The Gravity of Us (Elements #4)(22)

“I can stay, if you need me to,” she offered once more. Talon was getting her feeding tube taken out and the doctors felt confident she’d be able to start eating on her own, which was a step in the right direction after months of uncertainty.

“Really, Graham. It’s no problem for me to stay a few more hours.”

“No. Go.”

She nodded and finally stood up. “Okay. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Don’t.”

“Graham, you don’t have to do this alone,” she insisted. “I can stay here and help if—”

“Don’t you see?” I snapped. “You’re not wanted. Go bother someone else with your pity.”

Her lips parted, and she took a few steps backward. “I don’t pity you.”

“Then you must pity yourself for not having a life of your own,” I muttered, not making eye contact with her yet still seeing the pained look on her face out of the corner of my eye.

“There are moments when I see you, you know—when I see how hurt you are, when I see your pain and worry, but then you go ahead and cancel it out with your rudeness.”

“Stop acting like you know me,” I told her.

“Stop acting like you’re heartless,” she replied. She went digging into her purse and pulled out a pen and paper then scribbled down her phone number. “Here, take this, in case you need me or you change your mind. I used to be a nanny, and I could give you a hand if you need it.”

“Why don’t you get it? I don’t need anything from you.”

“You think this is about you?” She snickered, shaking her head as she wrapped her fingers around her heart-shaped necklace. “It seems your egotistic ways are getting in the way of you realizing the truth of the matter. I’m not here for you. I hardly know you. The last thing my mother asked from me was to look after my sisters, and seeing as how Lyric is missing in action, I find it important for me to look after her daughter.”

“Talon is not your responsibility,” I argued.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But like it or not, she is my family, so please don’t let your pride and misplaced anger keep you from reaching out if you need me.”

“I won’t need you. I don’t need anyone,” I barked at her, feeling annoyed by her giving personality. How ridiculous it was for her to give so much of herself so freely.

Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head, studying me. I hated the way she stared at me. I hated how when our eyes locked, she stared as if she saw a part of my soul that I hadn’t even discovered. “Who hurt you?” she whispered.

“What?”

She stepped in closer to me, unfolded my clenched hand, and placed her number in my grasp. “Who hurt you so bad and made you so cold?”

When she left, my eyes followed her, but she didn’t once look back.





Three weeks passed before the doctors and nurses informed me it was time for Talon and me to go home. It took me over two hours to make sure the car seat was installed properly, along with having five different nurses check to make sure it was securely fastened.

I’d never driven so slowly in my life, and every time I turned to check on Talon, she was sleeping peacefully.

I’m going to fuck this up.

I knew I would. I knew nothing about being a father. I knew nothing about taking care of a child. Jane would’ve been great at it. Sure, she never wanted children, but she was a perfectionist. She would’ve taught herself to become the best mother in the world. She would’ve been the better option when it came to one of us caring for Talon.

My having her felt like a cruel mistake.

“Shh,” I tried to soothe her as I carried the car seat into the house. She’d started crying the moment I took her out of the car, and my gut was tightened with nerves.

Is she hungry? Does she need a diaper change? Is she too hot? Too cold? Did she just miss an inhale? Are her lungs strong enough? Will she even make it through the night?

Once Talon was in her crib, I sat on the floor beside it. Any time she moved, I was up on my feet, checking on her. Any time she didn’t shift, I was up on my feet, checking on her.

I’m going to fuck this up.

The doctors were wrong. I knew they were. They shouldn’t have sent her home yet. She wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. She was too small, and my hands were too big.

I’d hurt her.

I’d make a mistake that would cost Talon her life.

I can’t do this.

Pulling out my cell phone, I made a call to the number I’d been calling for weeks. “Jane, it’s me, Graham. I just wanted to let you know…Talon’s home. She’s okay. She’s not going to die, Jane, and I just wanted to let you know that. You can come home now.” My grip on the phone was tight, my voice stern. “Come home. Please. I can’t…I can’t do this without you. I can’t do this alone.”

It was the same message I’d left her multiple times since the moment the doctors told me Talon was going to be discharged. But still, Jane never came back.

That night was the hardest night of my life.

Every time Talon started screaming, I couldn’t get her to stop. Every time I picked her up, I was terrified I’d break her. Every time I fed her and she wouldn’t eat, I worried about her health. The pressure was too much. How could someone so small rely on me as her life support?