Chapter One
“I can’t do this.I beat the shit out of your brother. Look at my hand.” Tate raised his hand from the passenger seat of my car. He was so drunk he could barely hold it up long enough for me to glance over and see the dried blood all over his knuckles.
“Is that his blood or yours?” I asked, focusing back on the road. He rubbed his hand with the other one and sighed deeply.
“Mine. He ducked and I hit the sidewalk,” his voice was mournful as he turned his head to look out the window. “Where are we going?”
“Tate, you need to sober up. You reek of tequila and,” I grimaced, “when did you shower last?”
“I threw up in Dally’s bedroom.”
“I know.” My stomach lurched, remembering the struggle to get him into my car. There was a stretch of silence before I answered his question. “We are going to the hospital. Whitley is in labor. Your daughter is coming.”
“Oh, that’s nice. On her birthday.”
I smiled, despite myself. Drunk Tate, although smelling horrendous, was kind of adorable. Regular Tate was too. That was what made him so great. He sat up suddenly and began rubbing his face in an attempt to start sobering up.
“Fuck. This is bad. I look like shit,” he said, pulling down the visor mirror and gazing at himself.
“It’s fine. I’ll see about getting you some clean clothes and maybe some soap and deodorant. She’s not too far along, but you still need to be there.”
“How dilated is she?”
I grimaced and shook my head.
“I don’t know. Why would I know that? Let’s just get you to the hospital and you two can talk about all of this there.”
“I hate talking to her,” he grumbled, then sat back in his seat to sulk. I wanted to tell him that based on the phone call I took for him at my brother’s house, the feeling was mutual. Whitley sounded like she was ready to murder him.
I let him complain and mumble random things as he attempted to sober up on the way to the hospital. I offered him a water bottle from my purse, which he promptly drained. He removed his vomit splattered shirt but then realized he didn’t have anything else to wear so he had to put it back on. I had to stifle a laugh when he started gagging as his head popped out of the shirt hole.
Finally, we turned into the parking lot and found a decent spot. I hopped out and went over to the other side. Luckily for him, the drive took almost an hour and a half, giving him a little bit of time to get his head straight. He was still not completely okay, but he was able to walk now. Which was a good start. I couldn’t carry him that far. As he climbed out of the car, I noticed the bag from earlier that afternoon in the back. I chewed my lip for a moment before deciding to grab it and bring it with us.
Tate didn’t notice me carrying the brown paper bag with the gifts inside. He was too focused on trying to walk straight and not be completely sloshed when approaching any of the hospital staff.
“What if they turn me away?” he asked me, his face pale with fear. I smiled reassuringly and told him they wouldn’t. I didn’t know that, but I wasn’t going to make this situation any worse by telling him so.
“You’ll be fine. I’m here, and I’ll help with whatever you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
He stopped walking and stood up straight. Turning to me, he focused his intense green eyes on me. It appeared as if it was taking every ounce of energy in him to do whatever it was he was doing. I watched him gulp and lick his lips before speaking, this time, completely without slurring.
“Does that mean what I think it means? Are you going in there as my friend, or as my wife?” His words were powerful, and I knew that I could only answer it one way. The other would lead him to telling me to leave. I didn’t want to leave, I realized. I wanted to be here with him. I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat.
“As your wife.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a few long deep breaths. Then he reached for my hand. We started forward, this time, together. He was more sure of himself now. As if my simple words were powerful enough to knock the alcohol right out of his system.
“Let’s go get your daughter,” I let out a small giggle of nervousness as we reached the hospital automatic doors. He turned and shook his head at me.
“Let’s go getourdaughter.”
* * *
Our daughter. Our.That whole concept had me shaking when I stepped into the hospital holding onto my husband’s hand to steady him.Husband. For real this time. I swallowed, noticing that the pit I’ve had in my stomach for the better part of the year was gone. This felt right. This was exactly where we were supposed to be. As odd and uncomfortable as the situation was, it was going to work out. I knew it in my heart as I helped him to the service desk.
The two women at the desk looked at us, clearly unamused at Tate and I’s appearance.
“Hi, we’re here for Whitley...” I started and looked over at Tate for a last name. His head rolled over to look at me.
