AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rowan
I wakeup in a hospital bed with a numb sort of haze clouding my brain. Blinking my eyes open, I listen to the steady beeping of a machine behind me. There’s a large shape in a chair beside me, and I furrow my brow to try to focus on it.
Wolfe.
A sharp intake of breath from me is enough to wake him up. He falls out of his chair and kneels next to the bed, clutching my hand and pressing his lips to my fingers. “You’re awake.” He’s breathless, eyes shining.
I nod. “Yeah.” My voice is nothing more than a croak, and I frown. So dry. My brain is fuzzy. What’s going on? Why am I here?
Wolfe reads my mind, scrambling for a little plastic container full of water—like the ones you get on an airplane. He peels the top off the container for me and helps me lift it to my mouth, wiping away a drop of water as it dribbles down my chin. Sighing, I nod. “Thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
My eyes snap open then, hands reaching down to my stomach. Fear spikes my blood, making my blood pump hard and triggering an alarm from the machine behind me.
A nurse rushes in, checking the machines hooked up to me and saying a few calming words.
“Where’s the baby? Where’s my baby?” I’m screeching. My nails are digging into her arm.
“You had to have an emergency cesarian section,” she explains, pushing me back down on the bed. “Your baby is in the NICU and doing fine. He’s currently on oxygen support, so we’ll have to keep him there until he can breathe on his own.”
It’s hard to explain the kind of gut-twisting anxiety that grips me. Everything I’ve lived for over the past eight months is gone. My birth plan is out the window. Worst of all, my baby isn’t even here. I didn’t get to hold him when he was born. I don’t even remember giving birth. That moment was taken from me. He can’t breathe on his own.
He’s a he! I have a son! I didn’t even know it until now, and this is how I find out?
I blink, trying to make sense of the thousands of thoughts invading my mind. I stare at the nurse, shaking my head. “My baby…”
“He’s doing well. He’s already passed some of the early tests we’ve done, and he’s responding well to treatment. All signs point to your baby being fine, Miss Reed.”
“It’s too early,” I say. “There’s still five weeks.”
“He was premature,” Wolfe says, finding my hand again. He interlaces his fingers in mine, squeezing. “I guess he was just too excited to meet me.”
My heart is still beating erratically, but I manage to force a scoff. “Arrogant as always, Your Highness.”
“The doctor told me he’s doing well. They need to keep him in the neonatal ward for now, but I’ve gone to see him every hour since he was born.” Wolfe smiles softly. “He’s beautiful, Rowan. Looks just like me.”
That makes me laugh, which sends pain spearing through my stomach. I groan, feeling a thick gauze bandage across my abdomen. Wolfe smooths my hair off my forehead and kisses my clammy skin.
“I want to see him,” I croak, glancing from Wolfe to the nurse.
She purses her lips and checks my vitals on the machine next to my bed. “You shouldn’t really be moving right now—”
“I need to see him,” I plead, eyebrows drawing together. “Please.”
The Prince makes a soft grunt, which draws the nurse’s gaze. She lets out a sigh, nodding, and disappears for a minute before coming back with a wheelchair. It takes a minute of painful movement as Wolfe picks me up and sets me down in front of the wheelchair. By the time I’m settled, I’m flushed and sweaty and aching all over.
But I’m in the chair, and I’m going to see my son.
A part of me feels robbed. This isn’t what I’d imagined for the birth of my child. It’s not what I wanted. I wanted to bring this child into the world surrounded by happiness and family and feel his tiny heartbeat against mine. I wanted my grandmother beside me. I wanted to kiss my baby’s forehead and let him wrap his tiny little fingers around my finger. I wanted to be the first to hear his cries. The first to touch his skin. I wanted so much, and this is all wrong.
But I’m alive, and the nurse assures me my baby is doing well, so I guess I have to be grateful for that. Wolfe tucks a blanket over my legs, placing my feet on the wheelchair footrests, then places his hands on my thighs and gives me a soft smile. “You haven’t told me to leave yet.”
I stare at his deep, golden-brown eyes, seeing softness there. I place my palm over his. “I don’t want you to.”
He curls his fingers around mine, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to stay.”
My chest constricts. I feel woozy and anxious and weak from the drugs they must have given me for the operation, and the fact that I haven’t seen my son since he was born.
