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Chapter Thirty
Julian
The slow beep of the ventilator echoed from the machine beside the incubator. Watching the machine expand and deflate, I eventually felt my own chest begin to rise and fall in a synchronized rhythm. Telling myself this was standard operating procedure for premature babies seemed laughable. Nothing was standard when it came to Iris.
A ventilator tube blew oxygen into her nose, and a lump formed in my throat. She looked fragile. I stood behind my glass prison and watched with a guarded eye.
During the walk to the NICU, I checked my voice mail and texts for anything from Jaxon Hough or Kristina. In all the excitement, I’d had a momentary reprieve from Daniel Dalton. The constant push and pull of trying to keep a positive face in front of Phoebe, and wondering where he was hiding, had me ready to fall over in exhaustion. It took three floors before I realized Ryker was with me.
Sandwiched between the NICU door and the registration desk, our scowls mirrored each other as I elbowed him in the gut. I didn’t need a keeper. “Did she send you to babysit me?”
He crunched another tortilla chip in my ear. “Nope. I just know you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re up to something. You’re my brother, I know you.”
“I’m a new father, Ry. So I’m a little protective.” I gave my name to the receptionist and handed her my driver’s license for identification. She handed me a form as she filled out an ID bracelet.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he whispered, following suit with his own identification. I signed all waivers for grandparents, siblings, and immediate friends allowed to visit Iris. I made sure only Phoebe, Mom, Ryker, and I were allowed to be with her alone. I had power and I’d fucking use it.
“Not now, Ry,” I warned as the receptionist buzzed us into the NICU door. “Not in the mood.” Wisely, he let the issue drop and we approached the closest incubator. I didn’t have to see the name written on the laminated pocket card. I’d already committed the shock of raven hair and heart-shaped lips to memory.
I knew my daughter at first glance.
My hands immediately reached out to her and a nurse with a ponytail so tight I had no idea how the bitch even opened her eyes snapped at me. “No touching while I’m examining the baby.”
Ryker spoke first. “He’s the father.”
“That may be true, but unless he knows how to hook up a ventilator and attach EKG monitors, he needs to stand back while we do our jobs.” Before turning back to Iris, the younger nurse cleared her throat and nodded to the paperwork in her hand. Sighing, she waved a hand over her shoulder. “No one’s asking you to leave, but we can’t help her if you don’t trust us.”
The younger nurse smiled apologetically as she motioned for my wrist. After scanning Ryker’s and my arm bands against Iris’s, she glared at her counterpart. “Mr. Bale, we understand your particular situation. This is Los Angeles. We know who you are, and we know there are special precautions. We’ve stationed security guards outside the NICU and outside of Miss Ryan’s room for safety.” She tapped the bright orange wristbands on her own wrist. “The only people who’ll have these wristbands are the people you designate. No one can pass through that door without one of these.” As she gently stuck heart-shaped stickers onto Iris’s tiny chest, I half listened, focused on the wiggling infant beneath her. “Not only that, they must scan and match perfectly. So, you see, we’re making things safe for baby Ryan.”
The room filled with uneasy silence. I stepped forward to touch Iris again, but redirected to my chin as I scratched my heavy beard. “Bale.”
“Excuse me?” She lifted a lone eyebrow in confusion.
“I said, Bale.”
“Yes, Mr. Bale. I told you we know who you are.”
“You said Ryan. It’s Bale. Her name is Iris Bale.”
The puzzled look on her face expanded. “Fine, Mr. Bale. We’re just going by what was written on the chart.”
“You wrote it wrong.”
“Julian, let them examine the baby and shut up.” Ryker sighed, pulling me to the side. The nurses continued their poking and prodding. He stood shoulder to shoulder with me, his face every bit as critical as mine. Apparently, indignation ran strong in our family. “You’re being an asshole,” he whispered. “This isn’t about your misguided male ego.”
“Let it go, Ry.” I had no idea why, but voicing my fears to my brother made them real, and I didn’t want my happiness and that man’s darkness meshing in this room.
“The more you fight with everyone the longer it’ll take for them to be done. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell don’t want to be within fifty feet of your woman when she finds out the reason she hasn’t been wheeled in here is because her husband’s a paranoid psycho.”
I folded my arms across my chest and continued to watch with silent scrutiny. How did I tell my brother that Phoebe’s father filled my head with nightmares that kept me up at night?
Father.
The word weighted with gold in that moment. In a matter of minutes my life had changed more drastically than when Helena and Circa Records had plucked us from obscurity into the life of celebrities. I’d witnessed the birth of my heart, then watched as white coats hooked it up to wires and a ventilator.
