Be My Hero (Forbidden Men #3)(58)

EVA


From that day forward, my life changed completely.

As soon as I could walk and the nurses allowed me to leave my hospital bed, I shuffled like a stoop-shouldered old woman to the NICU to sit with Skylar. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. But looking at her scared the crap out of me. She was so little, so breakable and delicate. How was I supposed to protect her and care for her? I knew absolutely nothing about any of this.

It didn't seem to matter how many parenting articles I'd read, nothing had prepared me for this. This was real.

A nurse entered while I was sitting in the rocking chair, my arm resting inside the hand hole of the incubator to softly pet her miniature fingers.

"Sweetie, you probably need to head back to your room and get some rest now. You've been here quite a while. We don't want you to have a setback."

I barely even looked at her as I studied the little cowlick in my baby's hairline. How the hell had Pick gotten that right?

Maybe I'd just imagined the description he'd given me of her. There were a lot of fuzzy spots in my memories of the night she was born.

"I'm okay." I didn't want to leave her yet. I didn't think it was possible to love something so much. My chest felt completely full. I could've sat in that chair and just watched her sleep and breathe for the rest of my life.

"Does she need a blanket?" I asked when her tiny frame shuddered in her sleep as if she were shivering. "She looks cold."

The nurse's lips pinched with irritation. "She's fine. But you really need to get back to your own room. They said you just got off dialysis yesterday. You don't want to overdo it."

I nodded as if agreeing, but answered, "Just a little bit longer."

With a grumble, she spun away and stalked off. When I heard the phrase, " . . . typical single teen mother. Thinks she knows everything . . . " I turned and stared after her, watching the extra twenty pounds of weight on her waistline shift back and forth as she marched off in an angry huff.

I don't know why I let her comment get to me. Maybe it was leftover pregnancy hormones swimming through my veins, the start of some baby blues, or normal insecurity issues of a typical new nineteen-year-old mom. But tears immediately filled my eyes. I turned back to my child, small and helpless, fighting for her life, and the floodgate opened even more.

What the hell did I think I was doing?

I'd gone into this with my usual fake confidence, thinking sure I could raise a kid. Millions of women popped out babies every year. Why would I have a problem with it? And look, I'd almost gotten Skylar killed.

I sobbed even harder, my chest heaving. I had to pull my hand free of Skylar's incubator and bury my face in both my palms to muffle the gut-wrenching sounds so I wouldn't wake her.

She was here, like this, because I was unfit, because—

"Hey," a cheerful voice interrupted my pity party. "Well, looks who's up and out of bed already."

He sounded so relieved and happy. I turned to look up at Pick. He stood in the doorway with the biggest grin and a pink gift bag dangling from his hand. When he saw my face, his smile dropped flat.

"What's wrong? Skylar?" He dropped the bag as he hurried to the incubator.

The worry on his face warmed my heart and helped calm my tears. "No, she's okay. Getting better every day."

A heavy sigh escaped him as he set his hand on the clear plastic separating him from my daughter. "Thank God."

I blinked, still in awe over how worried he'd been. "How did you get back here?" They hadn't even allowed Reese into the NICU. She still had to look at Skylar through the window in the hall.

"Being a flirt comes in handy sometimes." He finally turned to me and winked. "The nurses love me." His grin was brief though. His worry returned almost immediately as he reached down to pluck me out of the chair. "Now what're all these tears about? You're looking better, by the way. The yellow skin and swollen face scared the shit out of me."

I didn't realize he was going to sit me in his lap until he was already settling me into place. I felt even younger, and stupider than I had when I'd started my crying jag. A silly little girl needing to sit on a nice comforting lap to get over herself.

"I don't know," I mumbled, wiping the drops off my cheeks and feeling lame. "I'm just so . . . overwhelmed." Along with scared, worried, lost, unsure—ugh! What had happened to the cocky Eva Mercer I'd been a year ago? I'd take a nice, big dose of her right now.

Pick chuckled and kissed my forehead, stirring up a nest of butterflies in my stomach. Or maybe it was the staples in the C-section cut that created such a sensation, except I really couldn't feel much in that area. Awesome drugs and all.

Unable to help myself I plunked my head onto his nice, wide comforting shoulder. I mean, he was offering it. I couldn't resist. And it felt good, so amazingly good to let someone hold me for a minute.

"I'm sorry," I started, sniffing up the end of my tears. "Just ignore me. I—"

"No, I will not ignore you. I will never ignore you. You have every reason in the world to have a freak-out moment. Fuck, you just gave birth. That alone would put enough strain on anyone's emotions. Tristy cried for three weeks straight after Julian was born."

I'm sure if he'd looked at me in that second, he would've seen a frown line appear between my eyes. I really didn't want to hear about his wife right now, not when I was snuggled on his lap, letting him comfort me and wishing things from him that he could never give. But I guess it didn't bother me enough to slide off him. It would take the Jaws of Life to get me off Patrick Ryan's lap.