Page 76 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
After a moment, his shoulders shake, but silently. I just hold him, saying nothing. What is there to say?
A few minutes pass, and he straightens. “Thank fuck,” he growls. “I couldn’t have gone through that shit again. Jesse even less so.”
“We should go let the others know,” I say.
James nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
He takes my hand, twines our fingers together, and it’s the most natural thing in the world, holding his hand.
Everyone stands up as we enter the waiting room, all eyes expectantly on us.
“She’s okay,” James says, without preamble. “Imogen and…and Renée—they’re both okay.” He stumbles on the second name, voice cracking
Franco and Ryder close in around James, all three of them tangling in a complicated three-way man-hug, heads together. A moment later, all six of us hug one another tightly.
“When can we meet our new niece?” Laurel asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “She’s on oxygen and anyone who holds her will have to be scrubbed, so they’re going to limit visitors for a while. We may be able to see Imogen at some point soon, though.”
In this case, however, “soon” turns out to be more than four hours later. Ryder and Franco left halfway through the wait and came back with carryout food for all of us, and a giant box of coffee.
Finally, a nurse enters the waiting area and tells us we can go back and see Imogen, but only two at a time. Audra and Franco go first, and they’re with her for maybe thirty minutes. By unspoken agreement, James and I tell Laurel and Ryder to go next, and we wait another thirty-some minutes. Finally, it’s our turn to scrub clean, put on a gown and mask, and go back to the room where Imogen, Jesse, and the new baby are.
Imogen is on her back in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, an oxygen cannula in her nose. Jesse is perched on the edge of her bed, holding her hand. An incubator is on one side of the room, and inside is a tiny little blanket-wrapped bundle wired with monitor leads and oxygen tubes.
Imogen is pale, weak looking, and exhausted, but she’s gazing at Jesse adoringly. When James comes in, she smiles at him. “I hear you had to hold my man back.”
James nods, trying for a smile and not quite making it. “Yeah. He was…well, he was ready to rip the hospital apart to get to you.”
“Thank you for being there for him,” she says.
James answers her, but his eyes are on Jesse, who is in turn gazing at the incubator. “He’s my brother.”
Imogen looks at me, at James, at our still-joined hands, and her eyes light up. “You two!”
James looks down at our hands, but doesn’t let go. He just shrugs. “Yeah.”
“You figured it out?” she says, her voice hopeful.
“Sort of,” I say. “We still have some…figuring…to do.”
James chuckles, and neither Jesse nor Imogen miss the undertones swirling between us.
Imogen grins. “Did we interrupt something?”
I laugh. “This is pretty much the only thing that could have interrupted us.”
“Well, don’t let us keep you,” Imogen says. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon. Go finish figuring it out!”
James grunts a negative. “You’re family.”
He lets go of me and crosses to stand over the incubator. He crouches, staring down through the glass at the tiny little sweetie inside. “Hi, Renée. I’m your uncle Jamie.” His voice is so quiet, so tender. “Someday, I’ll tell you all about your namesake.”
I’d be lying if I said that didn’t send a twinge through me, but I stand beside James and rest a hand on his thick shoulder. He glances up at me, smiles, and then looks at Jesse and Imogen.
“She looks like you, Imogen.” He grins at Jesse. “Fortunately for her.”
Imogen smirks. “She’s got his nose.”
James laughs. “Poor little thing. Maybe she’ll grow into it.”
Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t be a dick, dick.”
Imogen whacks him, or tries to. “Watch your language around our daughter, Jesse O’Neill.”
Jesse snorts. “She’s not even five hours old. I don’t think she minds.”
Imogen’s eyes close, flutter, and shoot back open. James stands up, takes my hand again.
“You should rest,” he says. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”
Imogen nods, but she’s already drowsing. Jesse watches her, and then, once she’s asleep, he catches my eye and points at the hallway. He and James and I crowd into the hallway outside the room, and Jesse shuffles his feet, and then glances at me.
“This sort of puts a wrench in the wedding plans,” he says. “I know you said you’re not up for planning it, but I—um, I had an idea, and I was hoping you’d be able to help me with it.”
I smile at him, squeeze James’s hand, and listen to his plan.
Chapter 15
Two days after Renée Audra O’Neill is born, all eleven of us are gathered—in rather cramped quarters, it must be said—in an unused room in the maternity ward; the bed has been temporarily wheeled out to make room for all of us. There’s an eleventh person: a minister—a willowy, silver-haired woman in a lavender dress, a thin leather notebook in her hands.
