Hot Under Pressure (34 page)

The fact that in New York they were surrounded by the love and support of the extended Lunden’s Tavern clan hadn’t hurt, either.

Beck flexed his fingers gingerly, watching the rise and fall of the baby’s back. Even through the layers of padding, his son’s slumbering form felt impossibly breakable under Beck’s big, clumsy hand.

His son. God help him.

As if she could sense him freaking out, Skye’s eyes popped open.

“Hey, Daddy. What’s cooking?”

Daddy. Oh man.

Beck shook his head and tried to smile around the giant, aching, painful lump of emotion stopping up his throat. “Nothing. Get some rest, I’m not going anywhere.”

Uh oh, there went Skye’s chin. He’d gotten to where he could translate that determined tilt pretty accurately. “Neither am I. Not until you tell me what’s going through that head of yours.”

Even after all these months, the long, amazing year of knowing exactly how much Skye loved him and wanted to be with him, it was still hard to just open his damn mouth and say, “I’m a little freaked. But I’m dealing.”

Every time, it was a struggle. And when Skye’s face softened and he felt the warmth of her loving, concerned gaze, he felt stupid all over again for making such a big deal out of things.

“What are you freaked about?”

She looked so honestly perplexed, he had to laugh. “I love the fact you can lie there after twelve hours of natural childbirth and ask me that with a straight face.”

“Yeah.” Skye grimaced. “I might have taken the whole organic, natural hippie thing too far with that one. Although next time, I’m thinking it might be easier if we do a water birth at home, maybe have a doula instead of a doctor.”

Beck nearly fell off the hospital bed. “Next time?”

“Sure.” Her beautiful eyes were shining as she poked one finger into their son’s loose fist. “I already know Hank, here, is going to need somebody to play with.”

They hadn’t wanted to find out the baby’s sex ahead of time, so they’d had a hard time deciding on a name. Hearing her say this particular name out loud … Beck had to blink a couple of times. Hard.

“Hank, huh?”

Skye met his eyes with a tremulous smile. “I thought … he could be a Henry, too. Like you, but also to honor your father. But instead of Hal, we could call him…”

“Hank.” Every time Beck repeated the name, he felt something settle inside himself. He smiled down at them both. His family, the people he loved most in the world, were right there, close enough to touch, to watch over, to protect and cherish with his life.

Skye nodded, eyes brimming. “I love you.”

Bending over them, Beck whispered his response against her lips. “I love you, too.”

She grinned into the kiss, which deepened and threatened to turn truly inappropriate until a knock on the door startled them apart.

Nina Lunden’s quiet voice had Beck reaching for a pillow to hold over his lap.

“Hello? Everybody decent?”

“We’re good. Come on in and meet Hank,” Skye called. “While he’s all cute and asleep.”

“Are you sure?” Nina poked her head around the doorjamb. “There are quite a few people out here who want to say hello to the newest addition to the family.”

Winslow piped up from somewhere out in the hall. “Including his godfather!”

“Don’t worry,” Skye said, settling herself more comfortably against the pillows. “He just had his first-ever bath followed by his first-ever meal. I’m pretty sure a five-alarm fire couldn’t wake him up.”

That was all it took to have the whole crew piling into the tiny room. Beck could only be grateful that Devon Sparks had used his influence with the hospital and Dr. Rosen to get them into a private room. This crowd would be a bit much to handle for some poor random new mom who had the misfortune of getting stuck as Skye’s roommate.

Beck made a tactical retreat to the far side of the bed. Still close enough to keep a watchful eye on the proceedings, but not so close that he risked fatal injury by getting between baby Hank and the descending horde of cooing almost-relatives.

While everyone else was distracted by how unbelievably adorable Hank was in his little blue knit cap with his dark-lashed eyes buttoned up in slumber, Nina Lunden made her way around the bed to stand at Beck’s side.

“He’s amazing,” she said. “I’m really proud of you, honey.”

Beck shook his head in instinctive denial. “I didn’t do anything.”

Nina gave him her patented who-do-you-think-you’re-dealing-with look. “Nothing much, except uproot your whole life, face your past, and confront your fears about Skye being pregnant again.”

The group clustered around the bed, laughed at something Win said, and the noise roused Hank enough that he stirred fretfully, kicking at the blanket swaddling his legs. As if she’d been practicing for years, Skye shifted him in her arms and cuddled him close, as natural as breathing. Beck’s heart skipped a painful beat, then thumped heavily as he said, “Skye’s the brave one.”

Him? Even though Skye and the baby had come through the pregnancy with flying colors, Beck was
still
terrified. What the hell was up with that?

“Does she know?” Nina’s soft question cut through Beck’s rising tension.

He didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. “Yeah. I told her.”

“Good. You know, lots of men find the whole childbirth thing traumatic—after he fainted when Max was born, I didn’t even let Gus in the room with me for Danny’s birth. It’s normal to find it upsetting to see your wife in pain. And for a man like you, I imagine the inability to do anything to make the pain stop is nearly unbearable. But I’m sure, Beck, your presence at her side
did
help her through it … unless.”

Nina’s gaze sharpened on his face. Wondering what the hell he’d given away, Beck planted his feet like a statue to avoid shifting his weight uncomfortably.

It didn’t work.

“Unless that’s not what’s bothering you.” Nina kept the words low and gentle, but they still sent a spike of panic through Beck’s head.

Darting a quick gaze at Skye, he relaxed minutely. Her head was tilted back, springy strawberry-blonde curls cascading over her shoulders as she beamed up at Gus Lunden.

“Don’t worry, she didn’t hear me.” Nina rested a light hand on his back, the touch spreading immediate comfort as if she’d draped a fuzzy blanket over his back. “But she should hear it from you, sweetie.”

He shook his head, not wanting to let the garbage inside it ruin this special, amazing miracle of a day for Skye, but Nina stopped him with another look.

This one was kinder, her clear eyes full of sympathy but entirely unyielding. “I mean it, Henry Beck. You’ve got a brand-new start, here and now. Don’t fuck it up by repeating the mistakes of the past.” Her voice shook as she finished by saying, “And I know if your mother were here, she’d be giving you the exact same advice.”

Jolted by Nina’s use of the f-word, Beck was shaken to the core by the truth of her warning and the reference to his mom. All he could do was reach out and wrap an arm around her slim, narrow shoulders to pull Nina in close.

Bending down to touch his forehead to her temple, Beck pushed the words out through his aching throat. “My mom would’ve liked you a lot.”

Then he let her go and pasted on a determined smile so they could rejoin the party.

Thirty minutes later, Hank had been the subject of multiple cellphone camera portraits, the star of a short film (also recorded on a cellphone), and serenaded with “Happy Birthday” by a multiplatinum recording artist—over Eva’s cellphone, which she’d used to call Claire Durand, who was in Paris accompanying Kane Slater on the European leg of his new tour.

It was an eventful half-hour. A happy half-hour, full of laughter and the kind of soul-steadying joy that came from sharing such a special time with friends and family—but Beck had to admit that when he closed the door behind Winslow, who was naturally the last to leave, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Hank, who’d woken up in time to turn Kane’s birthday song into a duet along the lines of screaming death metal, had been fed and put down in his bassinet where he slept the sleep of an infant who knew that all was right in his little world.

Beck was jealous. He desperately needed sleep himself—even the U.S. Navy hadn’t prepared him for the exhaustion of new fatherhood—but with Nina’s warning ringing in his ears, he knew he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes until he opened his mouth.

Skye turned her head toward him, trying to get comfortable on the flat pillow. Her hair spread out in corkscrews of red and gold against the white cotton. She looked worn out and happy, and so beautiful that Beck’s breath snagged in his throat.

“How are you doing?” she asked, and instead of simply nodding and smiling or saying
fine
like he usually did, Beck seized his courage in both hands.

“I’m … having an issue. It’s lame.”

She got that fierce look in her wide blue eyes. “It’s not lame! Nothing you think or feel is lame. Come on, tell. I know the pregnancy was rough on you, on both of us, but we made it through! Hank and I are right here, and we’re healthy and happy, and with you!”

“I know,” Beck said, taking a step closer to the bed. “And that should be enough for anyone. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” His gaze traced the beige chenille of the hospital bed coverlet as Nina’s warning echoed over and over in his head. He had to tell Skye the truth and trust that she wouldn’t use it against him or turn her back on him … and when he thought about it like that, it got easier. Because he knew, with a deep-down, unshakeable faith, that Skye would never do those things.

“I’m pretty sure,” he said slowly, forcing himself to meet her clear gaze, “there’s something broken inside me.”

“Is this about…” Skye paused, cleared her throat. “Is this about our daughter? The baby we lost? Because I’m thinking about her today, too, Henry. And I believe wherever she is, she knows we love her and that no matter how many other kids we have, we’ll never forget her.”

Beck shook his head against the sting behind his eyes. “No, it’s not about that—not exactly. But I felt this way when you were pregnant the first time, too. Before we lost her. Before I left, even. I think it has to do with how I grew up.”

Skye reached out a hand, and Beck took it gratefully. The warm touch centered him, gave him something to focus on while he tried to figure out how to explain the confusion of losing both his parents at the same time, the gradual horror of realizing they were never coming back, that they’d abandoned him to this new life where no one seemed to want him, where being ignored and forgotten was the best he could hope for.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember enough about the good times,” he said painfully. “While my parents were still alive. The years that came after that … they felt like a life sentence, even though I got out as soon as I could. I just … I don’t want any part of that to touch you or Hank.”

Skye studied him for a silent moment, long enough for Beck to realize that he’d expected her to immediately deny the possibility of the ugliness inside Beck ever touching Hank.

Instead, she withdrew her fingers from his grasp and pointed at the bassinet. “Pick him up, Henry.”

He took a step back. “He’s sleeping. Shouldn’t we let him sleep as long as we can?”

“He’s a baby. He’ll be doing a lot of sleeping for the next few months. Pick up your son, Henry.”

She was implacable. Beck’s feet shuffled over to the bassinet. Staring down, he watched Hank breathe.

“Go on. He’s less fragile than you think.”

Beck didn’t see how that was possible. He knew there was that thing about the head being too heavy for the neck and how he had to support it. His palms were damp, clammy with nerves—what if he dropped Hank? He wasn’t ready for this. He should’ve practiced or something. How was there no training course for this? Boot camp for new parents, that’s what he needed.

“Henry.” Skye’s voice was soft, hoarse with emotion. “Hold your son.”

Beck could do this. He’d won the entire Rising Star Chef competition, for God’s sake. He could pick up one baby.

Holding his breath, he worked his too-big hands underneath that tiny body and lifted as carefully as if Hank were a ticking bomb.

Huh. He wasn’t as limp or squirmy as Beck had feared. The blanket swaddled around him so tightly, Hank felt like a pretty secure little package. Heavier than he looked, too.

Beck curled his son high against his chest, cradling the infant close. Hank’s cloudy blue eyes blinked open for an instant, and as Beck stared down into his son’s face, he felt all his fears and worries drop off his shoulders.

Why had he ever been afraid of this?

Standing there in that hospital room with his son drooling a wet patch on his T-shirt, Beck knew there would be troubles ahead and plenty of mistakes—but he also knew he had what it took to be a good dad.

“I love you,” he whispered to Hank, who’d already slipped back into sleep.

When Beck glanced over at Skye, there were silver tear tracks streaking down her cheeks, but she was beaming the biggest grin he’d ever seen.

“I like holding him,” Beck told her.

“See? You’re a natural. And he’s going to need you. We both are. I’m scared, too, you know. It’s not like my parents are the best example of how to raise a happy, secure child.”

Beck carried Hank over to the bed and sat down, needing to be within touching distance of his wife. He felt swamped with gratitude—that Skye knew him so well, could read the fear in his eyes and force him to move past it.

“We’ll figure it out together. And hey,” he said, thinking of their visitors that afternoon. “It’s not like we’re alone. We’ve got family to help out.”

She blinked. “That’s true. It’s not just about our parents or our childhoods—we’ve both managed to put together pretty awesome families that have nothing to do with sharing DNA.”

“We’re going to be okay. Better than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

Skye smiled up at him, at their son, and said, “This. This is the moment I’ll remember for the rest of our lives.”

Author’s Note