Warrior (First to Fight #1)(38)
The thought crosses my mind that maybe he still isn’t safe. What if Logan is right and I’m putting him in danger? How can one little person face so much adversity in a short time?
By the time Ben appears with Cole snoozing in his arms, I’m a wreck. My face feels raw with grief, and my eyes are so bleary I can’t even see straight. The ache in my head has only intensified, leaving me feeling worse than I’m sure I look.
“Ben,” I choke out. “I need to hold him.”
His face is stony, resolute. I’ve never seen him so closed-off before—including our most recent interactions when I couldn’t read him at all. He places Cole in my arms without a word and I’m thankful. I’m not sure if I have anything left after my crying jag to fight with.
Cole’s face is slack with sleep, and I pull him as close to me as I can get him without aggravating the wound on my side and in my shoulder. Fresh tears spill, though even they have lost their strength.
I trace his lips with a finger, silently mapping the landscape of his face. The relief that he’s here and safe in my arms is overwhelming. I don’t know how long I sit there, but when I look up, Ben hasn’t moved from his post beside my bed.
“Do you know if he’s eaten?”
“I called Sofie. Luckily, she knew you were pumping milk for daycare and was able to get some and some of that special formula he needs from your house. It took a few tries, but yes, he did. He didn’t like it much, but after a few hours, he seemed to get the hang of it.”
I sigh, feeling one of the weights on my shoulders ease. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
My head begins to throb more insistently, so I rest it on a pillow. I don’t even know where to begin to process what happened.
I hear Ben moving around in the room, but I can’t summon the energy to investigate. The bar lowers on the side of the bed and I feel weight shifting beside me. He settles next to me on his side, one arm carefully strewn across me so he doesn’t hurt me or disturb the baby.
“What are you doing?”
Ben takes my free hand in his. My fingers automatically cradle his in my palm. “Give me this, please. I just need to be close to you both right now. Let me hold you.”
I’m too tired to resist, and if I’m being honest with myself, I need him to hold me, too. The last thing I feel before I slide into the depths of sleep are his strong arms around my waist, holding me close to his side.
“Local art teacher Olivia Walker will be released from the hospital today in stable condition after a vicious attack Monday morning. The shooter, identified as an individual wearing dark clothing and driving a white sports utility vehicle, remains at large. Her son, the other victim in the attack, did not sustain any wounds and remains in the care of his father, war veteran Benjamin Hart. Stay tuned to WTVB, your station for breaking news.”
Ben pauses in the doorway, his eyes glued to the T.V. even though the anchor has moved on to another topic. I’m likewise frozen, my good arm hovering over my bag, clutching a handful of dirty laundry.
All of the things that we’ve put off while I was recovering hang between us. We lock eyes over the hospital bed and I fumble with the clothes I was attempting to sort neatly. Instead I dump them in a tangled mess and feign interest in my toiletries. The pain in my side is, thankfully, curtailed by a cocktail of drugs and luck, but that doesn’t help, as the bathroom proves to be more of a trap than an escape.
“We need to talk,” Ben says from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I know.” I don’t turn to face him. I can’t. Instead, I hobble to the sink to grab my toothbrush. Keeping my hands and mind busy is easier than facing him.
His footsteps sound behind me and I can feel his warmth against my back. I close my eyes, my entire body freezing at his touch. It was easier to be mad at him. I almost prefer it. Being mad at someone is a whole hell of a lot better than being raw and open to them. I open my eyes and find Ben watching me in the mirror. His hand covers mine on the sink.
“I’m sorry.” He maneuvers my body gently so that I’m facing him. “I’m so damn sorry, Liv.”
I fumble with the toothpaste. “Um, what do you mean?”
“For leaving you.”
Unable to look him in the eye, I stare at the tile floor. “Don’t be sorry for that. You didn’t leave me. I don’t blame you for any of it. I shouldn’t have kept Cole from you for this long. When you came back, I fully intended on telling you before you left for your next assignment. I understand what it must have looked like, coming home to see me with a kid.”
He wraps his arms around my waist. One hand on my thigh under the first bullet wound, careful not to touch me. The other splays across my back. I’d be lying if I said the heavy weight of his touch wasn’t reassuring.
“That was all me,” he says. “I don’t want to get into what happened to me, but I was raw. It was a bad time and I overreacted. It scared me more than I want to admit to myself to come home and find that you’d almost been hurt. Now you have been hurt and I can’t help but feel like it’s because of me. I should have been there for you.”
I feel like I’m in a dream because the words coming out of Ben’s mouth are too good to be real. They are everything that I’ve dreamed of hearing from him, although I don’t feel like I deserve them. And instead of happiness, I am overcome with guilt for keeping the truth from him for so long. “If anyone should be sorry in this situation it’s me.” My shoulders bow under the weight of shame. “I should have told you about Cole a long time ago.”