Page 71 of Second Draft

He doesn’t fight back, just goes limp in my arms. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did,” I hiss.

“No.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I didn’t hit her. I promise. Yeah, I lost my temper. Said things I shouldn’t have. But I swear to God I didn’t hurt her. She ran out of the room, then the next thing I know she was bent over, and there was…blood.”

His eyes are glassy, his face distorted in a grimace, and even though I don’t want to believe him, I do.

“I was fucked up.” He drags his good hand through his hair. “I still am.”

“What are you on?”

“I went to a buddy’s house, I only did one line, but–”

“Cocaine?” I drop my hands and look at him in disgust.

“I know. Shit.” He sits down on the couch. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a knock and both our heads jerk in the direction of the door. A small middle-aged woman wearing scrubs frowns when she glances between us.

“Which one of you is the father?” she asks.

Me, I want to say. Instead, I grind my teeth, and look at Travis.

Something passes between us, and I see the final acceptance in his eyes.

“He is,” Travis says, nodding at me.

The doctor doesn’t look convinced, but she sighs and addresses me. “We had to do an emergency C-section. Her placenta detached from the uterus, and she sustained significant blood loss.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t move. I’m just waiting for the woman to tell me that Layla is gone. That she didn’t make it.

“She’ll be in post-op for a few hours.”

“She’s okay?” The words come out in a rush.

“We’re still monitoring her, but she’s stable now.”

“Thank God.” My hands are ice cold and shaking as I ring them together. She’s okay. She’s going to be fine. I glance up at the doctor. “And the baby?”

She smiles then. “He’s healthy. You can see him now if you’d like.”

He. It’s a boy. Layla hadn’t wanted to know what the sex was, so we hadn’t found out. Neither of us cared, as long as the baby was healthy.

Behind the doctor, another woman peers into the room, and looks between Travis and I nervously. “There’s a police officer here asking to speak to a Travis Bennett. They have some questions about what happened.”

Travis looks up at me, his face pale, and I can see the flash of hope that I’m going to somehow bail him out. When I look away, I hear the creek of the couch as he stands.

“I’m glad they’re both going to be okay,” he mutters, before following the woman out of the room.

The doctor is still watching me, lip pursed. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to your son.”

My son. Those two words chase away the anger that’s consumed me since I walked into this room and saw Travis.

The doctor leads me through a series of corridors to a small room, where a nurse is wrapping a screaming infant in a blue and white striped blanket. She smiles at me when I approach.

“He’s got quite the set of lungs,” she says, motioning for me to come closer.

He’s pink. That’s the first thing I notice. And bald. I swear the kid has zero hair. And what he does have is light brown like Layla’s. He keeps wailing, a sound that sounds more like a sheep than a baby.

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