“We should focus on a stock options report,” Isabel suggests.
“Fine,” I agree. “If you talk through that, I can overview the projections analysis.” I glance at Asher, who’s sitting next to me. “You good?”
“I think I know the song and dance by now.”
“And Isabel and I don’t?”
Asher sighs. “I’m good.”
“Good.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Oliver, double-checking on dinner with our dad this weekend. I don’t blame him for making certain I’ll be there. My father told Candace the baby couldn’t be his after Scarlett and I left the chalet to see her dad. Candace admitted to lying about being pregnant, claiming my father wasn’t giving her enough attention. They’re in the midst of divorce proceedings now. I haven’t told Oliver our father knows about him and Candace, and my father hasn’t either, it appears. Hardly surprising. Unless it’s a dirty secret he can use, my father is happy to sweep anything unpleasant under the rug. Especially ones which can’t be bought off.
I reply to Oliver, promising I will be there, then switch over to my thread with Scarlett. The last thing she sent me was the link to the crib she wants.
We’ve barely started setting up the nursery. She’s been busy preparing for maternity leave, while I’ve been pandering to investors and associates of Kensington Consolidated, trying to do damage control. Like Asher said, it’s been an exhausting, frustrating process. As CEO, I have no choice. And now that Scarlett is over eight months along, I also need to find the time to assemble a crib.
Asher glances at the phone screen. Chuckles, when he sees what I’m looking at. “Damn. Never thought I’d see the day, Kensington.”
A secretary shows up to show us to the conference room before I have a chance to respond. The meeting lasts an hour. It goes well, which is a relief. Reputations aren’t restored overnight, only destroyed. If Nathaniel Stewart had any Kensington Consolidated documents, he never released them. Slowly but surely, the whispers are dying out.
We’re all in high spirits as we pass the reception area and head toward the elevators. Isabel is chatting away, discussing improvements and takeaways. Ever since our late-night encounter on Christmas, she’s made an effort to be overly professional. And excessively efficient.
The elevator arrives. A middle-aged man steps out, and the three of us walk inside.
“Uh, Crew?” Asher interrupts Isabel’s analysis of the stock solutions.
“What?” I glance at Asher, who’s making no attempt to brainstorm and analyze. He’s squinting at his phone screen.
“Have you checked your phone?”
“No, why?”
“I have a bunch of missed calls from Celeste? Why would she be calling me…”
I’m no longer listening; I’m scrolling through the hundreds of missed notifications I have. “Fuck.”
I jab the Lobby button with my elbow as I tap Scarlett’s name, as if that will speed up our descent. It rings and rings, finally going to voicemail. I swear again, then think. A quick Google search pulls up Haute’s number. It rings three times before a woman answers. “Haute magazine, Alexandra speaking. How may I help you?”
“I need to talk to Scarlett Kensington.”
“Is she expecting your call?”
“Just transfer me,” I grit out.
“I’ll see if her assistant is available.” Cheery piano music echoes through the line as I watch the numbers tick down. Our meeting was on the ninety-seventh floor. We’re only just hitting eighty.
“Scarlett Kensington’s office. How may I help you?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Can I take a message?”
“I’m her husband,” I snap. “So no, I need to talk to her now.”
The pleasant tone disappears. I can’t remember Scarlett’s secretary’s name, but it turns out she’s pissed at me. “Why the hell weren’t you answering earlier?” She shouts the question, and it temporarily shocks me. People don’t speak to me like that. “I—oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir. I, seriously. I don’t think you can fire me, but she will if you—”
“Where. Is. Scarlett?”
“New York General. Her water broke forty-five minutes ago. I tried to go in the ambulance with her, but she wouldn’t let me. She just wanted me to call you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Sixty-three. “I’m headed straight there.”
I hang up the phone, silently cursing the elevator to move faster.
“She’s having the baby?”
I give Asher a duh look. “No, her secretary just really wanted to ask you out.”
“We’re past the joking point. Got it.”
I bang my head back against the wall. “We were supposed to have another month. I have to go straight there. I don’t have time to take you two back to the office.”
“Dude. You’re about to become a dad. I’m coming with you.”
I nod, not bothering to respond. One, because I don’t really care what Asher does, so long as it doesn’t slow me down. Two, because I’m already freaking out enough without letting his answer fully sink in.
The elevator doors open. I basically sprint toward the black SUV parked along the curb. Roman is leaning against the side of the car, reading a newspaper. His eyes widen as I race toward him. I assume Asher and Isabel are behind me, but I don’t bother checking to confirm they’re keeping up.
“Mr. Kensington, is everything—”
“Keys,” I demand. Roman is an excellent driver as it relates to dressing and discretion. But I’ve never seen him so much as run a yellow. Wisely, he listens, handing them over and climbing into the passenger seat. I round the front of the car and climb into the driver’s side. Doors open and slam in the back, and I peel away from the curb like we’re fleeing the scene of a crime.
“What hospital is she at?” Asher asks.
“New York General.” I swerve, narrowly missing a delivery guy on a bike.
“If we’re going to the West Side, you should take 7th. There’s an accident on 8th.”
“How many blocks?”
“Five, no seven. Wait, no, actually four.”
We reach a red light, and I slam on the brakes. Cars are already beginning to cross from the other direction, so I can’t run it.
I glance in the rear-view mirror. “Do you or do you not know how to get there?”
“Traffic is always a shitshow, man. You know that. It keeps…” He trails off. “Oh, wait. They cleared 8th. You should go that way now.”
I huff and tap at the black screen on the dash. “Does this thing work?”
“Yes, sir. I can connect it.” Roman leans over and starts fiddling with the controls on the dashboard. A few seconds later, a map appears on the screen.
The light turns green and I zoom forward, following the directions coming from the speakers. We hit another yellow, so I press down the accelerator and change lanes.
“Damn,” Asher comments as I cut off a Mercedes, setting off a series of honks. “We should’ve gone to Monaco to race like we talked about in college. You can seriously drive, man.”
My phone starts ringing, Incoming Call flashing across the screen. I’m about to reject it when I see it’s Scarlett calling.
“Hello?” My greeting is tentative. I know she must be pissed.
“It doesn’t sound like you’re dying in a ditch.”
In the backseat, Asher snorts. If I could flip him off while driving, I would.
“Scarlett, I swear I’m—”
“An HOUR, Crew. I’ve been here almost an hour! Where the fuck are you?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” I cut off a cab. “Ten, tops.”
“Where have you been? Why weren’t you answering?”
I sigh. “I had a meeting. My phone was on silent and I wasn’t checking it.”
“You promised me.” All the anger in her voice has drained away. The uncertainty that’s left behind makes me press harder on the accelerator. “You promised me I wouldn’t have to do this alone.”
We hit another red, and I barely restrain another profanity as I tap an urgent beat on the steering wheel, urging it to change back to green. “You won’t, baby. I’m almost there.”
“I’m scared, Crew.” She says the words softly, but they have the effect of a shout for how they hit me. “It hurts so fucking much and they couldn’t find a heartbeat at first and I—I’m freaking out.”
A tight fist of fear squeezes my chest. I fight through the panic before it can choke me. She needs assurance, not more anxiety. “Red, I’ll be there. I swear. But even if I were in a ditch somewhere, you can do this. Just breathe. This is what all those classes were about, right?”
“You weren’t paying attention during Lamaze.”
Scarlett sounds like her usual self again, and I almost pass out from relief. I definitely shouldn’t be driving. But I can see the hospital up ahead, only one block away. “Yes, I was,” I counter. “You just focus on one thing and then do the really fast breaths.”
“Uh-huh. And then what?”
I glance at Roman for help. He shrugs. “I thought you had kids,” I hiss. Another shrug. “Exhale?” I suggest.
Scarlett laughs. It’s more strained and reedy than her usual laugh, but it loosens the tightness in my chest some. “You’re so full of shit. I knew you weren’t paying attention.”
I stop the SUV with a screech of tires under the ambulance bay. I leave the car running and the keys in the ignition, just grab my phone and run toward the automatic doors into the busy hospital. There are white coats and gurneys everywhere. A child is crying somewhere close. The PA system is crackling, telling some surgeon to report to OR 1. I press the phone against my ear. “What floor are you on?”
“Five.”
I rush for the elevator bank, then alter course when I spot a sign for a stairwell. There’s a lot of nervous energy I need to burn off. I take the flights two steps at a time and yank open the door with a massive five painted on it. The hallway looks the same as the lobby downstairs, all white tile and fluorescent lights.
There’s a desk to the right.
“Scarlett Kensington,” I pant. “What room is Scarlett Kensington in?”
The nurse studies me, stern and assessing. “Are you a relative?”
“I’m her husband. The father. Where is she?”
She taps some keys on the computer. The seconds feel like minutes. “Room 526.”
I start to the right, only to discover the numbers are going down, not up. I sprint to the left until I reach 526 and burst inside.
Scarlett is sitting up in bed, listening to a white coat-clad man who must be a doctor. When she sees me, her expression collapses. I rush to her side, grabbing her hand and kissing her head.
“You must be Crew. I’m Dr. Summers.”
“Is something wrong?”
Dr. Summers looks somber. “I was just telling your wife we can’t wait any longer. I’m afraid the baby isn’t positioned properly for a natural birth. We’ll need to do an emergency C-section before the baby goes into distress.”
“Distress?” I echo. Scarlett’s hand tightens around mine.
“We’ll do everything we can to prevent that from happening. That’s why we need to move quickly.”
For the first time since I’ve known her, Scarlett looks young and scared. Frail. “Can my husband stay with me?” she asks in a tinny voice.
Dr. Summers smiles kindly, but his tone is firm. “I’m so sorry, but no. We don’t allow family members in the operating room during emergency surgery.” Emergency surgery. Those two words permeate the fog in mind. Sharp panic cuts through as dread coils in my stomach. “A nurse will be in shortly to take you downstairs.”
I’m frozen. Scarlett’s breathing is quick and choppy. “You knew? When we were on the phone?”
“They told me there might be complications when I came in. I knew you’d get here as soon as you could.” She gives me a wry smile that falls short. “Sorry for freaking out on the phone.”
“I should have had my ringer on. What complications?”
“What Dr. Summers said. The baby isn’t flipped the right way. But since my water already broke, they can’t wait any longer to see if it will reposition.”
I inhale, torn between pelting her with more questions and avoiding freaking her out.
A woman in pink scrubs enters the room. The nurse smiles at Scarlett. “Ready to become a mom?” Her cheer doesn’t sound feigned, but it doesn’t register as real. This isn’t how this was supposed to happen. It doesn’t feel like a happy, joyful moment.
Scarlett smiles back but doesn’t reply.
The nurse gives an understanding nod. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Scarlett replies. Her hand squeezes mine.
I lean down and kiss her forehead, letting my lips linger. “I love you.”
Scarlett’s grip tightens. “I love you too.”
Then she lets go. The nurse wheels her bed away.
“As soon as there’s an update, someone will let you know,” she tells me on her way out.
All of a sudden, I’m standing in an empty hospital room, alone. My body feels heavy, my limbs disconnected. Breathing becomes difficult. I need out of this tiny room. I’d go outside if I weren’t terrified of missing an update.
I walk back into the waiting room in a daze. Asher stands when I appear. Honestly, I forgot he was here.
“Isabel went back to the office. What’s going on?” Asher asks. “That seemed sort of fast.”
Under any other circumstances, him pretending he knows anything about childbirth, specifically the length of time it takes, would be amusing. I’m too anxious to do anything but pace right now. Back and forth. This waiting room looks the same as the one in the cardiac wing. While waiting to hear if Hanson had made it, I didn’t experience any trepidation. His death wouldn’t make me lose any sleep.
Scarlett’s would shatter me. Just the hypothetical thought has my throat tightening and my eyes stinging. I feel like ants are crawling across my skin. Like my clothes are too hot and too tight. I try to take deep breaths, to pull in the air tinged with antiseptic.
“Crew, you’re freaking me the fuck out. What is going on?”
In. Out. In. I keep pacing. “She’s in surgery.”
“Surgery?” Asher’s eyes widen. “Is that…normal?”
“No, it’s not normal,” I bite out.
“Do you want me to…call anyone?”
“I don’t care.” The honest answer is I don’t know. Scarlett and I never discussed who we’d invite to the hospital or when we would. I figured I’d be with her, that we’d get to make these decisions together, after we had a healthy baby.
I keep pacing. I don’t know what time she went into surgery. How long a C-section takes. I’m totally unprepared, and the only thing that’s keeping me from totally losing it is the hope that any minute someone will come tell me they’re both fine.
I walk in circles until I start to feel dizzy. Then I sit. Bounce my knee. Spin my wedding ring in circles. Press my palms to my eyes and try to pretend I’m anywhere else.
Vaguely, I’m aware of activity around me. By calling anyone, Asher apparently meant everyone. My father. Oliver. Josephine and Hanson—who is fully recovered from his health scare. Scarlett’s family huddles with mine, whispering. Probably about me. Wisely, none of them approach me.
An eternity passes before Dr. Summers appears. I stand as soon as I see him.
“Your wife is asking for you, Crew.”
Relief hits me so hard I feel like my knees are about to buckle. “She’s okay?” My voice cracks between the o and the kay.
Dr. Summers smiles and nods. “She’s okay. And you’ve got a healthy baby girl.”
A girl. I have a daughter. The thought feels foreign, even after months of knowing this was coming. “Can I see them?” My voice sounds like my throat is filled with rocks.
He nods. “Of course. Follow me.”
Dr. Summers leads me to a different room than before. Scarlett is lying down, with a blanketed bundle resting on her chest.
“I’ll give you a minute,” he says, then disappears.
Scarlett looks up as soon as I step inside the room. Her smile is wide and brilliant. “She has your eyes.”
I reach the bed and catch the first glimpse of my daughter’s face. She’s perfect. And Scarlett’s right. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as mine. The color I inherited from my mother.
“The first time I saw you, I thought you had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen,” she tells me.
I turn my head so I can press my face against her hair, feeling my eyes burn for the first time in my adult life. “I was so scared. So fucking terrified, Red.”
“I’m okay,” she assures me. “We’re okay.”
I look back at the tiny human we created together. “Wow.”
“I know.” Scarlett echoes my awed tone. “Do you want to hold her?”
I swallow. “Yeah. I do.”
The fake baby from the birthing class felt nothing like the real thing. Scarlett passes me our daughter, and she’s tiny and perfect and real.
“We should have decided on names sooner.”
I smile wryly. “And ordered the crib, probably.”
Scarlett’s eyes widen. “Fuck.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I assure Scarlett. “She’ll have a bed.” I look at my daughter. “You’ll have a bed.”
“Wow,” Scarlett comments, staring at us. “You’re a total DILF. I mean, I figured you would be. But it’s different that it’s my kid too, you know?”
I snort a laugh, and it feels good. Expels the last swirls of anxiety.
“What about Elizabeth?” Scarlett asks.
I study the small, innocent face. That same tug from my wedding appears, wondering what my mom might have to say on a day like today. She would have known what to tell me when Scarlett was in surgery. I clear my throat. “Don’t feel like we have to—”
“I don’t.”
“Won’t your mom be offended?”
Scarlett scoffs, but then sobers. “I mean…it could be her middle name, I guess.”
“Elizabeth Josephine Kensington,” I say softly.
“Yeah.”
“I like it.”
“Me too,” Scarlett states.
“She’s here,” I tell her. “Your mom. Your dad too.”
“Really?”
“Asher called them along with my dad and Oliver. I was…well, I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. And we hadn’t talked about who we’d call and when.”
Scarlett nods. “You can see if they want to come meet Elizabeth.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I’m reluctant to relinquish Elizabeth. Loathe to leave this room. But I hand her back to Scarlett and retrace my steps to the waiting room. They’re all still there. I wasn’t sure if they would be.
I clear my throat. “Uh, Dad? Hanson? Josephine? Do you—do you want to meet your granddaughter?”
All three of them look stunned. Maybe it’s just hitting them they’re grandparents. Maybe they didn’t expect this offer.
To my surprise, Hanson stands first. Josephine follows. My dad is the last to rise, but he does. I glance at Oliver. Go ahead, he mouths. Me and my dad trail after Scarlett’s parents down the hallway.
“We named her Elizabeth,” I tell him quietly, as we walk down the hallway. My father is often unpredictable. I don’t want his response to the revelation—positive or negative—to color the first meeting. “231,” I tell Josephine and Hanson when we near Scarlett’s room. They enter. I hear Josephine exclaiming. My father and I linger outside.
He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Crew. Your mother would be too.”
Then he heads inside. I’m left standing in the hallway, crying for the second time today.
