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“Okay.” I stand and lean over, kissing Melissa on the forehead. “I’ll take good care of him, and we’ll see you soon. Fight, Melissa. We need you.” Rising to my full height, I wait as the nurse places my son in an incubator-looking contraption and motions for me to follow her.
In the nursery, I’m pulled to the side and told that I need to go to the lab for my part of the paternity test. With directions in hand, I head that way. I’m speed-walking, because I want to get back to him. My heart tells me he’s mine, so I just want to get this over with so we can get the results and move forward.
The test is a simple swab to the cheek. They get me in and out, confirming that the doctor has requested the test to be performed STAT. I make quick work to get back to the nursery. The same nurse from the OR greets me with a smile. “I’ll be your nurse until the shift change this evening. Have a seat in one of those rockers, and you can hold and feed your son.”
My son.
On shaking legs, I take my place in the rocker, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. I’m scared as hell that I’ll drop him, or hurt him, or . . . I don’t know what, but I’m nervous.
“Here you go, Daddy,” the nurse says. “Cradle your arms. There you go,” she cheers then gently places him in my arms.
He’s sleeping, all wrapped up in a blanket. Suddenly the nerves are gone, the need to make sure he’s okay overtaking me. “Can I unwrap him?” I ask.
“Sure! We actually suggest skin-to-skin contact, especially for those babies who are born early. It helps regulate their breathing,” she explains.
Skin-to-skin contact? “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”
“You take off your shirt, and we unwrap him. You lay him on your chest, skin to skin.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. However, if it helps him, I’m all in.
“Let’s try to get him to eat first.” She hands me a tiny, odd-shaped bottle. “Hold him up a little, like this,” she demonstrates. “Good, now place the bottle to his lips. It’s instinct for most babies. Some of them can be stubborn, but looks like your little guy is a natural.” She beams down at him.
And he is. As soon as the bottle touches his lips, he knows what to do. “How much does he eat?”
“We’ll start with a few ounces every few hours. You need to make sure you burp him after no more than an ounce at a time. The amount spreads out as he gets older. It’s extremely important during the early stages of life to make sure he burps several times throughout the feeding.”
I mentally catalog everything she’s saying. I wish Melissa were here, or my mom.
Shit! I forgot to call them. I’m sure they’re here by now. I’ll text them once he’s done eating.
“Let’s try that burp now, Dad.”
I pull the bottle from his lips, and he whines. I immediately start to give it back to him.
“No, he has to burp first. You’ll learn his whines and cries. He’s just hungry, but this is an important step in the process.
I nod and listen to instructions as she walks me through how to care for my son. If I weren’t so mesmerized by him, I’d feel like a tool. Who doesn’t know how to take care of their own kid? Maybe someone who didn’t have nine months to prepare like most parents.
I bite back that train of thought. I can’t be mad at her, not when she’s lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life. Besides, she was coming to me.
I can’t take my eyes off him as he eats. He has my nose and my chin. It’s surreal.
“Looks like he’s done. You want to try skin-to-skin?” she asks.
“Yeah, but I need to notify my family first. I’m sure they’re pacing the floors by now.” She takes my son from my arms so I can step out in the hall and make the call.
“Ridge,” Mom says in greeting.
“Hey, he’s here. Little boy, cute as hell,” I gush.
“How much did he weigh? How long? I need details.”
Damn, I should know this shit. “Uh, I don’t know exactly. It’s been crazy. I’m getting ready to do what they call skin-to-skin contact. Why don’t you all come down to the nursery?”
“On our way. We’ve been on the ICU floor. We weren’t sure where to go exactly with the situation.”
Yeah, this isn’t normal circumstances, for sure. “See you soon.”
Back in the nursery, the nurse points to an oversized chair and tells me to sit down and take off my shirt. Well, all right then. I comply, and she nods her approval. I watch as she unwraps my son then gently places him in my arms.
“Just keep his head supported and hold him close to you,” she instructs.
I do as she says, and the little man shudders and exhales a deep breath, almost as though he’s relaxing. My heart fucking melts. How can a tiny human bring out such emotion?
“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a family out here looking for a Baby Beckett?” another nurse asks.
“That’s me, I mean him.” I point my chin down at my son.
“We have him as Baby Knox,” she tells me.
“Yeah, that’s his mom’s name, but my last name is Beckett. We’re not married,” I explain.
“I see. Well, we’ll have to keep our records as Baby Knox until the results are back,” she says, frowning.
I’m sure she’s afraid that I’m going to freak out on her—and if this were any other situation, I would have. But right now, all that matters is that this little guy is healthy, and getting his momma to open her eyes.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “That’s my family, so can they come in?”
“No, but you can bring him to the window. You can either carry him and continue how you are, or we can wrap him back up and wheel him over there.” She points to the bed on wheels. I notice there’s a sign in blue that says ‘Baby Knox’ so the families can tell them apart. His wristband says the same. I feel a pang of sadness for Melissa that she’s missing this. This was her dream to be a mom—he is her dream.
“I’ll just carry him,” I tell her. She nods and steps back, allowing me to stand. I walk ever so slowly, never taking my eyes off him. A tapping sound on the window captures my attention. My family. Mom, Dad, Reagan, and the guys are watching me and my son intently. I smile at them and nod toward the sleeping baby in my arms. Mom and Reagan have tears in their eyes while Dad is grinning from ear to ear. The guys are all wearing looks of disbelief. I know how they feel; this entire situation has been surreal to me.
I stand there for I don’t even know how long, holding my son against my bare chest, letting my friends and family take him in. He’s so fucking tiny.
“Mr. Beckett, why don’t I take him so you can go and see your family,” the nurse suggests.
I want to argue with her—I’m not ready to put him down yet—but I know my family has questions. Hell, I have questions. Sure, her letter answered some of them, but really I just need her to wake up.
I nod and slowly transfer him into the nurse’s arms. “We’ll be right here. Why don’t you go talk to them and then maybe check in on Mom, see how’s she doing?” she says.
I grab my shirt and throw it on over my head. On last glance at my son back in his . . . hell, I don’t know what to call it—his bed, maybe? The sign above his head, ‘Baby Knox,’ lets me know that it is indeed him.
My son.
Chapter 7
Ridge
As soon as I walk out of the nursery, Reagan runs to me and throws her arms around my waist. I hug her tight. I try not to let her see how fucking scared and overwhelmed I am, but this is my little sister. She knows me too well.
“You got this, Ridge. Whatever you need,” she says softly, for my ears only.
“How you holding up, son?” Dad asks, causing Reagan to release me from her grip.
I look up at my father and see the man who taught me how to throw a football, talked to me about girls, taught me how to build things, which led to my current career and taking over the family business. I vow to myself that I will be that kind of father.
/> “I-I don’t really know. I mean, this is just . . . It’s a lot to take in,” I say honestly.
He nods. “He looks like you,” he tells me.
I smile, because I see it too. “Yeah.”
“He’s perfect, Ridge,” Mom adds.
That’s the thing about my family—So much love and support. They don’t question if he’s really mine. They go with what I have told them, and they’re here for whatever I need.
“He looks tiny when you hold him,” Seth says from beside me.
I turn to look at him. “He is that tiny. It’s crazy, man. I feel like I’m going to break him or something.”
The guys laugh at that. “You need anything from us, brother?” Tyler asks. The others nod, letting me know they’re also here for me, for anything I might need.
“Hell if I know. The Allen job?” I ask them.
“All taken care of. We did the final walk-through, cleaned up the site, and have everything ready to go tomorrow with the Williams job,” Mark explains.
That’s when I notice they’re all wearing their work boots and Beckett Construction T-shirts. They must have come straight here from the job site.
“Thanks. I-I guess I need to go check on Melissa. She should be out of recovery now.”
“We brought you some food.” Mom steps in for a hug.
