Page 91 of Tech

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Tech

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and lean back in the most fucking uncomfortable chair ever, resting my left ankle over my knee, my eyes firmly on my girl who’s lying in the hospital bed.

Three hours. That’s how long I’ve been sitting here, waiting for my girl to wake up. Her face is bruised, as well as her wrists.

Doc believes she tried to rip her hands out of the restraints. She’s got cuts on the side of her wrists from where the metal dug into her so deep they required stitches. She also has a large bruise on her left hand from where she ripped the cannula out.

Alexander whimpers in my arms, and I gently pat his bottom as Sniper showed me. I look down at him, ensuring his pacifier is in his mouth.

He looks so much like his momma. He has her nose, lips, and light brown hair, which is a little tufty on top, but he has my cheekbones and dark blue eyes.

He’s fucking perfect.

Kennedy said that considering what he’s been through, he’s healthy. He is six weeks early, but his lungs are fully developed. She did a full workup, and only returned him to me ten minutes ago. After everything he went through, she left no stone unturned, and here he is, in my arms and not in an incubator.

We got lucky, and I’m so fucking happy Ken is a NICU nurse; I wouldn’t trust anyone else with him.

I smirk as I read his onesie.

Aunt Vi is my favorite!

Fucking Violet.

I smile at my boy as he looks up at me, his innocent eyes full of wonder, despite the horror the start of his life entailed. When Kennedy first brought him back to me, I was so fucking confused. She kept mumbling, “How did I not think of this,” and, “This will not do, it will not do.”

It wasn’t until she passed him over and I saw his clothes that I understood, and finally fucking laughed myself to tears for the first time since my girl went missing.

The women are crazy but fucking amazing.

Now I need mine to wake.

I hear a groan and snap my head up, my eyes going to my girl. I hold my breath, watching as she opens her eyes and looks to her left. Lifting her hands she sees a bandage before looking at her right, where the cannula was replaced.

I see her chest move faster, and I know she’s close to ripping the cannula out again, and jumping out of bed.

I rasp before she can move, “It’s about time you came back to us, baby,” causing her head to whip my way. Her eyes tear up as they connect with mine before they move to the baby, who’s fallen asleep in my arms.

“J-James…” she croaks, tears streaming down her face, and I smile, slowly standing, careful of our boy.

Brook watches my every move, her eyes firmly on our son, and I whisper, “Alexander here has been waiting for you….”

She sobs. “A boy, we have a boy?”

I nod and gently lay our son on her chest, her hands going to his body.

“We have a son, Angel, a very healthy little boy, despite being six weeks early.”

She cries as our boy looks up at his momma and she murmurs, “He has your eyes….” I smile, my tears falling, and she continues, “He-he’s so perfect, Love, so-so perfect. You found him; you didn’t let her hurt him.”

I nod and lean down, placing my lips on the top of her head. My hand settles on top of hers on our son’s back, and I let my emotions take hold, and I fucking sob.

The stress from the day, the fear of watching my girl be resuscitated, watching my newborn be dragged about, and finding him on a dirty bed, comes out in painful sobs, and my girl cries along with me.

Finally, I feel at home again. Finally, I feel like I can breathe.

An hour later, I’m on my girl’s bed, her back half lying on my chest, our son on hers, asleep.

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