Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4) (7 page)

“Mom said Dad has been sick. I don’t know what he’ll look like, so be prepared for anything. I don’t want to alarm him by reacting negatively to his appearance.”

“Don’t worry, babe. We’ve got this,” Brianna assured him.

When he opened the door and walked into his father’s room, Noah had to consciously make his feet move. He hid his shock and concern behind his smile. The breath that had seized in his lungs was forced to exhale as he spoke. The pride on his face when introducing his daughter to his father masked the uneasiness that squeezed his heart. The love Noah felt when he placed his daughter in her grandfather’s arms convinced him that his father would survive this disease. Even if it was only because of Noah’s sheer will to eradicate it from his father’s body.

“She’s so beautiful.” Steve beamed. His translucent pallor even transformed to a radiant glow. “Amelia, you’re my first grandbaby. I’m going to spoil you with so much love and so many toys.”

Noah turned his head away and locked eyes with Brianna. Tears filled her eyes, and she fought hard to swallow them down. “Don’t think her daddy isn’t already spoiling her,” Brianna laughed and sat on the side of Steve’s bed. “You two must be conspiring against me.”

Steve smiled mischievously. “It’s my job to spoil any grandkids I have. You can ask Sara. I take my job very seriously.”

“He does,” Sara replied. “He always has to be the best, too. So prepare for a lot of spoiling competition between these two guys.”

“I say we find a way to turn this game to our advantage, Sara. We need a little spoiling action out of this, too.” Brianna winked.

“I’m game if you are.”

“Don’t you two worry. I know exactly how to handle these men,” Liz chimed in. “We’ll have them peeling our grapes and feeding them to us before long.”

When they finally left Steve’s room, it was only because he was so completely worn-out from cooing over Amelia, gently bouncing her in his arms, and singing her to sleep. When he fell asleep with her in his arms, Brianna snapped several pictures of them with her phone.

“I’ll walk you out,” Sara offered.

“Come back to the hotel with us, Mom. We’ll grab something to eat, you can rest for a while, and you can play with Amelia when you wake up. Brianna and Liz will be there with you if you need anything,” Noah insisted.

“No, son. I’m not leaving your father yet. I’ll be back at the hotel tonight. You go on ahead and get them settled. I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this for a while now.”

With a heavy heart, Noah left his mother at the hospital beside his dad. He didn’t argue the point because he knew he wouldn’t be any different if it were Brianna in that hospital bed. He’d be by her side for as long as possible. Knowing that didn’t make leaving his mom behind any easier, though.

B
raxton
,

Today has been especially emotional for so many reasons, but they all seem to revolve around you in one way or another. It all started first thing today when I went to visit my parents, but not in the way I’m sure you’re thinking right now. First, you probably think I went running back to them as soon as you left, but you’d be wrong. Second, you’re probably also thinking they’ve turned me against you, but again, you’d be wrong.

Of course, my father started in on me as soon as I got there, trying to pressure me to file for a divorce. You know I’ve never had trouble putting him in his place, and today was no exception to that. In fact, I may have actually gotten through to him this time when I turned the tables on him. It seemed to finally sink into that thick skull of his that I meant what I said when I took those vows with you. I’m not filing for a divorce, now or ever.

Mom shared a heartbreaking story with me from when she was in school. Long story short, she lost a boyfriend who was very important to her, and the details of how and why it happened will always haunt her. After she told me about it, her words really hit home and made me think about you and me. She even encouraged me to talk to you, to make sure you know how much I still love you so we wouldn’t lose any more precious time. She encouraged me to fight for my marriage and for you.

The second blow hit after I left my parents’ house and rushed back to our apartment to pack a few things. Your parents have been very patient and loving to me. They’ve let me stay in your old room where all your childhood memories still live and I can still feel you. The apartment has just been too lonely, and too many memories show up in my nightmares. Now, I only go by there every few days to pick up more clothes, get the mail, or check on our belongings.

On my way back to our apartment, my sole focus was to get these words on paper as fast as I could. But as soon as I stepped inside, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor. The only explanation I have for what I experienced is how I wanted you to be there with me so badly. But I swear I smelled a faint scent of you when I opened the door. That signature scent that has always been solely yours still hung in the air, as if you’d just been there a little while before.

Maybe it was simply because I didn’t notice it when I stayed there every day, I’m not sure. Or maybe it was because the apartment had been closed up for a few days since I’d been gone, so the scent was so much more pronounced. Regardless of why, the tears started, and I couldn’t stop them for a couple of hours after that, so I curled up on the couch and let them all out. I haven’t slept at the apartment for the last several weeks because I no longer felt your presence there. But when that scent surrounded and covered me, it was almost more than I could bear.

That long, anguished cry actually felt good. It was therapeutic to finally let it all out. I’ve kept it bottled up inside for so long, I’m surprised I haven’t exploded like a can of Coke after it’s been shaken and put back on the shelf. Missing you has taken more of a toll on me than I’ve realized. When you left, I know you did it for me, because you thought that would be best for me. Maybe you even thought that was what I wanted.

The final blow came when I finally sat up on the couch and turned the television on for the first time in months. I’ve kept myself so sheltered from the world, wrapped in my cocoon of depression, I had no clue what was happening outside the four walls I’ve kept myself locked in. Every channel had the news on a continuous loop, and I stared in disbelief at the planes buried deep inside the buildings as they burned, the people jumping out of the broken windows, the desperation of those searching for their loved ones.

I was scared
—
no, I was terrified. I was confused, and no one seemed to have any answers as to why this happened. My heart was broken for all those people, their families, my country. Then I realized something important about myself. I’d numbed myself to practically everything else since that day, the day we lost him. I’d been living in a stupor, just barely surviving one day to the next, until the moment I realized that the cowardly acts of terrorism would affect you. You’re in the Army now, and the terrible acts that happened earlier were an act of war against us. You’ll be called upon to answer the attack.

I don’t know how to live without you, Brax. I don’t know how to be me without you. We’ve been together for so long, you’ve been such a huge part of my life, I’ve always taken for granted that you’d be there for me, to carry me when I couldn’t take another step. Beside me, holding my hand. Behind me, supporting me. In front of me, protecting me. More than that, you’re the other half that makes me whole.

For you to understand my insanity, I need you to take a walk down memory lane with me. I know it’s hard. Believe me, I know. But we need this, Brax. We need to do this together, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to realize it.

Brax, I want us
—
our friendship, our romance, our love, our marriage
—
every aspect that makes this ride through life mean something, through the good times and bad. I owe you an apology that I wish I could give you in person, eye to eye, so you’d see, hear, and feel everything I’m feeling. For now, I have to hope and pray this letter will accurately convey what I need to say to you.

Here we go.

My hands were shaking so badly when I took that pregnancy test, I’m surprised I didn’t pee all over myself instead of that little stick. I already knew the results before I even looked at the little window. My period had always been like clockwork until the day it just stopped showing up completely. Morning sickness had already reared its ugly head enough that I couldn’t deny what was really happening. But I still needed the proof that little test provided before I’d accept it.

I remember walking out of the bathroom, hiding the test in case my parents were nearby, and rushing straight back to my bedroom. You were waiting for me, sitting on my bed and using my pencils as drumsticks, without a care in the world. You knew what the results would be, too. Unlike me, you were excited about the odds that I was really pregnant. But then, it was always hard to rile you up, unless some other guy ignorantly thought he could take your place by my side.

When I handed the pregnancy test to you without even looking at it myself, I turned around and put my head against my chest of drawers. You wrapped your arms around my waist and pulled my back flush against your front. Your hands lovingly snaked up my torso until your forearms crossed over my chest while you held me tightly. Your lips were against my ear when you whispered, “It’s positive, Heather. We are pregnant.”

At first, I didn’t realize you’d said “we” instead of “you.” I shouldn’t have been surprised by it, though. You never would’ve made me feel like I’d have to face it alone. And I didn’t, not one step of the way did I ever feel alone. When we told my parents, my dad threatened you by saying, “I’ll cut your dick off and mount it over the fireplace.”

You calmly replied, “Your mantle isn’t big enough to hold my dick, so it sure wouldn’t hold it with you mounting it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, and that’s all it took to calm my frayed nerves so I could function again. After that, I put my dad in his place and showed them both
my
place was by your side. Though the rest of conversation wasn’t pleasant, you helped me make it clear we would get married and they couldn’t stop us from having our own family. Of course, then we had to pretend it was our choice to wait a couple of months until we’d both turned eighteen so we could marry without their permission.

Our wedding and reception were interesting, to say the least. My dad finally agreed to walk me down the aisle, if for no other reason than he wouldn’t stand for someone else doing it instead. When the preacher asked who gave me to you, I thought he’d change his mind and drag me out of the church. But he surprised me and went through with it as planned. I’ve always wondered if my mom had something to do with that, whether she threatened him to make him do it.

Our reception was small but nice. Our three-tiered wedding cake was everything we could have asked for, the punch was perfect, and the candles that lit the room cast the perfect ambiance. Until Kelly leaned over to cut the cake and caught her hair on fire, that is. The flash from her hair spray igniting was both loud and bright. While the others patted her head to stop her hair from being charred, you and I were doubled over in laughter with tears streaming down our faces.

I’ll never forget how you carried me over the threshold of our tiny little apartment when we finally left the reception. You refused to let me walk inside on my own two feet because you said it was your job to carry me. To you, it was symbolic of how you’d always be there to carry me, care for me, and love me. I didn’t doubt your love then, Brax, and I don’t doubt it now.

As my belly grew, so did our love and excitement for the future. Yes, it was hard going to school with everyone watching every pound I gained, but you made that easy for me, too. When a snarky comment was made, you either threatened to beat the guy up or to reveal an embarrassing secret about the girl if they didn’t shut up. My personal bodyguard, your love and support were all I ever needed.

The day Dalton Miles Reed was born was a new experience for us both. It was the first time you were the one who’d needed consoling and protecting. You were so adorable in your panicked state
—
afraid something would go wrong and you’d lose me, helpless because you couldn’t stop the labor pains that tore through me, and secretly dreading the gory part of the delivery. I had to keep reassuring you that I was fine, I would be fine, and you would also be fine. I think I said “fine” at least a million times that day.

Turns out, all three of us were
fine
excellent. After just a couple of days in the hospital, you took Dalton and me home to our little apartment. In our haste to move in together, we didn’t consider the fact we’d need a separate bedroom for our son’s things. So after my baby shower when we brought home the bassinet, car seat, bouncy seat, changing table, and all the baby clothes, our bedroom and living room were instantly transformed. We joked that our entire apartment had become one big nursery with no room to turn around in, but we were happy with it.

We had absolutely no clue about what colic was, how easily babies got their days and nights mixed up, or how to fix either issue. But we learned a lot about one-, two-, three-, and four-o’clock feedings, diaper changes, and what his different cries meant. The sleepless nights began to add up until we were beyond exhausted.

When I woke up that night, I immediately knew something was very wrong. I’d slept more than two hours straight for the first time in nearly three months. Dalton was in his crib beside our bed, sleeping well for the first time. I gently laid my hand on his stomach, just as I’d done so many times before when he slept, just to feel the rise and fall of his breath.

But it wasn’t there.

There was no rise and fall. There was no warmth from his little baby body.

Only stillness.

My heart pounded in my chest, and my own breaths wouldn’t come. I flew out of the bed and picked him up, careful to support his little head, but with an urgency I’d never experienced before. You felt me moving, and you also sensed something was terribly wrong. When you flipped the switch and the room filled with the bright overhead light, my heart splintered with unimaginable pain. The bluish hue of his skin and lips was unmistakable.

You took him from my arms and immediately started CPR while I dialed 911. Somehow, through my hysterics, I was able to tell them where we were and what had happened. Regardless of the circumstances and how badly you were hurting, you wouldn’t give up, you wouldn’t stop trying to revive him. All you wanted was to bring him back to us, and you did everything you could possibly do.

When the paramedics arrived and took over, Dalton still wasn’t breathing. I overheard them talking when they were working on him in the back of the ambulance. They didn’t know I was there when one guy asked the other if he thought Dalton would make it. He was hesitant to answer, but he finally said, “No, it doesn’t look like it.”

At that moment, I wanted to die. If I could’ve willed my heart to stop beating, I would’ve gladly done just that and died with him. It would’ve been better than living with the devastation that had just hit me like a speeding locomotive.

We didn’t speak the entire ride to the hospital. I know I was lost in my prayers, begging for a miracle, trying to bargain with God to make it all a nightmare so I could wake up and gladly give up another night of sleep just to care for our baby. At the time, I didn’t even realize you hadn’t said a word. It wasn’t because I didn’t care. It wasn’t that I was mad at you. I was just so very lost in mourning, afraid to hope, and afraid not to hope.

When the doctor came in to tell us our perfectly healthy eleven-week-old baby boy couldn’t be revived, whatever was left of my grasp on reality completely and utterly shattered. I remember crumpling to the floor because I wished it would just swallow me whole and put me out of my misery. I remember your strong hands catching me before I hit the ground with the full force of my weight. You kneeled behind me, pulled me into your lap, and wrapped your arms around me.

Holding on to your arms was the only thing that kept me from completely checking out of my sanity. I couldn’t tell you then because I couldn’t even speak, but you were my lifeline. You were the only reason I continued to hold on and not give up entirely. I wish I’d told you then. I wish I’d been strong enough to explain everything I was thinking and feeling. But planning Dalton’s funeral became another nail in my own coffin, and the deep depression soon overtook me.