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The "we did everything we could" announcement I had been dreading for forty minutes.
"She's stopped seizing," he said instead and my fucking legs gave out. I slammed back against the wall on an exhale of breath I had been holding for so long it hurt. "Her blood pressure is stabling out. But this is still serious. Now that the baby is out, her body should slowly start to regulate itself. But it can take months for her blood pressure to go back to normal. Right now, we're not as worried about that as we are keeping her stable through the night. If we can manage that, she will be out of the woods."
"And the baby?" my mother asked, making me feel like the biggest shit in the world for forgetting to ask. But he had been crying. No one had been rushing to his side.
"The baby is fine. He's under the Bili lights right now because he was just a little jaundiced which is perfectly common in premature babies. It's more precaution than anything. But he's been through a lot the past few weeks; we just want to be overly careful."
"When can I see them?" I asked, trying to focus on continuing to breathe.
"You can see your son through the window up in the NICU right now. In a couple of hours, we will take him off the lights so you can hold him, but for now, we want to keep him there. You," he said, looking at me, "can see Autumn at any point."
"And me," Peyton insisted, eyes red-rimmed, makeup everywhere, a complete and utter mess, but her voice held more conviction than a general leading his men into battle.
"And you," he agreed immediately, but gave us a firm look. "But only you."
"Why don't you go see your son?" Peyton suggested. "I will go sit with Autumn until you get back, then we'll switch."
That was exactly what we did.
For the entire night.
Autumn drifted awake several hours later, having been drained from the stress, the blood loss and transfusion, the seizure, and the accompanying seizure migraine.
"The baby..."
Those words were out of her mouth before she even fully focused on me.
"He's fine," I said immediately, giving her hand a squeeze. "They have him under the blue lights just to make sure he stays fine, but all the tests have come back great so far. He's a little small, but he will be a huge, hulking Mallick in no time."
"My head hurts," she admitted. She didn't even need to say it; you could see the pain behind her eyes.
"Yeah, they said they would give you a dose of pain meds once you were conscious. I'll call..."
"I'm okay," she said, oddly.
"Sweetheart, you have a splitting..."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You're watching me like I might drop dead. I'm okay."
"You weren't," I said, hearing the heaviness in my own voice.
"But I am now."
"See this?" I asked, showing her the front of my shirt that was smeared black.
"Yeah?"
"Peyton losing her shit."
"She cried?"
"She bawled," I corrected.
"And I missed it?" she said, looking ridiculously disappointed at the idea. "Almost dying, that's what it takes for her."
"Yeah, well, we aren't going to take that risk again just so you can see her with her mascara running."
"Ugh, fine," she grumbled, but she was smiling softly. "When can I see him?"
"Tomorrow. They said we could come up and hold him and feed him if you're up to it."
"I'll be up to it."
And she was.
We got to hold our son, feed him, and, finally, name him.
Celen.
"It's a mash-up of Charlie and Helen," she informed me as she looked up at me, her finger in our son's tiny hand, her eyes a little glassy.
"How long have you been sitting on that?"
"Since I knew it was a boy," she admitted, giving me a sweet smile.
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing in the world to deserve her.
Or him.
Yet there they were.Autumn - 5 yearsI couldn't have any more.
With the Mallick clan, they all seemed to have litters.
I had wanted to carry on that tradition as well.
But it had taken six months to get my blood pressure down to normal without medication.
Then we had forgotten all about things like other babies because we had been so wrapped up in the one we had. One that had eyes just a shade darker than Eli's, a mix of both of ours, and hair that was just shy of black.
Eli had been right.
Once he got out of the hospital, he grew like a weed, kicking dirt in every preemie chart the doctors tried to measure him by.
At three, he was tall, wide-shouldered, and dense.
He had a strange mix of the roughness all the Mallick boys possessed, always getting into trouble, always getting hurt, and a softness that his father possessed more than his brothers did, a quietly reflective side even at his young age.
