There’s a humming sound, though. A low one. Someone butchering whatever tune they’re attempting. I blink to clear the fog in my eyes, and my head is turned to a perfect angle that I see in front of me, across the room and near that window, Blaise Sinclair in a rocking chair.
Since he’s not looking at me and I’m not sure I can speak yet, I have nothing to do but study him. The moonlight is hitting him just right to highlight his solid, proud profile, giving him an ethereal look. It doesn’t help that he’s shirtless. That might be something fairly normal for him, but it’s an odd sight. Like a god or an alien suddenly forming on Earth in a complete form in the middle of a hospital.
He’s not supernatural, though. He’s just an incredibly handsome man who has a baby lying flat on his chest.
My son.
It’s a powerful, poignant, devastating sight. The way Blaise looks down on him, with the softest smile and eyes glittering like tears have welled in them, it’s oh, so easy to pretend that this is the future. That he’s holdinghisson.
He’s got his hand on the baby’s diapered bottom, and he’s patting it gently, giving him bounces, but the tiniest of bounces.
Joss really likes Blaise, and she’s generally a good judge of character, which makes me feel like somehow I’m the villain and he’s the victim, even though I have no idea why. Seeing him like this confirms it in a weirdly satisfactory way. This isn’t his baby. He didn’t outright say he’s the father, but he didn’t go against anyone who implied that he was while they were prepping me for surgery, which saved me from feelingawkward about having no one here with me. He stepped in big time, and he didn’t need to do that.
He doesn’t need to be soothing my baby right now, doing all those things that they say you should do for babies. He didn’t need to stay.
And that’s making me feel things that I’m probably feeling because I’m exceptionally vulnerable right now, but I’m still feeling them.
I clear my throat as best as I can, unsure if I can do anything else.
Blaise looks up, and for a single blink of his eyes, I see seething hatred in them. But it clears up immediately, and he whispers, “I’ll go get a nurse.”
He hops up, already crossing past me — carrying my baby with him as though he’s forgotten you’re not supposed to walk around with other people’s babies — but I shake my head as best as I can. I know what happens when the nurses arrive.
I’ve never had any really terrible experiences with anyone in the hospital. Yeah, some people are seriously overworked and can be a bit rushed, but I don’t think my care ever suffered for it. But this was a major surgery. Things are going to get busy in here, and I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to exist yet.
“Stop,” I cough out.
He finally halts and raises an eyebrow like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.
“Just . . . wait. Water.”
I kind of hate how easy he makes it look as he navigates around the room, grabbing a gigantic cup with a straw and a lid, dumping some ice in it from a small bucket, and filling it halfway from a tap, all with my baby dozing on his chest. He brings it to me, and I’m thankful he sits on theedge of my hospital bed and holds the cup for me. I don’t know if I have the strength for it.
I sip from it carefully, testing it in my stomach. Some anesthesia makes me sick, and I don’t know what they gave me. I don’t know how long I was out or how devastating the surgery was on my body. So I don’t overload myself too much, just wetting my throat before resting my head back down.
“That’s all you want?” he asks.
“For now. I’ll want more in another minute. For now, can I see Orin?”
“An RN? Is that any nurse? Do you need an RN specifically?”
I try to laugh, but the sound is desiccated. “No,Orin. My baby.”
“Orange?”
“Orin!” I huff, half-expecting some alarm to start beeping to echo my irritation. “My baby. That’s his name. He’s a boy, right?”
Blaise scowls at me. “Of course he is. But his name is Donovan.”
“No, it’s Orin.”
“Like the popcorn guy?”
I swear I don’t have the brain function for this conversation, although honestly, it could be Blaise who’s suffering in that department. “That’s Orville. He’s Orin. It’s my dad’s name.”
“Okay, well, it’s nothisname. His name is Donovan. Isn’t that right, buddy?” he asks the baby, so audacious he leans down and kisses the baby’s forehead. “Just like my hero. My man, McNabb.”
“You can’t name other people’s babies, Blaise!”
