“You stay with her.”
“Elle—”
“Don’t take your eyes off her. Promise me.”
I can’t worry about the conflict on his face. She’s my priority, and until I can be there with her, I need him to be her advocate.
He nods.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Flint
Aria means melody in English. It’s also the name of our daughter who I have not taken my eyes off of since they moved her from the OR to the NICU. She’s doing well, and they don’t anticipate her being here long.
Jon and Harrison are with Ellen, and my parents will catch a flight here first thing in the morning. I’ve called a friend of mine to find out everything he can about the accident. In the meantime, it’s just me and Aria, the nurses monitoring her, and the other preemies in the NICU.
“Your wife is out of recovery and in her room. In another hour they’re going to try and bring her down here to see Aria.”
I nod at the nurse without taking my eyes off my tiny daughter in the incubator. Thankfully, she’s not as tiny as some of the other babies in here. And she’s breathing on her own with just a little bit of oxygen. Aria is already kicking ass in the NICU. I can tell she’s going to be beautiful like her mom and no-nonsense like her dad.
The hour disappears before I realize it, probably because I could stare at her all day. I remember this same sentiment when Harrison was born; it’s feeling drugged with disbelief that this tiny human came to life because one night I physically lost myself in the body of a woman.
And there she is … that woman. I smile.
“Hey,” Ellen whispers as the nurse wheels her into the NICU.
I stand and go to her, my fingers finding their way through her hair to hold her head while I kiss her. “She’s so perfect,” I murmur over her lips. “Just like you. Thank you for being so strong and amazing.”
Ellen smiles, pale and tired, eyes red with tears, a Band-Aid where she has a small cut from the accident. Thankfully no concussion. “They said I can try to feed her.”
I nod, moving out of the way to make room for the wheelchair. The nurse helps Ellen get Aria situated. Elle grimaces a little, I assume from the pain she’s probably still in from the C-section. After several attempts, Aria latches on for a few suckles before drifting off to sleep. The nurse assures her it will get better, but Aria will probably take most of her milk from a bottle until she can stay awake long enough to nurse longer. She praises our little girl for already having the suck-swallow-breathe reflex.
Ellen pumps her breasts and gives her a bottle, Aria’s tiny diaper clad body pressed to Elle’s bare chest. She’s going to be a great mom, and I think I knew it the first time I watched her interact with Harrison.
While the nurse helps Ellen and Aria, I step out of the NICU and turn on my phone. A message from my friend pops up on my screen.
Male – 27 – DOA – thrown from car. BAC .17 – Hope Ellen and the baby are okay. Let me know if there is anything else you need.
I stumble back until my back hits the wall. My lungs can’t find any oxygen. My phone falls from my hand.
“Flint?”
“Dad?”
I blink several times until Jon and Harrison come into view.
Harrison picks up my phone. “‘Male – 27 – DOA – thrown from car. BAC .17 – Hope Ellen and the baby are okay. Let me know if there is anything else you need.’ Who’s Ben? What’s DOA and BAC?”
Jon takes the phone from Harrison. I can’t fucking move. This can’t be happening.
“Dead on arrival.” Jon gives me a sympathetic look, but not the kind that says he knows about Heidi—the kind that says how lucky his daughter and granddaughter are to be alive. “Ellen was hit by a drunk driver. The driver died.”
I lived. Heidi died.
“If he was drinking and driving then he deserved to die,” Harrison says.
Jon nods. Holding out my phone to me. “I don’t know if he deserved to die, but if someone had to die tonight, I’m just glad it was him and not my girls. Right?” He rests his fatherly hand on my shoulder, just like my dad would do.
I nod.
I lived. Heidi died. The wrong person died. The wrong person lived.
“How’s Aria?”
Heidi died. She died on the night I was supposed to give her another baby.
“Flint?”
I shake my head. “Yeah?”
Jon narrows his eyes. “Are you okay?”
I nod on impulse. I’m so fucking not okay.
“How’s Aria?”
“Sh-she’s perfect.”
“Do you need me? Or would you rather I take Harrison home? It’s almost midnight.”
“Take me home,” Harrison says.
Jon laughs. “Okay, buddy. Flint, sure you’re okay?”
I nod again.
“Call if anything changes. We’ll be back in the morning.”
Another nod.
*
Ellen
I stay with Aria until I just can’t keep my eyes open any longer. The nurse takes me back to my room, but I can’t find Flint. He said he’d stay with our baby girl. Where is he? The nurse promises to message him and have him come see me, but I fall asleep before he comes to my room.
Several times during the night I wake when they come to check on me. Flint never shows up. I wake early in the morning feeling like death. Every part of my body aches, but nothing more than my arms that ache to hold Aria. After they check my incision and my bleeding and I eat something, they take me to the NICU.
No Flint.
Why did he leave our baby? Where is he?
“Good morning,” the NICU nurse whispers. “Ready to work some more on breastfeeding?”
I nod and smile at my little girl in spite of the pain in my chest for her missing daddy. I work on feeding her, pumping, and giving her a bottle until they drag me out to go back to my room for the doctor to do his exam. Everything looks good. They want me to try to walk around today. The thought alone exhausts me.
“The more blood we can get flowing to all parts of your body, the faster you will recover, and Aria needs you strong and healthy for her.” The nurse gives me an encouraging smile.
I sigh and ease my feet over the side of the bed. “You don’t play fair.” I smirk at her efforts to use Aria to motivate me.
“No marathons or heavy lifting, but gentle movements are good for you.”
I walk to the bathroom, pee, and walk back without passing out, but by the time I reach the bed, I’m exhausted.
“Knock knock.”
“Dad.” I smile. “And Mr. Harrison.” I wait, leaning my head to the side to see the door. “Where’s your dad?”
Harry shrugs.
“I took Harry home last night. Flint stayed. Maybe we crossed paths this morning. He probably needed a shower.” My dad looks down at his phone. “I’ll message him.”
“I haven’t seen him. I don’t think he was here last night.”
“He was distracted when we saw him. It was late. Long day.” My dad slides his phone back into his pocket and sits next to me on the bed, squeezing my hand. “I’m so glad you and Aria are okay.”
“The driver died,” Harry says.
“What?”
My dad frowns. “The guy who hit you. He died at the scene.”
“Drunk driver.” Harry looks at the monitors above my bed.
“What?” I whisper.
“He deserved to die,” Harry adds without a shred of emotion.
My heart feels like it’s being squeezed to death. “Does Flint know?”
Dad nods.
“I …” I shake my head. “I have to get back to the NICU. I need you to find Flint for me as soon as possible.”
“Maybe he’s at the airport. His parents were flying in this morning.”
I nod. “Maybe. But please keep trying to get hold of him for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
I reach over and tug at Harry’s arm. He jumps like usual then settles into my touch. “Do you want to meet your baby sister?”
He shrugs. I’ll take the lack of a solid no as a yes or at least a maybe. I’ll take anything anyone will give me to keep my mind off the fact that Flint is missing. I know it has everything to do with the cause of my accident.
Past colliding with present. His son showing no empathy—no forgiveness. It’s been the nightmare that Flint’s been running from for over ten years.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
It’s been four days. No Flint, in spite of his dad looking everywhere.
The doctor discharged me this morning, but I won’t leave Aria. Then there’s Harry … he breaks my heart. I can tell he’s starting to worry about his dad. What will he do when he finds out that Flint’s running from him? From the truth. From ten years of pacing the gates of Hell.
“She likes that,” the nurse whispers as I hum one of the many lullabies I sang to Aria in the womb.
With a smile, I nod while feeding Aria. I sing and hum to her all the time, watching the monitors to make sure she’s never overstimulated.
After she’s done feeding, I let the nurse examine her while I use the bathroom. When I come out, another nurse stops me.
“Is your husband feeling better?” the nurse asks.
I bite my tongue from saying that he’s not my husband. “Feeling better?”