Page 138 of Everything But Mine

AMANDA

Iwake up, startled by an unfamiliar sound. The lights are dimmed but still carry that fluorescent, sterile tilt of a hospital. Eric is hovering over the bed, smiling, shirtless. Beckett is on his chest, also shirtless but wrapped in a blanket. His mouth is open as he roots and bucks his head against Eric’s right pec, pouting his lips in frustration. He’s so upset he’s turning purple.

Eric’s hand cups my cheek, and I cover it with my own, nuzzling against his palm.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “I tried to let you sleep as long as I could, but he needs to eat. I don’t have the right assets. Someone can get us a bottle if you want to sleep more.”

“No,” I sit up, wincing. Everything hurts.

Eric helps me unsnap my gown, then hands me the baby awkwardly, supporting his head. I struggle to find the right way to hold him, but when I hold my breast and poke his lip, he latches on, and his loud swallowing fills the quiet room.

I pat the space next to me. Eric sits without hesitation, one arm around my shoulders, his hand cupping the back of Beckett’s head protectively. I run a finger down Beckett’s cheek, and his chin wobbles.

“He’s falling asleep.”

“You should do that thing they told us,” Eric says. “Massage your breast so there’s more flow.”

I do, and Beckett swallows. I feel like a mess. Embarrassed. Unattractive.

Eric’s eyes flick over my face like he’s checking for damage. “You’re okay,” he says quietly. “They said it was just a deep tear, and it’s all repaired.” He tries to sound casual, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

“How did you guys do?” I ask, needing to break the intensity of his gaze—the one that says he thought he might lose his whole world.

“We were getting to know each other,” he says, rubbing my hip under the blanket. “So far, he enjoys screaming at me.” He chuckles softly. “You should switch him before he falls all the way asleep.”

“Do you remember how to unlatch him?”

He nods and shows me. It upsets Beckett, but he’s happy enough when he latches onto my other breast.

“I get it less and less, you know,” Eric says after a moment. “How, as a father, you’d just check out. Miss out on everything. Make him feel like a failure.”

I let my head rest on his shoulder. “You’re rewriting the narrative already, Eric.” I kiss his jaw. “He’ll never have to wonder if he’s wanted.”

There’s a knock on the door, bringing in a revolving door of visitors, in pairs due to hospital rules. First, it’s our moms. My parents, then just Eric’s mom again. We use their visit to take turns sleeping while they hold the baby. Next, it’s Diego and Val, then Diego’s sisters. Diego shows up again with another onesie, in dark blue this time. My uncle played matchmaker, and here I am!

Eric scoffs at it. But when they hug before he leaves… Eric’s eyes fill with tears he doesn’t let fall.

When we’re finally alone, Beckett makes a small noise, more whimper than cry, and Eric leans in instinctively, brushing a thumb along his tiny temple. Another knock. We stare at each other in question. We’ve seen everyone we’d expect. One more knock follows, the door creaking open before a head pokes in.

Daray. He steps in halfway without asking. His eyes catch mine first, then Eric’s, then finally land on the bundle in my arms. The muscle on his jaw ticks before he drags a hand over his neck, then looks away.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

But he pulls a chair closer to the bed and does anyway. Eric steps protectively in front of the bed. Daray, of course, ignores it.

“Can I talk to Amanda for a minute?”

No please. No I’m sorry. No thank you for being here for my child, Eric. Still, this Daray doesn’t carry the disdain he wears so naturally. He’s in a white T-shirt stained with god-knows-what, hanging loose over his thinner frame. He looks under-slept, worse for wear than he did five weeks ago when we saw him with Cassie.

Eric glances at me. Talking to him is not something I want, but I need to. Eric steps back, leaning down to kiss Beckett’s head. Then he presses a chaste but firm kiss to my lips. Daray will think it’s a hands-off statement. That’s how his mind works. But I know Eric. It’s support, it’s strength. He trusts me to be left alone with Daray.

“She’s had a rough thirty-six hours. Don’t do anything that’s going to keep her up at night,” Eric says as he passes him. He doesn’t need any macho display—that’s Daray’s style. “I’ll bring us some food. I won’t be long.”

As the door clicks shut, I realize Daray’s eyes are locked on Beckett.

He swallows thickly. “What did you name him?”

“We named him Beckett.”