"You're not walking away from me again," he said as he kissed my jaw and cheeks. "That was the last time, and I don't care what it takes, but—"
I pressed my palms to his chest, more insistent now. "Nick," I breathed. "The baby. I'm here to see the baby."
His fingers raked through my hair before fisting around the strands. "Then that's what we'll do, lovely," he said. "But you're not leaving until we straighten this out."
His hazel eyes met mine, and he raised a brow, as if he was challenging me to argue with him. What he didn't seem to understand was that I was all out of fight. I'd fought with myself since leaving him in Cozumel, and I'd fought with my entire universe. He'd held the ugliest parts of me up for viewing, and then demanded that I do better.
Didn't he see that I was trying? That I washere?
"That's fine," I said. I tried to touch my fingers to my lips without drawing his attention there. Failed. "I'm pretty sure my sister's going to tell me to get the fuck away from her baby. And you know, now that I think about it, the last time I was on the T, they still accepted tokens. They were phasing them out, but there was still a slot. I don't think there's a slot anymore, and I don't know where I'm going. Also, I don't think I brought anything other than t-shirts. There might have been earmuffs. I don't know. It was a blur. I'm probably going to need to buy some jeans or something. So, yeah. A chaperone would be nice."
Nick laughed to himself, and he shoved his hand in my back pocket. "Ah, Skip," he said, squeezing my ass. "I've missed running into those storms of yours."
* * *
It was early,and the late November morning was like apple pie, all golden and bright and hearty. The city felt different today, a thick-armed embrace rather than the icy prison I'd remembered. Nick felt different, too. He didn't say anything while he drove through Boston, toward the Longwood neighborhood that housed many of the city's hospitals and medical research facilities. Maybe that was the difference, that he wasn't speaking.
He's not the only one who can talk.
Eyes closed, I flattened my hand to my chest, pressing the hard lines of my compass into my skin. If only the right direction was as simple as north, south, east, or west.
I got myself here, and I can get myself through this.
"How is she?" I asked. "Shannon."
Nick dragged his fingers over his beard again—I wasnotcomplaining—as he thought. "She's good," he said. His words were soft and measured, as if he was trying to calm an attack dog. "She delivered around two this morning."
"And Froggie?" I asked. That my voice didn't wobble over those two words was a small gift.
He pulled into an underground garage and flashed a badge at the parking attendant manning the gate. "She's doing well," he said, pulling into a spot reserved for visiting surgeons.
"Do you know if anyone else is here?" I asked, pointing upward, meaning the hospital. "My brothers?"
"They aren't here yet," he said. "Visiting hours don't start until nine, and Shannon and Will asked that everyone wait until then."
"But it's only seven thirty," I said, gesturing to the dashboard clock.
"Yeah, it's a good thing you're with me," he said, holding up the badge that'd gained him access to the garage. He released his seatbelt and leaned on the center console, watching me. "Are you ready? We can wait. We can grab some breakfast, and come back later." He glanced at my body, frowning. "When was the last time you ate? You're wasting away, Skip."
I shook my head, brushing that last comment aside. I wasn't regaling him with tales of cookie dough, or vomit. "We're not waiting," I said, tracing the compass through my shirt. I reached for the door handle, either to exit the vehicle or puke all over myself again. Maybe both. "We're here. We're doing this."
He tapped his fist on the steering wheel with a nod, and opened his door. A thick stench of exhaust and stale water filled the garage, and the antiseptic smell of the hospital was only slightly better. The elevator was much too big and quiet for me and Nick, and he was much too calm, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I tapped my boot against the floor. Toe, then heel. Toe, heel, toe, heel.
"Calm down, darlin'," he said.
"I'm calm," I snapped as the doors opened. "Completely fucking calm."
"Ah," he murmured, his hand settling on the small of my back. He steered me down the hall, and stopped outside a closed door. "So we're lying to ourselves today. Good to know."
"Is this her?" I asked, studying the room number as if it would reveal something essential.
He nodded and edged me forward with a firm shove. "I'll be out here."
"You're not coming with me?" I said, panicked.
"This isn't about me," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I thought I could drag you back here and force this conversation. You, me, and everyone in Cozumel knows how that ended."
He scowled at the floor for a moment, then propped his hands on his hips. Another time, when my stomach wasn't performing back-handsprings in my throat, I'd enjoy the hell out of that bossy doctor pose.
