“Derrick . . .” Matthew said.
He lifted his other hand toward his younger brother. “It’s all right, Matt, I’m just talking to the man.” He looked the doctor in the eye. “Listen, that’s my wife and my daughter in there. I don’t care what you have to do, who you have to call, but you make sure they both come out of this, you understand me?”
“Mr. Hoffman, I can’t promise—”
He brought his face close to the doctor’s. “Do you understand me?”
Matthew stepped forward. “Derrick, for God’s sake—”
“Get back, Matt,” he snarled through his teeth, keeping his gaze locked on the doctor. The man had backed up, but Derrick’s hand tightened on his shoulder so he couldn’t escape. “Do you understand me?”
The doctor nodded, gulping, and shoving his glasses further up on his nose.
When he hurried away, Derrick leaned against the wall with his palm flat on the surface. With his head bent, he closed his eyes, clenching his other hand into a fist, and did something he couldn’t ever remember doing before. He prayed, no begged, for the health of his wife and safe delivery of his daughter, and that all the wrong he’d perpetrated over the years would not conspire against him to harm either one of them.
He felt Cassidy’s little hand wriggle between his fingers and loosen his fist to hold tightly to him.
“It’ll be okay,” she said softly. “Go. She needs you. We’ll be right here, okay? Waiting.” She squeezed his hand.
****
Eva felt like she’d been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. When she shifted, pain cut through her, and she winced.
“Easy.” Derrick’s voice came from beside the bed. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile. “Hey.”
Snatches of memory came back. They’d had to perform a Caesarean section to deliver Violet because of complications. Violet!
Her gaze scoured the room. “How is she? Is she okay?”
“Shh. She’s fine. They have her in the neonatal intensive care unit.”
“I want to see her. Take me to her.” She tried to get up, but the effects of the general anesthesia and dull ache from the incision in her abdomen forced her to plop back against the pillows.
He brushed the hair back from her face with a gentle hand. His touch soothed her racing heart. “You’re not in any condition to move around right now. You’ll see her later.” He held his smartphone up for her to see. “I know you hate how I always have this phone with me, but it came in handy. I took pictures.”
He scrolled through the images. She saw her daughter at birth, covered in blood and fluids. Then there were photos of her in the NICU, inside an incubator to keep her warm, tubes attached to her body to give nourishment and help her little lungs breathe. She was almost as pale as the sheet she slept on.
“She’s going to be all right?”
“So far, so good. The doctor said she’ll have to stay for a while—it could be a couple of weeks or longer—until she can do all the normal things on her own: breathing, sucking, swallowing. It depends on her progress.”
The effects of the anesthesia made Eva feel groggy, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Derrick looked down at her with worry lines creasing his forehead. She reached up and cupped his jaw. The rough hairs of morning stubble scraped the palm of her hands. “You were wonderful. You took care of me.” Her hand fell back to the bed.
“I promised you I would. I couldn’t let anything happen to you or Violet.”
If she told him her feelings, what would he say? What would he do?