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“One last thing?” he asks, pushing the elevator button.
“What’s that?”
“Livy calls you on your shit the way Emilia did me on mine.” He leads the way into the elevator. “She’s smart and gracious and exactly what you need. I hope you’ll keep her around. Even after thetherapy.” He winks on the last word and looks up as the dial tells us our floor.
When the doors open, I’m bum-rushed.
Brighton is first. She’d make a decent cornerback if the league took women. She’s a wall tackling me, not once acting like my body is any different than it was a year ago. She launches in on her list of grievances, but I pull her tight into me, effectively halting her ability to breathe and, therefore, speak.
“I’m not done.”
“You never will be. And I’m counting on that. Has my nephew arrived?”
“Yep.”
“What?” Pop exclaims at my side. “That wasn’t two hours.”
“According to Willa, it was fifteen hours plus that two, so don’t underplay it,” Bright retorts.
“Does that mean everyone’s in the room?” Pop strides for the door and pushes through, growing a foot with each step.
Bright follows closely, and I bring up the rear.
Pop is locked in a tight hug with Exton by the time I push through the door.
The conversation stops, but I don’t care. My eyes roam until I see Livy curled up in a chair, watching the goings-on in my loud Italian family.
She stands when she sees me. Her gaze never leaves my face, and she skirts my family and rounds the bed, planting her face in my chest and, apparently, letting go of pent-up emotion.
I swallow roughly, my feelings on the surface and welling in my closing throat.
“Pix.” I exhale, wrapping her in my arms. “Back where you belong.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, shutting out my family and the beeping of hospital equipment that I never once considered when I left the rehab this morning.
I split my hands over Livy’s back and rub one up and down her spine, moving another to her neck. “It’s okay. Let it out.” I don’t know how long we stand like this, but when I open my eyes, people in the room avert their gaze like they got busted watching us.
I use the hand at her neck to pull her back ever so gently and drop my mouth to hers.
She scans my eyes and my face, and the first thing she says is, “Where’s your beard?”
“Do we need to give the beard a name? It seems everyone misses him.” But more seriously, I add, “How are you, baby?”
She drops her forehead between my pecs again and uses a hand to find one of mine. “I’m better now.”
Another infinite minute later, she steps back just enough to look at me. “You should meet your nephew. He’s such a cutie.”
I scan the room for the baby. “He’s having a one-on-one with his namesake, who doesn’t look like he’ll ever surrender his new favorite person.”
I make my way to Willa and drop a kiss on her forehead. “Good job. Major points for the naming. Winning.”
“Did you just quote Charlie Sheen to me on the day my life changed?”
“You know it. You did great, Willa. Can’t wait to meet the little work of art… If Pop ever lets him go.”
I turn and find myself wrapped in a hug with Exton. “So glad you’re here, Layton. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Though neither of us is talking about this hospital room. At least, I’m not.
