Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

DANIELA

FOUR DAYS LATER

"Where do you want all this stuff, Dani?" my best friend, Morgan, asked me as she unlocked my apartment door and walked in with her boyfriend, Malachi, right behind her.

"Just throw it on the couch for now," I sighed, following them inside with the baby carrier. "I'll deal with it in a little while."

"Mal, why don't you go grab the bassinet out of Mar's room and move it to Dani's room for her?" Morgan suggested.

"You've got it," he said.

A lump rose in my throat as I saw all the reminders of my sister surrounding me. She'd been alive and well just five days ago. Now she was gone, and I was left here to take care of her son, all alone and with no one to help me. Except Morgan and Malachi.

I still didn't understand how no one had figured out that Amara had lupus with all of the tests they'd done during her pregnancy. But, then again, I supposed they hadn't been looking for it either. And because the lupus had gone undiagnosed and untreated, it had left her more susceptible to all kinds of infections, so when a little bit of the placenta had stayed inside her uterus after the delivery, it had given her an infection and she'd gone septic and ended up dying within a matter of hours. The doctor actually suspected that there was already an infection present before she even went into labor.

I supposed the only thing I could take comfort in was knowing that she'd gone peacefully in her sleep. But I didn't know what I was supposed to do without her and how I was supposed to care for her son the way he deserved. I was going to have to drop out of college and get a job to support myself and Isaac. I didn't see any other way.

I sank down onto the couch, lifting a sleeping Isaac out of his carrier, and Morgan sat down beside me, hugging my shoulders and looking down at him.

"He's seriously too cute for words," she said quietly.

"He is," I agreed. "I wish I saw more of Mar in him. But all the important parts of her are there, right?"

"Of course they are." She rubbed my arm. "I know this is scary, but you're going to be an amazing mom to him. I know that without a doubt."

"I don't know how. I don't know how we're going to make it," I sniffled. "I can't support a kid. My student loan is barely enough to support me , let alone a newborn baby. And I don't know how the hell I'm going to pay for a funeral. The money from our parents' insurance settlement and is almost gone."

"Mal didn't want me to tell you, but he's taking care of the funeral and the hospital bills," she whispered.

I lifted my eyes from my nephew to look at her. Even though she was smiling, her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, and I could see the tension written all over her face as she tried to keep her composure. I knew she was trying to be strong for me right now, but she was grieving my sister's death too.

"He's doing what ?" I asked.

"He called the funeral home and the hospital and paid the balance on both accounts. He said it's the least he can do. And you know if you need to borrow some money?—"

"No," I cut her off. "I can't do that. You know I never would have let him pay for the funeral or the hospital bill if I'd known about it. It doesn't feel right taking charity, especially from the two of you."

"It's not charity. It's love," she chuckled softly. "And that's why he didn't tell you about paying for that stuff. Because he knew you wouldn't let him."

"Thank you," I sniffled. As uncomfortable as I was, I was grateful for the help. "That'll help me for a while. But money's still running out. I'm going to have to drop out of school. Especially since I'm going to have to pay for childcare."

"You've got a little time to figure it out," she soothed me. "Look, I know Isaac's father said he doesn't want anything to do with him?—"

"He doesn't," I bit out.

"Do you have the phone number Amara had for him anywhere?"

"Yeah. We called from my phone once because we thought the publicist was purposely ignoring her number on the caller ID."

Which had also been the last time we'd ever called, because that was when the bitchy publicist had threatened us with legal action and criminal charges.

"It's worth a shot to try calling again. Maybe if the guy knew what happened to Mar, he might feel differently about being involved in Isaac's life."

"Mar was told in no certain terms by that stupid publicist that he never wanted to hear from her again and that they'd press charges and sue if we told anyone or tried to contact them again," I reminded her.

"I wish I knew who it was," Malachi practically growled as he walked out of my bedroom and plopped down next to Morgan on the couch. "I'd make sure the whole fucking League knew what a piece of shit he is. You stick your dick in a woman, you fucking man up and take responsibility if you knock her up."

I sighed, but didn't say anything. I wished so much that I could tell them. I hated keeping something like this from my best friends. But I didn't know how serious that woman was about suing or pressing charges against me, and I couldn't afford to take that risk. Isaac needed me here, not in a jail cell. And every dime in my bank account needed to go toward supporting him, not toward lining a greedy, litigation-happy football player's pockets.

"Is there anything else we can do for you right now, babe?" Morgan asked quietly.

I sighed and shook my head. "I just want to get some sleep while this little man's out. He's going to be hungry again in a couple of hours."

"Okay. We'll leave you in peace," she said, hugging my shoulders again before standing up. "If you need anything , call me, okay? I'll come check on you tomorrow."

"And we'll be here at ten on Saturday to pick you up for the funeral," Malachi reminded me.

I nodded. "Thanks, guys. For everything. Really. I don't know what I would have done without you these past few days."

"That's what friends are for," Morgan said as they headed to the door. "Don't forget to lock up behind us."

"I won't," I said, standing up. "Love you guys."

"We love you too," she told me. "Take care of yourself and make sure you rest when he's resting. Okay?"

"I'll try," I sighed. "Thanks."

They left, and after I locked the door behind them, I walked into my bedroom and set Isaac in his bassinet. I sighed and flopped down on the bed, pulling my phone out of my pocket and scrolling through my social media feeds, trying to figure out what the hell to say about Amara and Isaac.

Morgan's words about trying to get a hold of Isaac's father one more time played over and over in my head. On impulse, I went to my call history and scrolled back three months to find the number I'd dialed. I didn't know if it was the grief going to my head, if I was just so overwhelmed and exhausted that I didn't know what else to do, or if I just wanted someone to give a shit that my sister was dead and I had a newborn baby to care for, but I couldn't stop myself from hitting the call button.

The line rang three times, and I thought it was going to go to voicemail, but then someone picked up.

"Garman and Garman, Vicki Preston speaking," a woman chirped.

"Um, hi," I sniffed. "My name's Daniela Ramos. My sister, Amara Ramos?—"

"Oh, my God. What is with you people?!" she screeched, cutting me off. "What part of harassment charges don't you understand?"

"She's dead," I choked out. "She died from a postpartum infection four nights ago. After she gave birth to his son. Can't you just pass on a message?—"

"I don't care if she was abducted by aliens! Braden isn't interested! He had her calls forwarded to me because he didn't want to deal with this!" she exclaimed. "Now, if I hear from you again, I will be pressing charges and filing a lawsuit against you. Do you understand me?"

Angry tears stung my eyes and spilled over my cheeks and a sob tore out of my throat. How could she be so cold and calloused? How could she not care that someone was dead ?

"Oh, grow up," she grumbled, hanging up on me.

A soft coo came from the bassinet, and I threw my phone on the bed and went to pick my nephew back up, kissing his forehead.

"It's just you and me now, little man," I sniffled. "But we'll get through this. Together."

And Braden Hicks, God's gift to football? He could choke to death on his own vomit and burn in hell for all eternity. He might have given me the most precious gift in the world – this sweet little boy – but he was the reason my sister was dead. And he didn't even care.