What Mattered Most (8 page)

Surrounded by the utilitarian white walls of the surgical unit waiting area, John stared at the television, the twenty-four hour news channel unable to hold his attention. His shoulder and side ached, and a dull pain throbbed through his head with his pulse. His tongue, coated with two cups of vending machine coffee, was a thick, dead thing in his mouth.

The occasional Haven County deputy wandered in to ask if there was news, then wandered out again. Some of Lanie’s friends came and went. Across from John, Burnett sat on the low vinyl couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, an outdated fishing magazine balanced on his lap. Caitlin leaned against the other end of the couch, eyes closed, seemingly asleep, but the tense awareness in her posture indicated otherwise.

Time crawled. John tried not to think about what was happening behind those imposing doors. Tried not to think about what could go wrong.

Elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands and stared at the speckled pattern in the linoleum.
All you had to do was walk away, O’Reilly. Leave her alone. Ignore the attraction and what you wanted to do the first time you saw her. Well, you really screwed up this time, didn’t you?

He’d been weak, and he’d failed. A shudder traveled through him, and he dragged trembling hands over his face. Another life ruined, maybe even lost, because of him. Somehow, he’d make it up to her. He would. He didn’t know how, but one way or the other, he’d make everything up to her.

If he got the chance.

With a deep breath that pulsed agony through his chest, he pushed up from the chair and stalked to the bank of windows on the east wall. Late morning sunlight sparkled off the distant waters of the Gulf. On a normal Saturday morning at this time, they’d be together—walking on the beach, getting housework out of the way, playing a set of tennis, making love.

Damn it, he wanted to hear her fuss at him about not folding the towels the right way. He wanted her bitching at him to get the damned crib put together before the kid learned to drive. He wanted to see the way her eyes lit up when he handed her another shell or piece of polished sea glass to add to the glass bowls that held their collection. He wanted to dodge those wicked serves she had when she was pissed off at him for some stupid, inconsequential reason. He wanted her taking charge in the bedroom, holding his wrists so he couldn’t touch her while she rode him and pleasured them both.

He wanted their life back.

The reality of the thought skittered through his brain.
Their life.
Not Lanie’s life or the baby’s life. Their life.

A nasty voice whispered at the back of his mind.
And what about Beth? The love of your life? You can’t have them both.

He passed a hand over his eyes again. The point was moot anyway. Lanie wouldn’t want him now, and there was Beth. They didn’t have to worry about Mitchell anymore. What would that mean to her? Would it change her mind?

The thought didn’t bring the spurt of anticipation he expected. Instead, weary depression tugged at him. He didn’t see how anything good could come out of this mess. No matter what, someone stood to get hurt.

He’d come full circle, and there was still no place to go.

The whoosh of the doors had him spinning around, his heart a dull thud against his ribs. Caitlin was on her feet, piercing gaze alert, confirming his suspicion she hadn’t been asleep at all. Sheila, who’d gone to observe Lanie’s surgical procedures, removed her surgical cap. “Dr. Haynes, her surgeon, is closing up now. She’ll be in recovery in a few minutes.”

Caitlin’s fingers covered her lips briefly. “So she’s—”

“Doing as well as can be expected. Once she’s out of recovery, we’ll perform a CT scan and bring in a neurological consult if needed.” Sheila slid a tired smile in John’s direction. “John? You have a son. A little small—five pounds, three ounces, but his Apgar scores are good, his breathing is strong, and his lungs are clear. He’s gone to get cleaned up, and you should be able to see him in a few minutes.”

A son. The words he hadn’t been able to get his mind around last night didn’t seem any more real now. Panic curled in his throat. He didn’t know the first thing about being a father. How could he? He didn’t remember his own father, the man whose name he carried, the young stern face in the photo hidden in his mother’s bottom drawer. His stepfather? Everything a father shouldn’t be, including the man who’d killed John’s mother.

And John had started out his son’s life by putting him and his mother in danger. He was off to a great start.

“John?” Sheila’s tone made him suspect she’d called his name more than once. He shook the panic away, pain shooting through his skull. “Do you want to see him? I can take you up to the nursery.”

He wasn’t ready. Seeing him meant he was real. If he was real, avoidance was no longer an option. John tugged a hand through his hair and over his nape. “I…I’ll go up in a little while. I’m going to check in on Nicole and Beth.”

Wrong answer. Caitlin glanced away with a whispered curse. John ignored her and focused on Sheila. “Can I see Lanie when she’s out of recovery?”

Discomfort passed over Sheila’s face. “She’ll go into the surgical ICU. I’m sorry, but there’s a family-only rule on visitors. If things go well, she shouldn’t be there more than a couple of days, and then you can see her.”

A couple of days? He was supposed to wait a couple of days to see for himself that she was all right? He opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. He’d see what he could do about that later. Right now, he wanted to make sure Beth and Nicole were okay. Then he’d go meet his son.

Beth wasn’t in Nicole’s room. The little girl slept, her hand tucked under her cheek. John knew his partner wouldn’t be far away, and he thought he knew where to find her. Stress always made her nicotine jones stronger. At the end of the pediatric hall, a door opened onto a sheltered balcony that offered refuge for the hospital’s smokers.

Sure enough, Beth leaned on the railing, a cigarette burning to ashes between her fingers while she stared out at the waves. She glanced up when John joined her. “How’s Lanie?”

He let his breath go in a long, shuddery sigh. “In recovery. They took the baby up to the nursery.”

A spark lit in her dull blue eyes. “That’s wonderful! Oh, John, I’m so glad for you. I bet he’s beautiful. Does he look like you or Lanie? What about hair? Nicole was bald.”

At her enthusiasm, a reluctant smile quirked at his mouth. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

Her smile faltered. “What? Why not?”

“I just…needed a minute first.”

“Bull. You’re scared.”

He leaned his elbows on the railing. “Yeah.”

“John. You’re going to make a great dad. Go see him.”

He shrugged. “Want to go with me?”

Her body stiffened, and the smile disappeared altogether. “No. I’m not the person who should be there.”

“Damn it, Beth, it’s not a proposal—”

“Thank God for that.” Anger twisted her features. “Why the
hell
did you tell Lanie you still loved me? Are you stupid?”

Outrage traveled under his skin. “I never told her that.”

She pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it with shaking hands. “What is with you, O’Reilly? What we had… It wasn’t real. You swore it was behind you. Why are you still hanging on to it?”

He wanted to shake her. “Not real? That’s funny. I could have sworn that was you with me that night in Atlantic City, screaming you loved me while we made love.”

If he wanted to shake her, the desire to slap him was plain in her eyes. “I’d just gotten out of a hellish marriage. You were my partner. I knew I could trust you. You were strong and there for me, and you’re good in bed. But that’s all. I never loved you. Not really. Not that way.”

His hands tightened on the railing until his bloodless knuckles glowed. “Thanks a lot.”

A harsh laugh cut between them. “I don’t think you know what love really is. It’s all mixed up in your head with your protective instincts. You don’t know love from duty and obligation. I was someone who needed a knight, and that shining armor was a perfect fit for you. But it wasn’t
real
.”

“Yeah.” Bitterness dripped from the word.

With a frustrated growl, Beth ground the cigarette out and threw up her hands. “Fine. I love you. Is that what you want to hear? Nicole needs a daddy, and it’s been a while since I had a really good lay. The doctor says she can go home this afternoon, and I’m planning to catch a flight back to El Paso as soon as humanly possible. I can’t stay here. Want to come with us? We’ll set up house.”

Anger curled up in his gut and licked at his nerves. “You know I can’t go now.”

She leaned in, her expression intent. “Why not? I’m offering you what you said you wanted. Me, Nicole, us. The whole shebang—a brownstone, a minivan, trips to Disney World. Hell, we can get a dog.”

He jerked a hand through his hair. “You think I’d leave Lanie now? And what about the baby? I can’t just abandon him.”

“The reality is you left her as soon as she told you she was pregnant, if you were ever there to start with. Write her a child support check every month and get out of her life. You’ll be doing her a favor.”

No more avoidance. He couldn’t turn away. Right now, the kid didn’t have anyone else. With a deep breath that set his chest aching again, John pulled the door open. The taller of the two nurses working the room approached, a wary smile on her face. “May I help you?”

John could only imagine the picture he presented—still clad in the bloody scrubs, his nose swollen and bruised. Without venturing further into the room, he held out his arm. “I’m John O’Reilly. I’d like to see my son.”

She checked the bracelet and nodded. “If you’d go back to the mother’s room—”

“She’s in the surgical ICU.” Unintentional curtness colored his voice.

“Oh.” She looked taken aback for a moment, then glanced at his clothing. “Let’s get you a sterile gown and you can scrub up. You can visit with him here, or we can find you a room.”

The idea of being alone with the baby scared him worse than facing down a crackhead with a gun. “Here is fine.”

He wished the act of preparing took longer. Within minutes, he faced one of those plastic bassinets containing a small, still bundle. His chest heavy, John stared down at the infant swaddled in the white blanket with wide blue and pink stripes. Wisps of black hair graced a head smaller than John’s hand. One tiny hand had escaped the blanket and lay against his cheek. The long slender fingers flexed, and the minuscule mouth pursed and relaxed in a suckling motion.

His mouth looked like Lanie’s.

The thought slammed into John, and reality crashed home. The baby was here; he was real. Lanie’s child.

And his.

The tall, blonde nurse smiled. “You can touch him, you know.”

He nodded, making no move to do so. The fear was unbelievable. Before him was the smallest person he’d ever seen, and he was responsible for him, for his safety. The future stretched before him, fraught with unseen dangers John had never considered.

God, one day he’d have to hand this kid the keys to a car.

With a slight mocking glint in her eyes, the blonde indicated two Windsor rockers in the far corner. “Why don’t you sit down and you can hold him?”

John darted a glance at her. Hold him? Hell, what if he dropped the kid? She smiled, and he had the distinct feeling she was tamping down a laugh. He gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

Careful of his ribs, he eased into a chair and eyed the deft way she handled his son. With another smile, she settled the warm bundle into the crook of his left arm. “I’ll just leave you two big guys to get acquainted.”

He wanted to call her back, but pride wouldn’t let him. Big guys? He had shoes bigger than this. With the baby’s head nestled at his elbow, the other end of the blanket barely reached his palm. John forced himself to relax into the chair. This was almost like cradling a football. He shifted his arm closer to his chest, and the baby stirred against him, an eerie echo of him moving within Lanie’s stomach. Dark lashes lifted, and murky blue eyes looked up in an unfocused stare.

A tired smile quirked at John’s mouth. The Gerber baby, he wasn’t. With the almost-crossed eyes, red skin, wrinkles and nearly-bald head, he looked like a miniature old man with a bad comb-over and an even worse attitude.

That gaze remained locked on his face. John tried to remember anything Lanie had read aloud from the baby books stashed all over the house. Were you supposed to talk to them? Did they understand? Could talking to him make John feel any more foolish than engaging in a staring contest with a baby not two hours old?

“Hi.” The word came out froggy, and John cleared his throat. “I…I’m your dad. Is this as weird for you as it is for me?”

The baby watched him with an unblinking stare. Encouraged, John tried again. “I bet you’re wondering where your mom is. I know her voice is a lot more familiar than mine is. She’s, well, she’s sick right now. But she’ll get better because she knows how much you need her. She, um, she’s really something special… You couldn’t ask for a better mom, kid. You know, the kind that cuts your PBJ into shapes and helps you with your homework. Shows up for your school plays.”

Everything John’s own mother hadn’t done. He cleared his throat again. “I’ll give you fair warning, though. I’ll probably suck at being your dad. Patience isn’t one of my virtues, but maybe I can fake it. See, I never really had a dad, so I’m not sure what one is supposed to do. We’ll figure it out. But I promise you one thing—you will never see me raise a hand to your mom or say anything bad about her.”

Five pounds was heavier than it sounded. His arm ached, the bruise at his wrist stinging. With great care, he shifted the baby to his right arm. A frown appeared between those blue eyes, drawing the thin dark brows together.

“He’s about to start squalling.” Burnett’s voice cut through John’s musings. John looked up, heat touching his neck, hoping Burnett hadn’t heard him conversing with someone who couldn’t talk back. Burnett hefted a small stack of clothing—what looked like jeans and a sweatshirt. “Cait thought you might want a change of clothes. Your house is still closed off while the crime scene crew finishes up, so you’re stuck with a pair of Levis and my UT sweatshirt.”

“Thanks.” John dropped his gaze back to the baby, whose face reddened with each second. His mouth opened, and a series of small coughing cries emerged. Panic bloomed in John’s chest. “Oh, crap. Now what do I do?”

“Well, you might try lowering your hand,” Burnett offered, wry laughter lurking in his drawl. “You’ve got his butt higher than his head.”

Desperate, John complied, but the crying continued. He glared at Burnett as the baby’s sobs intensified, the small face scrunched into an expression of utter outrage. “Now what, genius?”

The blonde nurse approached, a small bottle in hand. She held it out as John prepared to hand over the baby. “Nope, sorry, Dad. You’d better get used to this now.”

John took the bottle, glanced at it then down at his son. How hard could this be? He brushed the nipple against the tiny mouth, and the crying ceased. Amazed, he watched the baby suckle with comical eagerness.

“Tilt the bottle up a little,” Burnett instructed, dropping into the other rocker. “He’s swallowing air.”

John slid him a glance. That sounded like the voice of experience. “You have kids?”

“Two. Had ‘em young, and we grew up together after my wife took off. Man, look at him eat. He won’t be a lightweight long.”

Pride struggled to life deep in John’s chest. “I guess not.” He looked at Burnett again. “Is she out of recovery?”

Burnett nodded, sympathy plain on his face. “A few minutes ago. She’s in the surgical ICU. Cait and Sheila went in to see her. She hasn’t woken up yet, but Sheila says that’s pretty normal. They’ll do another CT scan this afternoon, maybe run an EEG—you know, measure her brain waves.”

An unseen fist squeezed John’s heart. God, he wanted to see her. He glanced down at the baby, wishing she were here to see their son, to hold him.

Burnett cleared his throat, drawing John’s attention. The other man leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands between his knees. “Does he have a name?”

John shook his head. “We hadn’t decided on one yet.” Guilt cramped his stomach. Hell, he hadn’t even discussed names with Lanie. He’d done his best to pretend this baby didn’t exist. Now he had to find a way to make up for that. “Guess he’ll have to wait until his mom wakes up.”