46. Weston

My stride back to Renee’s room is confident. I didn’t realize how far I’d meandered while talking to Hunter, but now, I feel like I can’t get back fast enough. Finally, after half a dozen wrong turns and endless puke-green hallways like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare, I make it to the right corridor and see her room at the end of it.

I”m fully prepared to launch into a grand explanation. I’ve got a whole speech locked and loaded about how I”m going to be a damn good father, about why she needs to give me the chance to be the man I know I can be.

For her.

For our baby.

For our future.

Only, she”s not in the room when I wrench open the door.

I nearly panic. That sudden well of emotion—where is she? She was right here?—

Calm. Breathe. Scan.

I wonder if there”s some natural panic button that gets activated when you find out you”re going to be a dad. That burning need to know where your kid and the mother of said kid are at all times.

They must’ve taken her for a scan or something. She’ll be back any minute. Sit, relax, and breathe.

I drop into the guest chair and wait, my leg bouncing like a piston. I”m painfully aware of every second that ticks by, and none of them are fast enough for me. It”s like I”m stuck in a vat of molasses.

What feels like centuries later—but, according to the clock on the wall, is only thirty minutes—the door to the room opens again and Renee is wheeled in. When our eyes meet, it”s like the world pauses around us.

”Aw, look who came back,” the nurse croons as she pushes Renee around.

”Yeah, sorry. Had a call to make.”

Renee looks nervous. Pale and ashen, cheeks hollowed. Does she know that I know? Is it the fact that Deacon and I duking it out in the bathroom was what got us here in the first place?

None of this is shit I want to talk about in front of the nurse. Renee is the more important issue to tackle.

”How you feeling?” I ask.

The nurse begins to help Renee out of her wheelchair. I stand, but the nurse holds her hand up to stop me.

”I got this. Let me do my job, please.”

I don”t like being ordered around. I frown, taking another step closer. Renee is my woman, and she”s got my kid inside her. There”s no reason I shouldn”t be the one helping her, waiting on her?—

”I”m alright.” Renee”s voice cuts through the neanderthal in me and redirects my attention. ”Just got a killer headache.”

”No concussion, though,” her nurse chimes in. She still sounds a little haughty to my ear—but then again, I’m a little on edge right now.

”That”s good.” I test the waters. ”And everything else?”

I don”t say, And the baby? It feels like it would be too pointed. A little too accusatory, too I know about the mystery kid you’ve been toting around for weeks, or months, or who the fuck knows how long.

I”m not accusing her of anything. I just want to know.

Hell, I’m excited. I want to hear her say it. Tell me you’re going to make me a father. Tell me I made you a mother. Tell me we’re going to have a family and all this shit we’ve been through will have been worth it.

Renee wets her lips. It”s a minor nervous habit of hers, like anxiety dries her up. ”I think everything”s good.”

Neither of us speak after that. The air is stiflingly awkward. The snooty nurse gets Renee into bed, all tucked in. She fluffs Renee”s pillows, really putting on the Ritz-Carlton treatment here. I want to tell her to hurry up and get out, but I hold my tongue for as long as I can.

”So what’s next?” I blurt out when I can’t take the silence anymore.

”We”re going to keep her for a while for monitoring. She doesn”t have a concussion, but she still took a nasty spill, and it”s always best to make sure that everything is above-board, especially when there”s extra passengers, right?” Nurse Stick Up Her Ass smiles at me, but there”s something weirdly off about it.

Whatever. Not the fight I want to pick right now.

”Good,” I say. “I”ll be staying here.”

”Of course.” The nurse looks to Renee. ”Press your call button if you need anything. We”ll be here ASAP.”

She doesn”t leave quickly enough. Not even a second after she”s gone, I”m up at Renee”s side.

I haven”t touched her since we got here. Somehow, even though it”s not been a long time, it feels like an eternity. I slip my hand over hers. Amazingly, she doesn”t pull it back. In fact, her fingers curl around mine. She keeps me there, even though there”s hesitation in her eyes when she looks at me.

”You know?”

I don”t have to ask for clarity. The way her voice wavers like she”s not sure how I”m going to respond tells me everything I need to know.

”Yeah. The nurse told me.”

Silence.

I can”t tell if it”s a relieved silence, a stunned silence, or if it”s something else entirely. It”s like we”re each waiting for the other person to say something more. I would love an explanation. But this isn”t an interrogation—and we won”t get anywhere if I treat it like one.

”When did you find out?” I ask gently, calmly. I genuinely want to know how long she”s been holding this in.

Her throat bobs with a nervous swallow. ”Not long before you got me kicked out of the apartment.”

Months. She”s known for months.

Am I angry? I don”t think it”s anger. I wait for that familiar bubbling, boiling rage to kick in. You”ve been lying to me for so long. But I can”t muster that, because what I actually feel is?—

Regret.

”That”s why you never told me?”

She actually laughs. ”If you thought that I would steal from you and sell your things, you would have never believed that I was pregnant—or at least, that if I was, it was yours. Besides, I needed my parents’ help to get out of that situation and they had security for me.”

”But I didn”t?”

”Not then, Weston.”

The jackass in me wants to argue. To say, No, I would have done everything! It wouldn”t have mattered what I thought about her stealing—a kid is different.

But I know better. I know myself. And I would have been worse, treated her worse. I would have thought the baby was a lie—or like she said, assumed she had cheated and the baby wasn”t even mine.

”Were you ever going to say something? Were you ever going to tell me?”

She looks away. ”I was going to say it was Deacon”s. We”re supposed to get married. That was the condition my parents gave me to get me out of trouble.”

I think about that last conversation I had with Sutton—how she said it was my fault that Renee was dealing with bullshit. I”d thought it was just some normal nonsense, a girl siding with her friend over the guy she didn”t think was good enough for her.

”You have to marry that creep? Just so they could help you get out of charges? What kind of parents are they?”

”The kind that can”t have an unwed, pregnant criminal for a daughter,” she spits, her voice full of bitterness. ”It”s not the way a DuBois lives her life.”

”You say that like you have no say about how you live.”

”I don”t.”

“Now, you do.” I squeeze her hand. ”I love you, Renee,” I say, direct and confident. ”And I know you love me, too. So let me make this right. For you, and for that baby. I”m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

She looks stricken. ”Weston, you don”t understand. I made a deal?—”

“And I’m saying fuck the deal. Let me take care of you.”

“Weston…”

I run a hand through my hair. ”Renee, I’m on my knees begging you: don”t ice me out. I”m telling you, here and now, I”m willing to do this. I”m willing to do anything you need me to?—”

”Then give me time.” Her eyes plead with me. ”Don”t just try to bulldoze through this.”

Easier said than done. But I nod anyway, even though it tears me up inside. ”Okay. If that’s what you want, I can do that.”

”Thank you.” She breathes out a relieved sigh. ”One step at a time. Maybe we start at… co-parenting friends?”

It”s not even close to what I want. But it’s what she wants, what she needs, and it’s better than nothing. She could be kicking me out right now, so I take the answer without looking the gift horse in the mouth.

”Done.”

Renee seems surprised by my willingness to agree. ”Seriously?”

”Seriously.”

I can see a hundred more questions on her face, but before she can ask a single one, the door opens once more. A different nurse from the one before comes in, carting behind her some massive piece of equipment that takes me a second to recognize.

It”s an ultrasound machine.

”Just coming to check on the little one,” the ultrasound tech says brightly. ”Step aside, Papa. It”ll only take a minute and you can watch, too.”

My chest swells with pride out of deep left field. Papa. I look over at Renee and our eyes meet. There”s something warm in her gaze that tells me she likes it just as much as I do.

Eager to see my kid for the first time, I do what the nurse says and let her get to work. Gently peeling back Renee”s clothes to reveal her stomach—which, now that I’m looking closely, is definitely slightly rounded. If you didn”t pay attention, you”d barely notice it—hell, I hadn”t clocked it—but now that I know, it”s like I can”t unsee the pregnant belly there.

The pride in my chest doubles.

The nurse chats her up as she squirts a dollop of clear jelly onto her gloved fingers. ”I do it this way so it”s not so icy on your skin,” she explains, rubbing the substance between her thumb and forefingers before spreading it over the expanse of Renee”s belly.

”Thanks. The last few times, they”ve just plopped it on me out of the tube,” Renee says appreciatively.

The nurse shudders. ”Ghouls. Anyone who”s had a kid or two knows how awful that stuff is. Almost as bad as speculums.”

They both make a face. I have no idea what the fuck they”re talking about. I decide that, with a terrifyingly medical name like speculum, it”s probably best that I don”t ask.

Instead, I lean in, watching the ultrasound screen like my life depends on it. It”s a crackly, gray mess. I used to be so confused about how anyone could be mesmerized by what amounts to digital snow on a poorly connected TV screen. But it”s different when it”s your kid you”re looking at.

”Ah. Good pulse. We like to hear that,” the nurse praises as a light but steady gurgling thump sounds through the machine”s speakers. ”Annnd… right there. This little lump. That”s yours.”

She brings her fingers over a shaded area on the screen. It isn”t exactly baby-shaped, but it”s something. My little one, growing strong.

”Holy shit,” I breathe out. ”We did that, Renee. We made that.”

She laughs weakly. ”Yeah, we did, didn”t we?”

”Soon, your little gum ball will be a pretty sizable gum ball,” the nurse explains with a smile. ”A real bundle of joy. A little further along and we”ll be able to tell you the sex of the baby! Should make picking out names easier—if you want to know, that is.”

She looks at us expectantly, as if we”ve had these kinds of conversations before. How do you politely—and totally not suspiciously—tell someone you actually just found out today you were going to be a father?

Easy answer: you don”t.

”Heh, well, that sounds like a bridge to cross when we get there.” I look to Renee. ”Maybe we”ll just pick a name out of a jar.”

Renee mock-gasps. ”We will not.”

I grin. ”Could be fun.”

”That”s how you end up with a baby named something awful, like Wriothesley.”

”… Like what?”

”Exactly! It”s French, by the way. I have a cousin named that. It”s the absolute worst.”

I snort. ”Yeah, we”re not doing that.”

The nurse beams at the two of us and begins cleaning up Renee. ”Well, I”ll tell you one thing: it”s refreshing to see you so playful with each other. I”ve seen couples rip each other to shreds over baby names.”

Neither of us correct her—we”re not a couple.

But I”ll say that a signed, sealed approval from a prenatal nurse is a damn good start toward becoming one.