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My job is to protect her. I’m not a romantic guy. I’ll never write poetry or devise starry-eyed gestures. But my money, club, and violent tendencies should wrap Landry in protective armor.
Instead, she has a bump on her forehead and is sobbing in the shower. I fucked up today. What good is all the other shit I’ve done if I flop when it really matters?
“Don’t leave,” Landry begs in her only really panicked moment as the doctor announces it’s time to push.
I settle in behind Landry’s tired body, letting her lean back against me as she grits her teeth and pushes. After each one, she pants and moans, seeming absolutely fucking miserable.
I want to wrap her in my arms and push for her. Just take her lifetime of suffering onto myself.
Of course, I can’t do anything except rub her shoulders and say how beautiful and strong she is.
Gripping my hand, Landry remains in control and gives that final push to finish the five-hour ordeal.
Brigitte barely cries, and I assume the worst. I keep replaying in my head how Landry fell in the office. I hear those assholes laughing and mocking her. I want to kill them all. Why did I hold back? I should have ended every single one, even that old bitch with the flowered hat.
But, of course, I held back. I couldn’t show Landry and Blair the truly evil shit I’m capable of doing. I want to keep wearing my good guy veneer. They like knowing Neal’s dead but are less thrilled about how the deed was done.
I still remember how Blair asked if he suffered. The way she feels guilty when bad people get punished because of her. No way could I show that little girl what kind of monster lives inside the new daddy who bought a new pink bike and helps with her schoolwork.
Now, as I sit in the quiet, darkened hospital room, Landry and Brigitte sleep soundly. I sit between the bed and bassinet, still replaying every moment and rethinking each decision.
For hours, my mind can’t turn off. I’m lost in old memories of Kati and Michael entangled with the newer ones of Landry and the kids. I look at Brigitte, wrapped in a blanket, only a bit of her face visible under a hat. I compare her quiet birth to all the noise Michael made when he entered the world. Did Brigitte get hurt when Landry fell? If I had been smarter today, would that little baby have hollered like a normal kid?
I’m still worrying about Brigitte’s quiet birth when Landry wakes and smiles at me. After I frown for too long, she loses her grin and asks what’s wrong.
“I never should have let you get out of the car today,” I mutter, stuck on how Landry and Brigitte might have been killed. “I knew those people were crazy stupid, yet I put you at risk.”
Taking a minute to wake up enough to think about my bitching, she finally says, “Leaving me behind might have been smarter, but I didn’t think of it, either. We were solely focused on getting to Blair.”
“Things keep happening wrong. My plans never work.”
Landry frowns at me before sitting up in bed and getting on her knees. I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing until she gestures for me to come over and join her on the bed. I grudgingly move closer, uninterested in her distracting me from my sulking.
Once my back rests against the headboard, Landry straddles my lap and scoots closer in a way she couldn’t when pregnant. She wraps her arms around my neck and nuzzles my throat while caressing my head.
“You saw a pregnant woman surrounded by four kids and thought, ‘That’s who I want.’ For months, you improved my life. When I felt at my lowest after Blair got hurt, you swooped in and saved us. Maybe those things didn’t happen the way you wanted, but they brought us to this moment.” Landry looks into my eyes and asks, “Are you unhappy about the destination, or are you upset about the road you took to get here?”
“The road.”
“Are you disappointed Brigitte isn’t Michael?”
“No, because Michael wasn’t mine. She is.”
A tired Landry strokes my jaw. “Before you knew Kati lied, you loved that boy.”
Frowning, I don’t know why she’s trying to make me feel worse. “It was a lie.”
“You didn’t know that. Even if you sensed Kati wasn’t the woman for you, your heart wrapped itself around that baby boy.”
Dark memories return to me. Not just a vague thought about being wronged. But the genuine shock and pain I felt when I realized Michael wasn’t my son and I’d wasted months nursing a lie. Rage quickly distracted me from the sorrow.
As Landry wraps her arms around me, I let myself really feel how much I wanted that boy. The way I walked around with those fucking booties attached to my vest. The pride I felt at every ultrasound and from each baby kick.
I didn’t build my house for Kati and me. I did it for the boy. He’s the reason I wanted a one-story. I imagined my kid falling down the stairs. He’s why I didn’t build an indoor pool like Ruin did at his house. I pictured my kid drowning.
Losing Kati—or the lie I dreamed up about her—didn’t break my heart. It was realizing the boy wasn’t mine. I felt like he died the day I learned the truth, and I’ve avoided mourning him ever since.
“I worry you’ll have more options now that Brigitte is born,” I whisper roughly. “That you’ll ditch me and run off. That I’m not the one you want.”
