Page 86 of No Saint

“He needs his mother.”

“And I will take him to her.”

“Maybe I should,” My mother says.

I’d lived my life in a shadow of doubt. Doubt I’d run the city, doubt I’d produce an heir or do it right.

We all had weaknesses, more than one, and anyone to claim different was a liar.

I was forever having to prove myself.

This was no different.

“Give him to me.”

She fought internally but eventually she passed the boy over, holding on until the last second. I don’t wait, I take the boy and I exit.

He needed his mother and I had to hope the sight of her would be enough.

No one follows and the child, he clings to me, his tiny fingers gripping my clothes like a lifeline.

Amelia still sleeps soundly when I enter, curled up beneath my blankets but Lincoln cries.

“She’s here,” I tell the boy, “See, right there.” I angle him to show her sleeping face and yet he still cries.

I’d had very little involvement with her son since they arrived, but it felt invasive to have anyone but me and Devon, her doctor, inside this room.

“She’s okay.” I whisper to the child. “sta bene.”

Big hazel eyes turn to me, glassy with tears and mouth turned down. There was so much expression, so much emotion, I couldn’t figure out how to process it. But I knew it was late, I knew he should be sleeping based on Amelia’s routine, so I try my best to recreate.

I gently position him until he’s cradled in my arms, seeing all the similarities to Amelia in the shape of his nose, his mouth and I begin to rock back and forth as I’d seen be done before.

He sniffs and whimpers, but the tears slow. I glance to Amelia, checking the child hadn’t woken her and when she remains sleeping, I carry the child to the windows, looking out at the view of the ocean.

Lincoln cries again.

“Shh, shh,” I hush, rocking.

He was fighting sleep, so I start to sing, keeping my voice low. I didn’t know any other nursery rhyme other than Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, so that’s what I use. My voice is barely above a whisper but it’s enough to snag the boys attention. He quietens, staring up at me as I say each word. I sing and I rock him until he gently drifts off to a sleep and so I sit in the chair with him, watching the waves while he sleeps on my chest.

At some point I must have drifted off to sleep myself, holding the boy tight to my chest.

Amelia

It was an odd sensation, one warming my chest and tightening my stomach.

I was careful not to move too much, to keep my breathing steady as I look to where Gabriel stands rocking my son back and forth in his arms. He sings so softly to him and my son, he stares up at the man like he hung the moon, little fingers tangled into his shirt, eyes droopy with fatigue. He doesn’t stop until he’s asleep and I watch the entire time, seeing how gentle he was with him, how attentive.

It filled me with warmth.

And then he sits, keeping Lincoln on his chest, letting him use his body as a bed, chest as a pillow and Gabriel keeps a tight hold on him, even as I watch, besotted by the view, as Gabriel himself drifts off.

It’s when he’s asleep, head lolled to the side using the back of the chair as a rest, that I sit up. It was dark out, I’d been sleeping on and off since we got back from the hospital, but I felt good, much better than before. Slowly, I climb from the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet of Gabriel’s room and cross over to them, letting my hand stroke Lincoln’s head before my hand finds the side of Gabriel’s face. A small touch of my fingers to his skin brands me through.

How I had ever denied him when he made me feel so much was a mystery. I gently begin to lift Lincoln only Gabriel snaps awake, dragging him back and getting defensive, ready to defend my son. He stops as soon as he realizes it’s me but there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes when he notices I’m taking my son.

I smile gently at him as he releases him and I cradle Lincoln with one arm, using the other to reach out for Gabriel. He frowns but takes my hand, letting me lead him back to the bed. I gently place Lincoln on my side and turn to Gabriel, pressing up onto my toes so I can taste his mouth. His hands stay at his side, but they ball into tight fists as if he’s restraining himself from touching me.

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