Page 65 of Halfway to Hell
Just then, the door eased open, drawing his attention.
A nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand and a kind smile on her face. “Miss Mornin, it’s nice to see you awake,” she said warmly, walking toward the bed.
Sunday gave a small, tired smile in return.
The nurse looked to the baby nestled in her arms. “Have you tried nursing this little fellow yet?” she asked gently.
“Not yet,” she said, adjusting her hold on August.
“Has he not eaten?” Sunday looked from the nurse to August, then up at Texas, her worry creeping in. How long had she been asleep? How long had her baby gone without her?
She remembered the orchard. The apples. After that… nothing.
“I … I don’t know if he’s hungry,” she said quietly, guilt threading through her voice.
“Oh, he’s had a bottle,” the nurse said with a reassuring smile, giving Texas a gentle pat on the arm. “Dad fed him like a pro.”
Sunday’s shoulders sagged with relief, but it didn’t stop the sting of disappointment rising in her chest.I missed his first feeding.
She looked down at August, sleeping peacefully in her arms, and blinked hard against the sudden burn behind her eyes. Her son had been hungry, and she hadn’t been there. She knew it wasn’t her fault, she’d just come out of surgery, but itfeltlike a failure.
All those baby books. All the late-night research. She’d watched more nursing videos than she could count, but now that the moment was here, she still felt lost.
She glanced back at the nurse, her voice small, “I don’t… really know what I’m supposed to do.”
The nurse’s expression softened. “You don’t have to know everything right now.”
Texas moved closer again, brushing a hand down her hair. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “He’s safe. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
Sunday nodded, still unsure but grateful. Maybe she didn’t know exactly what to do yet. But she wasn’t alone.
The nurse checked Sunday’s vitals on the monitor, then glanced down at August with a soft smile—babies always had a way of brightening her day. She gave Texas a reassuring pat on the arm and looked warmly at Sunday.
“I’ll have the lactation nurse come right in and help you,” she said gently.
“Thank you,” Sunday breathed, relief flooding through her. The nurse knew exactly what she was thinking—how lost she felt, how much she wanted to do this right.
As the nurse opened the door to leave, she added, “The cafeteria’s closed, but if you’re hungry, I might be able to find something for you.”
Texas’s jaw tightened just slightly. He knew his mom was already itching to be here, fussing over Sunday and the baby. He gave a quick nod. “Is she on a special diet? Anything Sunday shouldn’t eat?”
“I would avoid anything spicy or anything that could cause gas,” the nurse advised gently. “Both aren’t good for Miss Mornin or the baby. Speaking of that precious bundle, have you picked a name yet?”
“August Rhys,” Sunday answered softly.
The nurse smiled. “What an interesting name. I like it.”
Once the door closed behind her, Texas looked over at Sunday cradling their son. Suddenly overwhelmed, he sank back down into the chair beside her. To keep his mind from slipping back to the orchard—the chaos and fear—he reached out, searching for a way to steady himself.
“Hey,” he said quietly, voice thick. “Do you want something to eat? Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you.”
Sunday met his eyes, her own tired but grateful. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Texas squeezed her hand gently. For now, that was enough.
“Whatever Mom has cooked will be great,” Sunday said softly, glancing at Texas, hoping it was okay she’d called his mother “Mom.”
What she got in response was a wide-ass grin.
