“I’m going with you.”
“It’s nearly one in the morning and I don’t know how long I’ll be at the hospital.”
“Even more reason for me to go with you. I can take care of you while you’re taking care of Hope.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of, Grüsh. I manage on my own just fine.”
“I’ve never doubted that for a minute. I know you don’t need me.”
Part of me, the heartbroken part, wants to tell him that I did need him with me six years ago. No good can come of telling him now, and certainly not at this moment, when I’m needed elsewhere.
Exhaling, he pushes his hands through his hair. “I want to be there for you. With you. Hell, maybeI’mthe one who needs that, even though I have no right to.”
Another section of the carefully constructed wall around my heart crumbles. “Okay,” I say softly, taking his hand. “Let’s go be there for our family.”
“Our family,” he repeats while looking into my eyes.
Grief squeezes my vulnerable heart as I force a smile, looking away before he has time to read my expression.
CATE
The doors close behind us with a whoosh that seems louder than it probably is, but at this hour, in this small-town hospital maternity ward, there’s not much else creating noise, including conversation. The drive over was equally quiet. Not uncomfortable silence. Grüsh simply cupped his hand over mineand held it. If I’d spoken, I’m sure he would’ve engaged. But he didn’t initiate. He let me lead.
Having him beside me for something like this is simultaneously natural and awkward. My mixed bag of emotions will have to wait. Hope’s well-being, and the baby’s, are all that’s important right now.
He hangs back a bit as we enter her room, taking a route around its perimeter on his way to join Ogram, who stepped away from Hope’s bedside as I approached.
Red-faced with tear-streaked cheeks, she extends an arm toward me. “You came.”
“Of course I did. I always will,” I say, gently squeezing her hand.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t so scared. I know it can’t be easy for you to be here for baby stuff.”
My chest tightens, but I keep my mask of calm in place. “Don’t give it another thought. I’m here for you, the baby, and Ogram. Tell me what you need.”
Her glassy gaze shifts briefly to Ogram, then she gestures for me to lean in closer. “The doctor says not to worry, that cesarean sections are totally safe and routine, but they’ve never done one on a human carrying a troll baby. And if anything goes wrong and there are complications,” she chokes on a soft sob, “and I don’t survive?—”
“Honey, no,” I whisper, stroking her hair.
“Promise me you’ll still be my baby’s grandma, and that you’ll make sure Ogram finds happiness again.”
“The OR is ready,” someone says from behind me. “It’s time to meet your baby, Hope.”
When I try to step back, Hope grips my hand tighter, her eyes pleading as desperately as her voice. “Please, Cate.”
“Okay.” Nodding, I press a kiss to her hand, then let it go. “It’s a promise I won’t need to keep, but I promise.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say as they wheel her bed out of the room, her huge troll husband following as closely as physically possible.
Then it’s just me and Grüsh standing in an empty labor-and-delivery room. Not totally empty. The hospital bassinet stands ready to receive a newborn.
Old grief leaks from the box I locked it away in. “I’m going to get some air.”
“I’ll join you.”
Looking into his eyes is the last thing I want to do right now, but I force myself anyway. I even manage a weak smile. “I’d like to be alone for a few minutes.”
