“Just a precaution. We just want to make sure there are no issues with his breathing and that he’s getting all the oxygen he needs. He had a pretty bumpy ride to get here.” I stare down at his flailing little arms and when I glance back up, the nurse isgone and I’m alone with a baby I have no idea how to take care of.
“Come back to us, Lo. We need you.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Lo
Iwake with a start. My entire body a collection of aching, throbbing, and half-broken atoms all screaming and fighting against one another. I blink my eyes open and see Gabe sitting in the chair beside my bed. Only, it’s not my bed. I’m in a hospital and he’s holding a bundle of blankets and flailing fists in his arms.
“Hey, Mama,” he whispers. “Welcome back.”
“The baby?”
“He’s right here. All ten pounds of him.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from sobbing and shift on the mattress, attempting to sit up. My body is so weak, and pain shoots through me despite my drug-induced stupor that I can’t even manage that. “Give him to me.”
“Er, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The nurses said you’d be pretty out of it when you came to.”
“Give me my baby, Gabe.”
“Freckles, we lost you for a little while there. Are you sure you—”
“Give him to me.”
Gabe nods, but his features twist into a grimace as he hands me the baby. He’s so heavy, I can barely keep hold of him, but he’s pure perfection. He looks just like his daddy, same nose, same cheekbones that would put a sculptured Adonis to shame.
“Hi, little man.” I whisper, he tilts his head toward the sound of my voice.
“He looks like an Axl.”
I nod. “You’re so perfect. You’re so beautiful, Axl.”
“He’s amazing, right? I can’t believe we almost lost him.”
I glare at Gabe. “Where were you?”
“What?”
“I called you. I called you and called you, and you never answered.”
He frowns. “I was inking a client.”
“After hours?” I shake my head and lift my hand to delicately stroke my baby's face. It trembles too much—with rage or weakness—I’m not sure which. “Were you drunk or high when you came home?”
“Lo—”
“Which was it, Gabe?”
“Are you saying what happened to you was my fault?”
“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m saying you weren’t there when we needed you.”
The baby fusses in my arms, no doubt upset by the tension. I read babies have a sixth sense for that sort of thing, that they can feel your anxiety.
“Do you want me to take him?”
I shake my head and instinctively hold him closer. “I want you to leave.”