Hook, Line, and Sinker (Flirting with the Zodiac Book 1) Page 19

  “Ty, I’m not torturing you.”

  “This is torture!”

  “It’s been fifteen minutes,” the midwife—Antoine? Adrien? Something very French, although he was clearly Piscean, with his red eyes and sharp teeth—said.

  “Fifteen minutes?!” Ty screeched, and the midwife rolled down the sheet and swiped his fingers across Ty’s slit. Ty squeaked in indignation.

  “You’re barely open,” Adrien huffed. “Settle in, you have hours before this baby arrives.”

  He patted Ty’s thigh reassuringly, then took Lawrence’s hand and gently led him from the room. “Let’s look at that cut.”

  “Fuck you!” Ty screeched after them. “You get your hands off my husband, you—you old witch! He’s mine! Get back here, Laz, I’m not done beating you up for making me have your baby, for putting me through this!”

  He broke off in a yell, then turned onto his side, panting. He slid his shaking hands under his belly, felt wetness underneath his fingertips. The sheets were red beneath him. “Uh—ah—oh. That’s a lot of …. Hey, uh, Adrien! Should I be bleeding this much?!”

  He poked his head back into the room, glowering at him. Then he frowned deeply, eyes widening a fraction. He approached the bed with his hands on his hips. “Oh-ho, you’re going to be one of the difficult ones.”

  Sickness settled in the pit of Ty’s stomach. “What does that mean?” Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, cold and unpleasant.

  Adrien clucked his tongue at him. “You’re impatient, aren’t you? Well, so’s your little one. He is coming right now, and you’re not ready.”

  “I know I’m not ready!” Ty barked. “I know that—oh.”

  All the words, all the anger, drained right out of him and he stared at the wall, pain burning him from the inside out. It started in his middle, then grew, wildfire dancing through him as he clutched at the sheets. He whimpered instead of screaming, and Adrien—damn him—nodded.

  Ty swallowed. “Is … this … is it supposed to feel …”

  “Non,” he said. “You aren’t open enough, but this little one, he’s impatient. So now he’s stuck.”

  More fire. Ty closed his eyes tight, tore at the sheets. “Fuck, I …”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Go to the spaceport, Mr. Trafford. Your spouse will be fine.”

  “I’m not fine, Laz, don’t believe him, I think—I think I’m getting ripped apart, I—”

  “Go!” Adrien commanded, then slammed the door. Ty sobbed into the pillow, hands spasming around the sheets.

  He couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight. The walls wavered in front of him; black spots danced across his vision. “Just breathe,” Adrien advised, and Ty exhaled through his nose, noisily, felt his breath around where he had his teeth clamped into the pillow. He choked on another sob.

  “I’m going to give you some medicines.”

  “Why didn’t you do that before?!” he snapped, turning to glower at the midwife. “Oh, fuck, finally—please give me some painkillers, anything.”

  “Not that kind of medicine,” he grumbled. “This will help you open up. Say ah.”

  “No! That’s going to hurt more—I can’t take this! Make it stop. Please, I’ll do anything—”

  “Just take the medicine. It will be over sooner.”

  “Just make it stop!”

  “This will make it stop,” Adrien cooed, catching him by the arm, then stroking his hair out of his face. “Take this medicine like a good boy, so this can all be over sooner.”

  He nodded furiously. Some alarm in his brain told him the other Piscean was lying—he’d said it wouldn’t stop the pain, hadn’t he?—but he was desperate, especially as the fire turned from a smolder into a full-blown blaze, scorching across his skin.

  Adrien shoved the spoon into his mouth, and he swallowed it eagerly—medicine, lies, everything. He relaxed back against the pillow, and Adrien nodded at him. Ty smiled at him, waiting for the fire to subside, the bliss of numbness or sleep to overcome him.

  It didn’t. His entire body seemed to seize, all the way from his legs, straight into his belly, up his spine. He was engulfed now as pain seared every last nerve in his body, all of them singing agony until he felt like his ears were bleeding. He screwed his eyes shut and screamed. He was pretty sure he lacerated the midwife’s arm with his nails; then the pillow was in his hands and he was ripping that apart instead.

  He screamed until his lungs ached, until he was sure he was going to pass out. Then he gulped down a breath and started screaming again.

  Why hadn’t it stopped? He needed it to stop, why wasn’t it stopping—

  Adrien tangled a hand through his sweaty hair. “It’s all right,” he murmured, his voice liquid sound pooling through Ty’s ears and running away, echoing like the drip-drip-drip of a leaky faucet, and he sobbed. “You’re opening up now, you’ll be fine.”

  He bit and tore at the pillow, then threw it across the room. The pain wasn’t stopping, and that was all that mattered. Soon was too far away, too vague. He’d never make it; it was across the entirety of space-time, collapsing into a second, then expanding back into billions and trillions of years.

  “Where’s Lawrence?” he sobbed. “Where’s Lawrence, where’s Dad? I’m scared, it hurts, make it stop, will you please make it stop!”

  “Hush now,” Adrien said. “It will be over soon.”

  The pain seemed to lessen, finally; the entire world felt hazy, strange, like it was drifting away from him. The midwife’s voice was getting further away; he couldn’t feel his touch now. He tried to open his eyes, but they were so, so heavy.

  “Sleep now,” Adrien instructed, and that seemed like a good idea, so he did.

  Twenty-Five

  Ty stared at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to place it. It wasn’t the apartment or his room at his parents’. It wasn’t the new house or Val’s living room either.

  He blinked a couple of times, then twisted to look at the window, where the light was coming in.

  He could see nothing but blue sky and snow. It looked cold, and he shivered.

  That brought his attention to the thin blanket draped over him, just over his arms, not up over his shoulders. He was in what seemed to be an even thinner gown.

  A hospital? He tried moving one of his arms, found it stiff and sore, tubes and tape and needles all stuck to him, in him.

  He touched a hand to his head. What the hell had happened?

  “Oh, are you awake now?” A nurse strode into the room, smiling brightly.

  Ty blinked a couple of times. “I, uh … guess?”

  The nurse nodded knowingly, then said, “I will get the doctor.” She darted off again, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her.

  Ty craned his neck, looked at the monitor behind him. The soft humming of machines reached his ears.

  “Monsieur Metzler!” the doctor cried with a flourish as she arrived at the foot of the bed. “You have woken up at last!”

  “At last?”

  “Do you have pain in the head?”

  “No?” What kind of question was that?

  “Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

  He held her gaze, took in her patient, expectant expression. “I, uh …” He looked at the blanket.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. He remembered arguing with Lawrence, the paramedics not taking him, and …

  He looked up at her again. “The baby, where’s the—”

  She held up a hand. “It is nothing to worry, Monsieur. The baby is in good care.”

  “But where is—”

  She perched on the end of the bed. “What is it that you remember?”

  He shook his head. “The midwife, and I was in labor? Lawrence … he went to get my dad, and … the midwife gave me something weird. It hurt, and then it stopped and …”

  He paused, meeting her gaze again. She nodded. “They moved you to a pool, you delivered the baby, and then you
were brought here with severe bleeding. We had to give you blood, had to bring it from Lyon. You have slept for three days.”

  “Three days?! But what about—”

  The doctor shook her head. “You should rest a little. We will get you some food, take vitals. Then you can visit with the baby.”

  “I want to see my baby now.”

  “You have waited three days. You can wait a little longer.”

  “I didn’t have a choice in that!” he hollered after her, but she sauntered out of the room. The nurse stepped closer as he slumped against the bed.

  “I will turn up the IV,” she said.

  “No!” he snapped. “I’m fine, I don’t need …”

  She hummed, then fiddled with the knob anyway.

  ***

  “I want to get the baby and go home,” was the first thing he said to Lawrence when he stepped into the room.

  “Okay,” Lawrence drawled, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

  Ty crossed his arms, huffing angrily. He’d been awake for about twenty minutes, and he was pretty sore that the nurse had put him back under.

  He hadn’t just gone through eight (or, well, almost eight) months of hell to never see this damn thing. “Now,” he ground out, in case Lawrence had missed the point.

  His husband laughed, high-pitched and nervous, and wrung his hands. “Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you can see the baby. And you can go home …”

  He paused, meeting Ty’s eyes. “Once your stitches come out.”

  “Stitches?”

  “Ah-ah, don’t try to move, fishy—please.”

  Ty settled back against the pillows, unable to fathom the sorrow in Lawrence’s eyes, the fear that pinched his expression. Ty looked away, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Is … the baby okay?”

  “Yes.” Lawrence’s voice practically grated on his ears. “Baby’s fine, he’s …”

  The noise that Lawrence made wasn’t human; it was pained and unearthly, wraithlike and haunting as it seemed to ripple across Ty’s skin. “God, fishy, you almost died.”

  Oh.

  Ty stared at Lawrence’s hand as it landed on the bed. Water splashed over his wedding ring, and Ty looked up. Lawrence didn’t even try to hide the fact he was crying; he just stood there, tears running rivers down his cheeks. His voice had failed him; his throat worked, his lips moved, but there was nothing at all to be said.

  He crumpled to his knees and buried his face against the blankets, his arms over his head. “I thought you were gone, I thought I was never going to get to talk to you again. Ty, I was so scared, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, we should have never—”

  “Lawrence, you’re getting the blanket wet, and it’s not warm enough in here to begin with.”

  Lawrence sniffed loudly, then lifted his head. The smile on his lips was trembling, threatening to fade at a moment’s notice. “You’re such an asshole,” he sniffled.

  “Mm,” Ty agreed.

  Lawrence sat back, sighing deeply. His smile deepened too, gathering strength. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured, linking their hands.

  He smiled at Ty, blue eyes boring into him, and Ty shifted a little, panic rising in his chest. “I love you,” he blurted when Lawrence just went on staring at him.

  He stared back, and the two of them were frozen like that when the nurse bustled in with a tiny cart, and …

  “Baby,” Ty breathed, and he didn’t even care that Lawrence was right there, didn’t care that they’d been having a moment or whatever. That thing had been inside him, and he needed to make sure it was okay.

  “Lie still,” Lawrence hissed to him.

  He settled himself back against the pillows again, glowering at everyone. The nurse picked up the sleeping babe, who was so very, very small and so very, very fragile …

  “He felt bigger in here,” Ty said, which was a pretty stupid thing to say when he was holding his kid for the first time, really, but it was true. He folded down the blanket just a bit, saw tiny hands, tiny fingernails. Baby’s eyes were closed, his mouth open just a touch, and he nestled against Ty, scratchy little wool cap and all.

  Ty grabbed at the other end of the blanket, peered underneath it. “Does he have …”

  “Feet,” Lawrence confirmed. “We don’t know if he can shift.”

  Ty nodded, letting his hand curl gently around the baby’s. He was so small and …

  Ty really didn’t know what to think, what to feel—just that he was. That was it, right there in the moment.

  Lawrence’s hand was warm on his back. “Any names in mind?”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  Lawrence laughed. “No then.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Mm. We both did.” Lawrence reached over, traced a finger over the baby’s cheek. He shifted as he did so, bringing him closer to Ty. “Kind of easy to see why.” His gaze was soft, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Ty would have done this way sooner if he’d known Lawrence would look so tender.

  Goddamn, Lawrence should’ve been somebody’s dad so long ago.

  “I was thinking Nereio.”

  “Nere-wha?”

  Lawrence gave him a sheepish half-grin. “It’s Greek. I think it means river or something like that.”

  “It’s too long,” Ty complained. Long names were stupid. People shortened them up as soon as they could.

  “We could call him Rio for short.”

  “What’s the point of the long version then,” Ty muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s that even mean?” Ty said with more force.

  “You know. Like the river.”

  “What river?” He was pretty sure he’d told Lawrence he’d flunked geography three times in high school.

  “Ah—never mind. What did you want to call him?”

  Ty stared at the baby for a long while. Then he sighed and sat back. “Now that you said it, it’s stuck.”

  Lawrence laughed a little. “Nereio it is then. Hey, Rio. Hey cutie.”

  The baby opened his mouth, then his eyes, curling his fingers in to his palms, then stretching them again. He kicked, like his entire leg was spasming. He turned those red eyes on Lawrence, who smiled broadly, his own eyes widening. “Hey buddy, you awake now? Who’s this? You know who this is.”

  The baby looked at Lawrence a second longer, then shifted his gaze to Ty. He opened his mouth wider, like he was going to cry, then stuffed his fingers in his mouth. He looked startled by that development, his eyes watering and his whole tiny face screwing up as he started to cry.

  “He’s got really healthy lungs,” Lawrence said, scooping the baby back out of Ty’s arms. Ty just stared at them stupidly. He felt so lost, like he’d missed a week of parenting classes or something.

  “What do we do?” He watched Lawrence rocking side to side, but Rio was still crying.

  “He might be hungry,” Lawrence said, looking around for a nurse.

  “Oh,” Ty said, eyes widening. “I’ve been out for three days, I’m on painkillers, how has he been—”

  “Bottle,” Lawrence said quickly, then smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Ty. No—the doctor said you could still try if you wanted, but it might not work. But it’s fine.”

  “But I—”

  “You almost died,” Lawrence hissed, cradling Rio tighter. “Don’t you dare feel guilty about this. You’re here, you’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

  “What on Earth is all the racket?” Ethel had her nose in the air as she entered the room. Ty gritted his teeth, tightened his hands in the sheets.

  Lawrence’s expression was pinched. “Ty—”

  “Goodness,” she sniped as she settled her purse on the floor, “Lawrence, what are you doing to that child? Give him here—that’s right, sweetheart, come to Grandmama.”

  Ty couldn’t help the way his jaw went slack. He looked at Lawrence, who held up his hands in defeat. “I needed help,” he whispered as she stepped into the ha
ll with the still-wailing baby, barking orders for a nurse. “And your parents tried to unhook you from the ventilator.”

  Ty let his head hit the pillow, groaning in frustration. “I’m surprised they even set foot in here,” he muttered.

  Ethel walked back into the room, her heels clicking. She must have located someone—Rio now had a bottle, which was keeping his mouth busy. “I honestly don’t know why you didn’t send him to the private facility down in Lyon,” she sniffed at Lawrence, “the service in here …”

  Ty rolled his eyes. Lawrence sighed. “Have you heard anything about Gran?”

  Ethel’s face turned grim. She looked down at Rio, her expression suddenly somber. “They’d like to do it soon.”

  “Do what?” Ty looked at Lawrence, who merely closed his eyes.

  Silence filled the room, until Rio popped the bottle out of his mouth, sighing.

  “Oh, are you finished?” Mrs. Trafford asked, apparently eager for the distraction. “My, what a hungry little man you are.”

  Rio burbled at her, turned his head. Lawrence laughed lightly, grabbing for a blanket. He tossed it over his shoulder. “Thank you, Mother, I’ll take him.”

  “What, you think I can’t handle a little spit-up, Lawrence? As though you never threw up on me.”

  “I just think that maybe you should let Rio throw up on me. As revenge.”

  “Rio,” she said as she handed the baby back. “What kind of name is that?”

  “It’s short for Nereio,” Ty said, trying to wedge himself into the conversation, although his head was still spinning.

  She snorted. “Well, I suppose I should have expected that from you.”

  “What—”

  “You rather prefer a shortened version of your own name, and you have the worst habit of deforming Lawrence’s.”

  “At least I don’t call him Larry.”

  “Please, Mother, the name was my idea.” Lawrence paused, eyes widening. Then his expression melted and he rubbed Rio’s back. “Better now, buddy?”

  Rio made a noise halfway between a burble and a cry. Lawrence handed him to Ty. “Hold this.”