Page 1 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

1

Maddie

“Excuse me, Ms. Walker?” the nurse interrupts. “There’s a gentleman in the waiting room who would like to speak with you.”

Confused, I look down at the new baby girl in my arms, then back at the nurse, convinced I’ve heard her wrong.

Who the hell would be here to see me?

I have no one.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“A man. He’s out front. Said he’d like to see you.”

I cock my head to the side. “Who?”

“He says he’s the father.” She drops her attention to Peanut. “Tall. Light hair. Lots of tattoos.”

Shit.

The blood drains from my face. “Oh. Um…”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Would you like me to have him removed from the hospital, Miss Walker?” she suggests, reading me like a damn book. “Wouldn’t be the first time––”

“No. Um…” My mind races, desperate to avoid the impending crash when I know it isn’t possible. “I’ll, uh, I’ll meet him in the waiting room.”

“You sure, honey? He looked a little…rough.”

I bite my tongue to keep from defending Milo––he definitely doesn’t deserve it––before I answer, “Yeah, I’m sure. Thank you, though.”

She steps closer and motions to my little Peanut. “Here. Let me take her for you. When you’re finished in the waiting room, we can see how she does with latching on for her next feeding, all right?”

Barely registering anything she’s said, a low hum assaulting my ears, I nod numbly and offer Peanut to her. My arms feel empty as soon as she’s out of reach, but I keep my head held high as I walk down the short hall to the heavy security doors leading to the main waiting area in the maternity ward.

A panic attack bubbles just beneath the surface. I can feel it. The impending crash rushing to catch up to me no matter how hard I try to run and hide from it.

Breathe.

But I can’t. I’m freaking out. Liketotal-mental-breakdownfreaking out. And I can’t decide if it’s because Milo finally knows about my baby or if it’s because I delivered her almost two months early and was told she’ll be staying in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for at least a few more weeks. Needless to say, I’ve been a mess ever since. I’m sore. I’m exhausted. And I feel more alone than ever.

The experts always talk about hormonesduringpregnancy. But for some reason, I feel like I missed the part where they mentioned them being a hundred times worse as soon as you actually deliver the baby.

Then again, some of those pregnant women aren’t planning on raising a baby all by themselves, let alone having the father show up to the hospital when he definitely didn’t know I was pregnant in the first place. So what do I know? Maybe this is normal. My racing heart. My sweaty palms. The tiny voice inside my head telling me I’m going to screw my daughter up, I’m going to fail her as a mother, and I was wrong to keep her from Milo.

I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes for a moment.

But maybe this is normal, too, you know? The mental breakdown.

It’s funny. I almost let myself believe if my baby has to stay at the hospital for a little while longer, maybe my secret could too.

The scent of cleaning supplies used to burn my nostrils, but as I stare at the heavy closed doors separating me from the man who broke my heart, I realize it’s almost familiar now. Hell, it’s almost comforting. Because I know my baby girl is watched over by someone who knows what they’re doing instead of the trainwreck mother she’ll have to deal with as soon as she gets the okay to come home.

And Iama trainwreck.

I don’t deserve to be a mother. Especially not to someone so innocent––so tiny and perfect––as my little Peanut.

---