“I don’t feel tough.” I shove the chip back in my pocket. It feels at home there, comfortable.
“Even superheroes have their moments,” she says and nods her head to the bed again. This time I don’t argue and sit down, expecting her to join me. Instead of sitting down, she gives me a firm nod and, with outstretched arms, offers Robin to me. I fight back the lump in my throat. I’ve been wanting to see her for months, but not once did I really think about holding her. I can barely hold a glass without having a freak-out over condensation. How in the hell am I supposed to hold a tiny little human?
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You just have to be brave. I trust you.”
“You probably shouldn’t.” What if she’s hot to the touch and I tense up and squeeze her too hard? What if she sneezes and the moisture freaks me out? What if she hates me? Too many what-ifs flying around my head for me to hold her. No, I think I’ll just sit here with my hands to myself and watch her as she slips back into sleep.
“I’d die protecting her, so trust me when I tell you that I feel safe with you holding her. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t have faith in you.”
“I might hold her wrong.”
“I’ll show you.”
Balancing her baby in her arms, she shows me how to properly hold Robin’s neck and everything. I will myself to be okay with this, to fight off the panic before it begins, and to—for once—refuse to let my damage get the best of me. Nic tries to avoid touching me as she places Robin in my waiting arms, but it proves too difficult. My eyes slam closed as my heart rate picks up, and I find it hard to breathe. My lungs fight to keep the flow of oxygen going as the heaviness in my arms stretches her tiny little legs and yawns.
The reminder of her presence brings me back to the here and now. If I selfishly let myself fall into the blackness, I’ll never get to hold her again, and that would break my heart. I always wanted to be a mom. I was that girl who fantasized about growing up and becoming a wife and mother. There’s so much I wanted in life, and it’s all gone now. I’ll always envy Nic this—her beautiful daughter.
“See?” she says reassuringly. “Not so bad.”
“What do you know about Ian?” I instantly regret the question. Nic’s face screws up, and she shakes her head. Unable to look at her, I redirect my attention to Robin, who is sound asleep in my arms. I should have asked Holly, but I don’t need the lecture or concern that’s sure to follow by asking her anything about Ian. Not that she doesn’t already know.
“Be careful with him. Lost girls talk and, well, I don’t think this is a road you want to go down. What about Wyatt? He’s not tied down. There’s always Diesel.”
“It’s not like I’m looking for a man,” I defend. “I’m too messed up to try to hitch my wagon to someone else’s.”
“But you like Ian?”
“I was just curious if you know anything about him,” I say a little harsher than intended. Nic’s tough. She doesn’t quibble about it.
“Oh no you don’t. You have the same look you did back when that Italian fuck would come into Universal Grounds. You’d get this goofy smile on your face. Christ, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”
“Is it so terrible for me to like Ian?”
“Yes.” The sound in the room echoes with not just Nic’s voice but Holly’s as well. Well, shish kebobs. I didn’t realize Holly had made her way in here, but apparently she has and just in time to scrutinize my affections. I watch carefully as Holly and Nic make eye contact. Neither seems comfortable with the topic at hand, and neither will elaborate. Instead I’m left with burning questions and no answers from either of them.
It looks like I’ll just have to get them from Ian.
“Here you go,” I say and nod to Nic. She lets out what I think is a disappointed sigh and takes Robin from my arms. I give her and Holly both a reassuring smile and stand. I hitch my thumb to the open doorway and say, “Bathroom.”
I exit the room quickly and get into the hall bath before anyone catches up with me. I’ll have to come out eventually, but for the next few minutes, I can be alone and avoid the judgmental questions regarding Ian. How dare any of them judge him. He’s no more screwed up than the rest of us.