A nugget of disappointment grew in her chest at the thought because, weirdly, despite his being a famous movie star and a debilitating level of sexy, he’d been the one person she felt genuinely comfortable with since she came to London.
Even if it had only been for forty-five minutes in a storage cupboard.
Rowan
It was nearly the end of visiting hours by the time Rowan made it to the hospital. After finding out where the maternity ward was, he took off down the hallway, following the yellow signs, racing up the stairs, until he got to the security doors. There was already someone waiting there for him. The receptionist must have called up first.
‘They’re right at the end. Don’t forget to do the hand sanitiser, please,’ the nurse asked.
He dutifully squirted it and tried to spread it around his wounded hand with the soggy bandage.
‘Oh my goodness. What have you done there?’
‘Just an accident. It looks worse than it is.’
But she had that no-fussing way of nurses where you weren’t the one in charge of your own body anymore and she took his hand, peeking under the makeshift dressing. Down the hallway babies were crying and he could feel his frustration level rising.
‘Look, I really need to see my sister. They said visiting hours would be over soon.’
‘Hmm, yes. That looks like it could need stitches. Go on then. I’ll come and take a better look in a minute.’
‘Thank you.’
He hurried down the hall to the private room and knocked gently on the closed door. His nephew Jordan’s face appeared at the small window. ‘Do you have an appointment, sir?’
Rowan laughed. ‘Only one I’m really late for.’
Jordan grinned and opened the door for him, putting his finger to his lips to show that he needed to be quiet.
The room was full of all his family. His mum was in the armchair closest to the bed, cradling the new baby. Siobhan was dozing and his brother-in-law and nephew had set themselves up at the small table beneath the television set fixed to the wall, and were playing a game of travel Scrabble.
His mum’s face lit up at the sight of him, and Terry came over and gave him a hug.
‘Congratulations,’ Rowan said, squeezing the smaller man hard.
‘Cheers, man,’ Terry stepped back. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Purgatory,’ he joked and then shook his head. ‘It’s a long story I can tell you another day. Can I see the baby?’
‘Of course. You might even get to hold him, if you can wrestle him off your mum.’
Rowan’s mum rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve only just sat down with him,’ she objected, tilting her face up to Rowan. He bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek and then crouched beside her, leaning on the armrest, to look into the bundle of blankets.
A tiny, wrinkled face looked out, eyes tightly shut, dark curling lashes against his cheeks and a little fist raised up by his chin. ‘God, he looks the spit of you, Jordan.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jordan said, sounding bored but coming up to stand behind Rowan to look down. ‘Dad’s already brought up the old photos.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean as a baby. It’s all the premature wrinkles,’ Rowan joked and received a boot in the butt as a response. He tightened his grip on the chair arm to stop himself from tipping over and falling on the baby or his mum.
‘Tell Rowan about your maths mock, Jordan,’ she prompted, ignoring their horseplay. ‘You know they wanted him to try the GCSE paper early? He got the results back today. Tell him.’
Jordan rolled his eyes but he was grinning. ‘I got a 9.’
‘A 9? Isn’t that…that’s like an A* right?’ Jordan nodded and Rowan got to his feet again. ‘That’s amazing. You little genius.’
‘We’ll be sending him off to Oxford or Cambridge before we know it,’ Terry said, looking like he’d burst from all his paternal pride.
‘Too right.’ Rowan grabbed his nephew for a hug, feeling an echo of that pride too.
