I can count on one hand how many times Coy has called me in the middle of the night. Once was a butt dial that he never repeated. Another time he was drunk and had a math problem he’d wagered one hundred dollars on and wanted me to give him and his buddies the answer. I did not comply. The third time was for bail money after he visited a bar that I warned him not to visit.
That time, I did help him out.
But this is different. I can hear it in his voice. A ripple of something woven into his tone has my stomach tightening as I listen.
“You busy?” he asks.
I rough a hand over my face. “Well, it’s after one in the morning, so take that for what you will. Why? What’s up?”
There’s a pause. A long one.
I climb out of bed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Everything is fine. I just … I brought Bells back to the hospital a little bit ago.”
I still. “Is she all right?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah. She’s fine. The doctor said everything looks good and that we should have a baby sometime today.”
A hefty stream of air escapes my lungs as my body relaxes. “That’s good news.”
“For sure.”
A chair squeaks in the background as Coy sighs. I walk to the window overlooking the pool below and wonder what he’s thinking. But as soon as my mind triggers that thought process, my stomach twists so hard that I think I might hurl.
“Bells doesn’t want me to call Mom or her dad or anyone until morning,” he says softly. “She feels bad that they were here all day for nothing.”
“It’s not like she was wasting their time on purpose.”
“I know. The doctor said it could be a long time yet, and she doesn’t want people sitting around all night.”
The solar lights outside light up the pool area with a soft glow. When was the last time I spent time out there? I have no idea. Before I can figure it out, Coy sighs again.
I scratch the top of my head. “So, did you call me just to shoot the shit? Boone is great at that, you know.”
Coy chuckles, but it’s not a free, easygoing sound. It’s stifled. Stressed. And I read between the lines … even if I don’t want to.
This is the last thing I want to do tonight. Or, really, ever. I contemplate telling him to call Oliver or Holt—he’d be happy to moan on and on about his wedding, and they could distract each other until the sun comes up. Even though it’s what I want to do, I can’t.
“I’ll let you go,” Coy says. “Bellamy is stirring. She might need some ice or something.”
“All right. Go take care of her.”
“Hey, Wade?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice tense.
“Thanks for answering.”
“You know it.”
The line disconnects, and I head back to the bathroom.
“Thank you,” I whisper and head down the corridor.
My stomach roils with the stench of artificial cleaners and soaps. I’ll have to shower as soon as I get back home because the antiseptic scent of the hospital will attach itself to me somehow.
Happens every time.
I knock softly against the door to Suite 4A. Then I crack it open until I spot my brother sitting in a chair. The movement catches Coy’s attention, and he looks up.
“Wade,” he whispers, sitting upright. “What are you doing here?”
I step inside the room. Bellamy is fast asleep as monitors beep all around her.
My throat goes dry. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Coy gets to his feet and walks across the room. Before I can change the subject, he pulls me into a hug.
“It’s good to see you, man,” he says as he pulls back.
I glance at Bellamy again before looking back at my brother. “You want to take a walk? Get some coffee or something in the cafeteria?”
He reaches toward the edge of the bed and rests his hand on Bellamy’s foot. The trepidation in Coy’s face sits right on the surface.
“She’ll be okay,” I tell him. “We’ll tell the nurse where we’re going, and we won’t be gone long.”
He nods, still unsure, but trusts me to lead him out of the room. After a quick stop to converse with the nurse, we’re on an elevator downstairs.
I jam my hands in the pocket of my jeans and try to feel out the situation. My head is foggy from the lack of sleep. Further, I have no idea how to handle this. Despite my natural inclination to approach it from a logical standpoint, I’m aware that my brother’s emotions are running high.
Why couldn’t he have called Oliver?
“Mom doesn’t know you’re here?” I ask as the elevator doors open.
“No. I’ll call her in the morning.”
We start down the hallway toward the cafeteria.
“But you decided you’d call me,” I say, putting the obvious out there.
“Funny, right?”
“It would’ve been more amusing around eight o’clock—morning or evening. You pick.”
He grins as we make our way to the coffee bar but doesn’t reply. We work quietly side by side, filling our small cups with coffee. Coy adds both sugar and cream to his while I make my way to the cashier and pay.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Hollis,” Coy says, his voice distant as we walk toward a table.
“How’s he doing?”
“I mean, he’s okay. Sad as hell. Can you imagine being separated from us, having a hell of a life, and finally getting yourself to a point when you can go back and try to locate us … to find out we’re dead?” He sits in the chair across from the one I pull out for myself. “I hate it for him. I really hoped things would be different for the guy.”
I swirl my coffee around in my cup. “Guess we don’t always get what we want, huh?”
Coy’s head bows. “You know, I bet Hollis’s parents didn’t expect to lose their kids when they were born.”
“Coy …”
He looks up, his eyes wide and wild. “Wade, what if … what if I can’t do this? What if I can’t be a dad?”
I set my cup down and fold my hands in front of me.
“I’m sitting in this chair for hours on end while Bellamy is in a misery that I can’t stop,” he says hurriedly. “And in a matter of hours, there will be another human being in this world, and I will be responsible for him.”
“It’s a little late to be considering this angle.”
He gives me a look that’s half shock, half glare. “Is that your attempt at a joke?”
“It would be funny if it weren’t true.” I shift in my seat. “But if you’re being serious and wondering if your kid is going to grow up in foster care and come looking for you someday, the answer is no. Mom won’t let that happen.”
He sighs and sits back in his chair.
I mirror his reaction. “I know you must be … I don’t know—fearful? Anxious?”
“What if I fuck this up, Wade? What if I don’t know what to do? What if—”
“What if you’re great at it?”
I want to roll my eyes at my own words. They’re so fucking cheesy. But I don’t know how else to say it.
Despite my hope that he takes this at surface level, he doesn’t. He just sits in his chair with his coffee in his hand and waits as though he expects me to expound on why he’ll be a successful parent.
“Look,” I say, sucking in a breath as I prepare myself for what’s about to come out of my mouth. “I know you must be feeling a number of ways right now. That’s what happens before the biggest events of our life. But you have to back away from all of that emotion and think back to the version of you that got you into this mess—I mean, situation.”