Page 72 of Second Draft

“Is he okay?”

“He’s perfect.” She tucks the last of his blanket around him, then picks him up, and starts to hand him to me.

I hesitate. He’s so damn small. I swear I’m going to break him or drop him.

“You’ll be fine. Just make sure his neck is supported.” She places him in my arms, adjusting him so that his head is in the crook of my elbow.

Almost immediately he stops crying. My breath gets locked somewhere in the back of my throat, and a rush of emotion floods through me.

“He knows who his Daddy is,” she says, before moving to fill out a chart that’s attached to the glass bassinette.

Emotion floods through me.

His Daddy. Tears prick at my eyes as I trace my thumb across his small cheek, making his lips purse in a sucking motion. Damn, but I can’t control the way my vision blurs. Layla should be here with me, meeting our son together for the first time. Travis took that away from us. For that I’m going to have a hard time forgiving him.

The nurse asks me a few questions as she fills out her forms. When she’s done, she smiles and says, “You can stay here. This will be your wife’s room once she’s released from post-op.”

“Do you know how long that will be?” I need to see her and she needs to see her son.Our son.

“It shouldn’t be that much longer.”

When she starts towards the door, I realize she’s about to leave me alone…with the baby.

“Wait.” I can’t hide the panic in my voice.

She turns, brows raised. “Yes?”

“What about…” I glance down at the small bundle in my arms.

I swear the woman is holding back a laugh when she says, “I’ll come back and check on you. If you need anything you can press the button on the bed.”

With those brief instructions, she leaves, and I sit down in the rocking chair that’s in corner of the room, and shift the baby in my arms, making him baa again. One tiny fist pulls free of the blanket and shakes up at me.

“You’re all right, little one.” I rock him, and croon, “You’re safe. And you’re mine. And whether your suborn Mommy wants to admit it or not, she’s mine too.”

The sound of my voice seems to soothe him, and he stops crying. His eyes open for the first time since he’s been in my arms, and he looks up at me.

I keep talking, and he seems almost mesmerized by my voice, “I’m your Daddy. You don’t know what that means yet, but it means I’m never going to let anyone hurt you.”

He yawns and his eyes close again. I’m fascinated by all his tiny movements, his small, swollen features. He’s all scrunched and wrinkled, but I’m already in love with him.

I’m not sure how much time passes before anyone comes back into the room. An hour, maybe two, but I don’t put him down because he seems content in my arms, and in all honesty, I don’t want to let him go.

“Mr. Bennett?” The doctor who had spoken to me earlier comes into the room, followed by a nurse, who doesn’t make eye contact with me, just reaches for the baby.

Both of the women’s expressions are severe. I almost don’t allow the nurse to take my son, wanting to use him as a shield to stop whatever news they’ve come here to give me. I know it’s bad. I can see it in their eyes.

“I’m just going to feed and change him,” the nurse says, giving me a look that’s filled with compassion.

With a shuddering breath, I hand him to her, then slowly stand, meeting the doctor’s gaze.

“Layla?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“There’s been some complications and we’ve had to take her back into surgery.”

I wish I hadn’t stood, because I’m pretty sure my legs are going to give out on me.

“How…what happened?”

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