Page 126 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“He’s not?—”

Lily cuts of Slash’s correction to tell Deborah. “I really appreciate your assistance.”

“It was nothing.” The nurse preens under my sweet thing’s gratitude. “We aim to make things as easy as we can for parents.”

Nurse Deborah’s nothing cost me a couple million dollars.

Every dollar was well spent ss the idiot who thought he’d outmanoeuvred me today in his quest to monopolise Lily’s attention is forced to silently accept defeat.

Determined to keep my woman from seeing my glee, I press my lips together. I push Lily into the private neonatal intensive care unit I also arranged. Her husband trails behind us, quelled into momentary submission.

Game on, Slash.

May the best man win...

While Deborah explains the benefits of skin-on-skin ‘kangaroo care’ time with our son, I keep my hands on Lily’s shoulders. She’s shaking. Rattled by the sight of the twins. While our son is in an open crib with a radiant light over him, our daughter is trapped inside an incubator with small openings for us to touch her through. Tubes and machines surround her. Too many contraptions work in tandem to keep her alive than one tiny baby should ever require.

Every ounce of spite-tinged delight I had in one-upping Slash dies as I comprehend the situation we’re in. My son is premature, slightly underweight, and jaundiced. He has little goggles over his eyes and a nasal cannula. Our daughter is frail from being born much too early. She requires breathing assistance and an NG tube. She’s so small. A pound lighter than her brother. Fighting for every breath. Upset at the world much like her mother was when she was born.

The tiny sounds of her distress hit like a tsunami.

I can’t help her, and neither can Lily.

We’re at the mercy of modern science and luck.

In the same way, I supported him yesterday, Slash steps up behind me. I comfort Lily as she battles to maintain her composure, doing my best to silently infuse her with the support she requires to withstand this latest difficulty to befall us. The hand that clamps down over my shoulder offers me similar strength. A connection I thought we’d lost. Our bond severed once we acknowledged our rivalry for my sweet thing’s heart.

“They’ll be home before we know it.”

I pat his hand once.

Hard.

“Hope you’re right.”

Slash digs his fingers into my flesh.

Too tight.

“I am.”

As my son is lifted from his crib, and Lily adjusts the top of her hospital gown, so she can provide him with kangaroo care, his quiet confidence starts to seep into my psyche. I am dumbstruck at the sight of the tiny little boy laying on my sweet thing’s chest. In the crib next to us, our daughter noisily kicks up a fuss, determined to make sure we don’t forget about her.

My woman in front of me.

My best friend stands guard at the rear.

I’m a dead man meeting my newborn twins.

It’s the strangest situation.

One I don’t completely like.

Yet, it feels right.

23

LILY

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