This earns me a smile. She meets my gaze and sighs. “I’m sorry I ran out on you. I didn’t think it through. Once I got in my car, I realized I didn’t have any place to go. I’m staying with Hattie, but I couldn’t go back in there. So I drove, and drove, and well…” She shrugs.
“Believe me when I say, there have been plenty of times I wanted to run away.”
“But that’s what makes you stronger than me. You don’t.” Her gaze falls to her feet, a tear slipping down her cheek.
I step forward and pull Layla by the arm into me. I hold her tight, taking in the moment because I don’t know if this will be the last time. Layla may be upset about us, but she’s a strong willed woman. No matter how much it hurts, if she thinks us being apart is for the best, she won’t come back to me.
“I’m not strong.” I smooth her hair and kiss the top of her head. “I’m an asshole who doesn’t know how to handle stress. I blow up at the people I care about and push them away.”
“Like you did with me.” It’s not a question, but she’s right. I sabotaged us by not realizing what I was doing.
“Amanda died giving birth to Bryson.”
Layla rears back and looks up at me, her mouth slack. She reaches up and cups my cheeks, searching for the answers to a question she’s yet to ask.
“I found out right before you came over. It threw me for a loop because that meant I needed to step up.” I swallow hard feeling the familiar burn in my throat. I clear it away and the pressure moves behind my eyes. “He’s my kid. I don’t know how, but he is.”
I feel the first tear fall. Layla wipes it away with her fingers. She pushes onto her toes and presses her lips to mine. It’s not a long kiss, but it’s what I need to regain control. She smiles up at me, her fingers lacing behind my neck. “You’re going to be a great father.”
My lips twitch and lift at the corners. “Do you want to see him?”
That pretty smile falls. She steps backs and looks around for someone to save her. “I… I don’t know. Won’t he be asleep?”
I shrug. “Not sure. I’ve never been to the hospital this late.”
The fear on her face transforms into worry. She crosses her arms over her chest, a red flush creeping up her neck. I missed how easy it is to read her. Red on her neck, she’s upset: either worried or nervous. On her cheeks she’s embarrassed or happy. If it’s on her ears, she’s angry.
“Is he okay?”
I take her hand and open the passenger door of my truck. She gets in, which makes my heart soar. We’ve either got a shot at fixing things between us or she’s curious about Bryson. Either way, it’s more time we get to spend together. I’ll take it.
I close her door and run over to my side of the truck. I need to get the beast in gear and down the road before she changes her mind. “Yeah. Premature babies need more time to grow. We had to wait until Bryson was able to do everything a full term baby could do.” I grin, feeling excited for the first time about my situation, and glance at Layla. “I get to take him home on Monday.”
“That’s great, Josh.” She laces her fingers with mine and, for a moment, things feel like they used to. I know I have a lot of work to do to get us there again, but this is a start.
Ten itty-bitty fingers curl close to the bundle in my arms. Bryson is wrapped in a blue teddy bear blanket with a matching baby beanie and is the tiniest thing I’ve seen in my life.
Even so, he’s beautiful. He has Josh’s hair and his nose, but the eyes and lips are all Amanda. The perfect combination for this little heartbreaker.
Bryson looks up at me and smiles. I know it’s involuntary. Babies this little don’t know what they’re doing yet, but I can’t help but beam back down at him.
The nurses say he’s the quietest baby they’ve had in a long time. He almost never cries, which to me would be terrifying, but they say he’s a happy little guy. I have to trust them because this is their job, but his quietness still worries me. I don’t say anything, because he’s not my baby, and I don’t want to worry Josh over nothing. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.
I hand Bryson to Josh. He takes him in his arms and offers a bottle, which the little guy greedily guzzles. I watch them interact, awestruck at how sexy Josh being a dad is. I knew there was a chance I’d run into him this weekend. I knew I’d be at war with myself over our breakup. I did not know I’d fall more in love with him than when I left.
Never would have guessed that one.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and glance through the forty-five unread text messages he sent. There were hints about Bryson, but nothing that outwardly stated what Josh was dealing with.
I feel bad. Had I known what was going on, I would have come back. Tried harder to understand what he was going through that night. Instead, I shut him out, like a child having a fit.
“You’re great at that, feeding him.”
He beams at me, then looks at his son again. “We’ve only been on the bottle a week, but the little guy knew exactly what to do as soon as I put the nipple in his mouth.”
“Just like his daddy.” I flush, not meaning to have said those words out loud.
I sit back in the cushioned seat behind Bryson’s clear bassinet and look around. Dozens baby beds fill the room. Each one hooked to its own set of monitors and devices. I can’t help but wonder if that was Bryson a few weeks ago. Or how traumatizing the experience of becoming a dad must have been.