer to just grab a handful and throw them in the bag with everything else.
Now is not the right time to get lost in my lust-filled fantasies.
A crinkling sound at the bottom of the drawer pulls my attention back, and curiosity gets the better of me.
I’m going to hell for snooping.
An old piece of paper is my reward, folded in quarters and worn smooth from obviously handling it often over time. Slowly I unfold it and gasp, stumbling back at the sight of the familiar image on the paper.