Page 53 of Not Another Yesterday
“Ran?” I say quietly, my hand on his chest. He’s drenched in sweat yet cool to the touch; his breath rises and falls fitfully. I’ve witnessed him have these nightmares several times since the trial, know how distressing they are to him, especially when he’s unable to come out of them by himself.
“Sweet boy, wake up,” I say, a little louder. I move my hand away from his heaving chest and to his cheek. I’m surprised when my skin is met with wetness. I lift my head to find tears staining his face. He’s crying in his sleep. I’ve never seen that before, not like this. Not silent tears slipping down his face while he fights some invisible terror.What in the world has him so freaked out?“Ran, come on, wake up,” I say, wiping his tears away, but they keep coming. There’s so much pain on his face, it guts me.
I sit up and kiss his lips gently. “Ran, wake up!”
He gasps and startles awake, shooting up on his elbows, breathing labored as his eyes dart over the room. When they land on me, they’re full of despair.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”
I reach for him, my hand against his cheek. “No, it’s okay.” I move my left hand to his chest. His heart is hammering against his ribs at a brutal pace. “Are you alright?”
He takes a second, then nods, though the crease on his brow doesn’t soften and the sadness in his eyes remains.
“Nightmare?” I ask simply. He nods again.
I analyze his face a moment longer, desperate to make him feel better, to distract him from whatever pulled him into the darkness of his night terror. I know what he needs. Not words, not logic. He needs to feel safe again. And if I can give that to him, even just for a little while, I will.
I pull my shirt up and over my head, discarding it on the floor.
Relief floods me when the tension bleeds from his face. “Baby,” he breathes and pulls me into his lap. I straddle his hips, then dip my head and ghost my lips over his, doing the one thing that I know will take him out of his head, out of his pain, out of this world.
Monday, January 23rd
Ronan
I officially became a half brother last night.
My dad texted Steve and me early yesterday morning, letting us know that he and Penny were at the hospital, that Penny’s water broke, and she was going to stay at the hospital until she delivered the twins.
After that the updates from my dad were sporadic, which I don’t fault him for. I’m sure he was preoccupied with, well, Penny’s labor and all of that. Cat received regular updates from her mom, who ended up going to the hospital to provide Penny and my dad with support. So it was actually Cat who told me at just before ten last night that my twin brothers were born via C-section half an hour earlier.
The babies and Penny are doing well. So well, in fact, that the three of them will be able to go home in a few days, despite the babies being born three weeks early.
“Oh my god.” Cat swoons, a love-struck look on her rosy face the moment we walk into Penny’s hospital room this afternoon and she spots the tiny babies wrapped like burritos in light blue blankets. My dad holds one of the boys while Penny holds the other, a tired smile on her face.
“How are you?” Cat leans over the bed to give Penny a gentle hug.
“Surviving,” Penny laughs, her long dark hair wrapped into a messy bun atop her head.
“Are you in pain, baby?” my dad asks her, concern in his eyes.
“I’m okay right now,” she says. “Do you want to hold him?” Penny asks Cat, who smiles widely, then carefully takes the baby from Penny’s arms into her own.
“Oh my gosh, he’s so tiny,” Cat croons, her voice probably three octaves higher than usual. She gazes at the little bundle in her arms, gently rocking from side to side, instinctively knowing how to soothe a baby.
“So, who is who?” I ask my dad.
My dad chuckles. “This is Dean.” He motions his chin at the baby in his own arms. “And that’s Kellan.” He gives a quick nod toward Cat.
“I love their names,” Cat sing-songs quietly, still swaying, the baby securely cradled in her arms. She lowers her face to Kellan’s head and inhales, her lips tugging into a sated smile.
“How can you tell them apart?” I ask. “They look exactly the same.”
“Yeah,” my dad says. “We’re dressing them differently until we start to recognize their physical features more.”
“Their little onesies have their names on them,” Penny says with a giggle.
“Oh, okay, so it’s not just me then,” I say, relieved.
