Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: The last chapter!
Eight months later
Beeping. There was beeping. A steady one, right by her head. Had she forgotten to turn the alarm clock off again? James was going to be upset that he was woken up at six on his day off. Wait, that wasn't the alarm clock. The beeping was soft, rather than the obnoxious foghorn of her clock. She turned her head and tried to open her eyes to see what it was. She winced at the lancing pain that shot through her temples. Okay, ouch. She wasn't going to attempt that again. Her mind was having trouble turning over. Where was she? She listened, hoping for a clue. The beeping was still there, and behind it was the bustle of people, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, phones ringing. Mumbled conversations. That didn't sound like her house. Even with James' friends over, there was never this much activity.
"Zoey?" a familiar voice sounded equal parts relieved and worried. James? No, not James. She felt a hand slide into hers and squeeze lightly. "Zo?"
"Chase?" she turned slowly and cracked an eye open. Still painful, but better. Chase sat in a plastic chair beside her bed, looking haggard and exhausted. His shirt was wrinkled terribly and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days. He brought the hand he held up to his lips and placed a kiss on it, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Where am I?"
"The hospital. Don't you remember?" he asked. She shook her head. She couldn't remember anything after the terrible fight she and James had had. He had accused her of cheating—for the sixth time this month—when he found that she still hadn't gotten rid of Chase's old high school sweatshirt. She had finally mustered up the courage to ask him for a divorce, stating that if he couldn't trust her she couldn't be with him anymore. It had sounded so good in her head. When the words were out in the stale air of their apartment, however, it was very different. He was so livid; it was the first time she was truly frightened of him. She had been scared of him before, but nothing had compared to the bone-chilling terror that had washed over her at the look of pure hatred in his eyes. Even the incident with the knife the year before paled in comparison. He told her again that death was the only way she was going to get away from him. She remembered hiding in the bathroom, hoping the lock on the door would hold long enough to call 911 on the phone she'd thought to grab. The last part was fuzzier. She remembered shouting, the cracking of wood as the door was kicked in, James waving something around and then blackness.
"You've been unconscious for a few days. James tried to kill you. For real this time," he explained. "He told the police on the scene as much. He was drunk up to his gills, but I'm sure that's not going to make his case any better. You were smart to dial 911 before he burst through your bathroom door. The operator heard and recorded everything. She sent EMT's immediately along with the police."
"I didn't even know I'd connected," she admitted, fiddling with the thin cotton blanket pooling around her waist with the hand that wasn't in his.
"You did," he assured her. "They rushed you to the ER and managed to fix the internal bleeding before it got too bad. Apparently, James' weapon of choice was a baseball bat. They also set a fracture in your leg and brought down the swelling from a number of other bruises."
"And you fit into this…how?"
"My phone number was in your shirt pocket," he explained. "Or should I say my shirt, since it was that flannel one I wore to the reunion." She flushed. She had stolen his shirt; it was soft and comfortable and smelled like him. She had shoved it in the back of her closet so James wouldn't find out and wore it around the house to do housework in. It always brought her back to their night spent together almost a year ago. It made her feel relaxed and safe, if for a little while. She hadn't worn in it in a long time, though. She had been too afraid of James coming home early and catching her wearing it. She had dug it out of her closet because all of her other shirts didn't fit; she had borrowed a pair of James' sweatpants, too. With a sudden panicked gasp of realization, she yanked her hand from his and covered her stomach with a sense of dread. No, no, not again. Zoey felt hot tears behind her eye lids. It can't be happening again. Her baby was gone. The skin of her stomach was soft and pillowy, a change from the taut beach ball it had been last time she had touched it. The baby was gone. Oh, God, not again. She looked frantically at Chase hoping for some explanation. His eyes widened as he caught her train of thought and she suddenly found herself crushed against the warm wall of his chest as he shook his head.
"No, it's okay," he assured her, rocking her soothingly. "The baby is fine. He's okay." He's okay. The words sent a wave of relief so profound over her that for a moment she felt dizzy. Her tears of sorrow turned instantly into tears of joy, and she clutched handfuls of Chase's shirt as she cried from the miracle of it. Her baby was okay. This wasn't her little girl all over again.
"They had to do an emergency C-section," he told her, answering her unasked question. "Your blood pressure was through the roof. He wasn't getting enough oxygen and was in distress. They took him out before anything could go wrong. But he's okay. For being a few weeks early, he's perfectly fine."
"Were you there?" she wanted someone to have been there to watch over him while she couldn't. She had a terrible image of her baby surrounded by bitter, unfeeling doctors with no one to turn to for comfort. It made her feel cold inside.
"I was there," he said. "He was tiny, but he gave a good cry while the doctor cleaned him off. He was four pounds, five ounces. Eighteen inches. I held him for a little while after they bundled him up. He was having trouble breathing at first, so they put him in the NICU, but they just transferred him to the regular nursery yesterday and I've been told he's doing excellently."
"Can I see him?"
"Of course you can. I made them promise to bring him up as soon as you were awake. But I'm going to get a nurse to check you out while I go to the nursery to tell them, okay?" the worry in his expression was the only reason she agreed to it. She wouldn't feel completely secure until she felt the warm weight of her son in her arms. She suddenly realized that she hadn't even thought of names. She'd been too busy trying to keep them both alive day by day to think about what she would call him after he was born. That, and she hadn't wanted to find out whether it was a boy or girl. James hadn't expressed any opinion one way or the other, unlike her first pregnancy. Chase gave her hand one last squeeze as he left the room and a smiling nurse entered. After a quick check of her blood pressure, her heart rate, and a prescription of an acetaminophen for her headache, the nurse left with passing congratulations on the baby. Not five seconds later, Chase walked in, followed by an orderly and a clear plastic bassinette. He gave her a wide grin as the bassinette was rolled up to her bedside and she caught her first glimpse of the sleeping baby within.
Chase was right; he was incredibly small. He could probably fit into the palm of Chase's hand if he tried. He absolutely swam in the little white diaper shirt he wore, though she was told it was made to fit preemies. The diaper itself was half his size, and the pacifier nearly overtook his face. Not that he seemed to mind. He had one hand curled up over his eye and the other sprawled out in front of him as he dozed contentedly. He had a shock of dark brown curls on top of his head, some of which escaped and blew in the small breeze coming in through a cracked window. She wondered what color his eyes were, whether they were the newborn sapphire-blue or a different, earthier color. She reached over and traced a finger down his cheek. She was rewarded with a soft baby sigh and a kick of the feet. She smiled at the kicking; he'd kicked her in the ribs night and day the past few weeks in the womb. The rhythmic tap-tap-tapping against her ribs had her envisioning him in school, his foot tapping against the leg of his desk as he daydreamed out the window. She was dying to hold him, but hesitant to wake him up. Luckily, she didn't have to worry about it as Chase carefully scooped him up from the little crib and cradled the baby against his chest. She didn't fail to notice that Chase looked completely at ease with doing so, and that her baby boy cuddled into his shirt trustingly, grabbing a handful of it in his tiny fist.
"Alright, little guy," he said softly. "This is your Mommy. And she can't wait to meet you." He placed the baby in her outstretch arms, and moved to tuck a knit blanket from the bottom of the bassinette around his exposed legs and feet. His hand lingered on the baby's head for a moment, only to withdraw to let Zoey get acquainted with her son. She couldn't believe how light he was. There were bags of flour at the grocery store that weighed more than this whole human being. It was mind-blowing. But he was perfect, from his tiny fingernails to his miniature eyelashes and the delicate curve of his ears. Unable to resist any longer, she dropped a tender kiss on his forehead. Tears sprang to her eyes and dropped on the baby's blanket. She looked up to find Chase staring at her with a tender look.
Okay, this was an interesting twist to his day. Chase would have never thought he would have ended up sitting next to Zoey in a hospital bed, and least of all sitting next Zoey in a hospital bed cuddling a baby. If he'd known this is where he'd end up, he would have at least had more for breakfast than a cup of coffee. Maybe some Wheaties. Or a lumberjack breakfast. He leaned back in his chair, watching mother and son bond after so many hours apart.
Chase was sitting in traffic when he felt the distinct rumbling of his cell phone on vibrate. He'd forgotten he'd even brought the damn thing to work with him, he used it so infrequently. It was almost always on silent, mostly because his boss had an uncanny habit of springing staff meetings on his employees and a cell phone call during a staff meeting would just be rude. He dug the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, deftly avoiding hitting the SUV in front of him.
"Hello?" he cradled the phone between his cheek and his shoulder.
"Is this Chase Matthews?" an unfamiliar voice asked from across the line.
"It is."
"Mr. Matthews, this is Saint Christopher's Hospital, and we're trying to get a hold of someone who knows a Zoey Garrett."
"Yes, I know her." Terror seized him. Why was Zoey in the hospital? Was she sick? Or worse, was it something her husband had done? That was assuming she'd gone back to James after their night together. Chase was pretty sure she had. And while the note had been another crushing blow in his relationship with her, he'd long since gotten over it. He'd looked for her, of course, but her address was nowhere to be found, even among her family members and friends. Chase was told that Zoey hadn't spoken to her family in years, and everyone expressed great concern over that. The address and phone number the school had used to send the invitation was no longer rented to James and Zoey; they likely moved shortly after the reunion. After five months of searching, Chase had resigned himself to the fact that Zoey didn't want him in her life. It had been hard, but his life now resembled something close to normalcy. He'd sold the house he and Rebecca had shared, and took a page out of her book, moving to the east coast—New England—to be closer to his own family, and he now worked as a journalist for a paper there.
"Oh, good. Your phone number was on a slip of paper in her pocket; we didn't know who else to get in touch with."
"What's happened?"
"Mrs. Garrett is in our intensive care unit; she arrived terribly beaten and unconscious. It seems her husband just snapped. He's been taken into custody until further notice. Is there any way you can get here to be with her? I noticed your area code is from outside California—"
"I'll be there in ten minutes." Thank God he was in California covering a story. Not something he usually did, but it was an expose on the political race out here, which featured a candidate who was raised in the town his paper was based in. Of course, ten minutes was a rough estimate. Punching the address into the GPS dashboard, he was relieved to find that the hospital was about ten minutes away. He had been terrified he was in the wrong part of the state; California was huge, after all. He hung up the phone without saying so much as "goodbye" and tossed his cell phone into the passenger's seat next to him. Then, taking an abrupt right turn that earned him several obscene gestures and honking horns, he cut across to the nearest exit and raced towards the hospital.
Chase hated hospitals. He'd spent far too much time in them as a child, being terribly accident-prone, and his mind associated the sterile, disinfectant-smelling environment with needles, X-rays, and pain. He rushed through the doors of the ER, brushing past an intern who ended up dropping his armful of clipboards.
"Zoey Garrett, please," he panted to the receptionist, who looked momentarily startled by his entrance. "I received a call earlier, saying she was here—"
"Chase Matthews?" a voice behind him asked. Chase turned to see a doctor in blue scrubs and running sneakers walking towards him, looking a whole lot calmer than Chase felt.
"Yes, that's me."
"Come with me. You'll need to scrub up if you're going to be in there with her."
"Be in where?"
"The delivery room. Her blood pressure is very high, sending the baby into fetal distress. We're performing an emergency cesarean immediately."
"Woah." Chase stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, leaving the doctor to walk a few steps ahead before realizing he wasn't following. "Baby?"
"Yes. I assumed you already knew," the doctor gave him a sympathetic look. "Mrs. Garrett is roughly 36 weeks pregnant. A little earlier than we'd like to see for a delivery, but the baby should be just fine."
"Oh," was the only thing that came out when Chase's vocal chords started to work again.
"Here," the doctor handed Chase a set of scrubs to match his own, and directed him to place where he could change and wash up. Chase did so, but hardly paid attention to what he was doing. Five minutes later, he was frog-marched into the delivery room, which resembled something more like a synchronized swim team than an operating room. But what did he know? There was a reason he never went to medical school. The doctor positioned him up near Zoey's head, to keep him out of the way. While the doctor and nurses did the prep work, Chase chanced a look at Zoey.
He'd never seen her look more helpless in all the time that he'd known her, not even at the reunion when she'd looked so broken. While most of her body was covered with a sheet, her neck and face betrayed everything; purple and yellow bruises mottled the skin there. Her cheek was cut, and one eye was swollen shut. The other was closed as her body fought hard to stay under to heal. He reached out a hand to tuck away a lock of hair that had escaped the sterile cap. The doctor announced they were ready to begin, and Chase held his breath in anticipation. He'd always dreamed of being here, right here, with Zoey a dozen times in his life. Though he certainly hadn't imagined her being unconscious and in pain, and that the baby's father wasn't him. But none of that mattered now.
An eternity passed, or what seemed like it. He'd found that hospitals have their own time zone, in which time can move slowly or speed up depending on the situation. As the doctors carefully extracted the infant and monitored the mother's vitals at the same time, perhaps five minutes passed. To Chase, it felt like forever.
"And, it seems we have a little boy!" the doctor announced, obviously pleased it had gone thus far without any complications. The doctor cleared the baby's airways, letting out a triumphant yell when the distinct cry of an unhappy, but healthy, infant filled the room. He held up the baby for Chase to see briefly, before handing him off to a nurse waiting with a blanket. Chase groped for Zoey's hand, bringing it to his lips to brush her knuckles with a kiss. He leaned down and whispered the news in her ear, hoping she could hear him somehow.
"Would you like to hold him?" the nurse tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to find a smiling woman holding the tiny bundle that was Zoey's son. He hesitated at first. After all, he wasn't this boy's father, or related in any way. Was it really appropriate for him to hold the baby so soon after the birth? Wasn't that the parent's job? But thinking about it, the baby's mother was unconscious and his father was a criminal likely sulking in a jail cell. Chase was the only friendly face this kid had left. With that in mind, he nodded and held out his arms. The nurse carefully placed the baby in his embrace, moving his arms so he was supporting the infant's head. To his great relief, the baby didn't cry.
"Hi little guy," he whispered. His heart melted as the baby wrapped a hand around his finger and squeezed it tight. He was tiny, but tough. He'd heard the doctor call out the baby's height and weight, and even though Chase was no expert, he knew the baby was small in terms of normal newborn size. The hat they'd placed on his head was falling down over his eyes, and he seemed to be drowning in the swaddling. Suddenly, Chase felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. He didn't know why, but he felt as though he'd do anything for the child in his arms. Chase rocked the baby from side to side as the team finished with the operation. Chase watched with mild interest and concern until he heard a coughing gasp from the baby. In alarm, Chase looked down to find Zoey's son gasping for breath. His newborn eyes, closed a moment ago against the harsh lights of the operating room, were suddenly open and trying desperately to focus, to find someone who could help him. Finding Chase, his eyes trained on his face, seeming to plead to him to help him.
"Nurse? Someone?" Chase's alarm had turned into full-blown panic as he saw the boy's face lose its pinky color and take on an ashen complexion. Luckily, there was a nurse not five feet from him. The nurse turned and gasped herself, plucking the baby from his arms and taking him to be examined. When Chase looked next, the baby had a mask over his face. The mask was attached to a larger version of the bulb they'd used to clear his airways, and the nurse was trying to calm the baby enough to get the air into his lungs.
"What's wrong with him?" Chase asked, feeling very useless at the moment.
"He's just having a little trouble breathing. Very common with premature babies, but it's definitely not a good thing," the nurse explained. "We're going to move him to the NICU in a few minutes if you'd like to walk with him." Chase considered splitting himself in two. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoey being wheeled out of the room, presumably into a place where she could be observed. He decided to go with the baby. Zoey would likely be unconscious for hours, with a combination of the pain medication they'd sedated her with and her injuries. The baby was not.
"I'll walk with him," he nodded. The nurse flashed him another smile before wheeling the baby out of the room in a little bassinette and down the hall. The NICU, he saw, was filled with babies just like Zoey's; all of them in their individual isolette in various stages of gestation or illness. They wheeled the baby down to the end and parked him next to an infant under UV lights. The nurse explained that the little girl's liver was underdeveloped and was using the light to cure her jaundice. After getting the baby settled, Chase rested a hand on the baby's head for a moment before going to see the condition of his mother down the hall.
As he'd suspected, Zoey was still unconscious when he managed to reach her room. Now that the rest of her body was more visible, he saw more of the damage that James had done. Her leg was in a cast, and her body was riddled with hand marks and long, parallel lines of bruises. She looked like she'd been through hell since the reunion, and his heart broke. He realized that she'd probably come very close to losing the baby, and he sent up a prayer of thanks that this pregnancy had not turned out like her last. He sent up another prayer immediately after the first, pleading with the powers that be to allow Zoey to wake up and see this baby, who was fighting so valiantly down the hall for the life she was giving him.
A few hours later, Chase's lower half was completely numb and he was on the verge of nodding off in his seat. It was definitely time for a coffee. Or at least a soda. Something with caffeine and enough sugar to bring down a horse. Standing up and shaking off the tingly pins-and-needles feeling, Chase wandered down the hallway, digging in his pocket for spare change. He found a vending machine that promised hot, delicious coffee. After taking a swig of it, Chase learned the true meaning of false advertising and tossed the whole thing into the trash bin next to him.
On his way back to Zoey's room, he passed the NICU. He hadn't forgotten about the tiny boy who resided there, and decided it was time for a visit. Just to check up on him. To see that the nurses were treating him well, and that his breathing was okay. At least, that's what he told himself. The idea that this baby was slowly stealing the part of his heart that didn't belong to his mother was a little too painful a topic to think about. After all, when Zoey woke up, he was sure she'd tell him the same things she had written in the letter and leave him with nothing, again. He didn't think it was a good idea to get too attached.
But just as his mind was giving that warning, Chase found himself wandering towards the isolette in the corner of the room, now half covered by a quilt to block out the harsh overhead lights. Looking inside, he saw the baby fast asleep on his back, oxygen monitors in his hands and feet leading into machines that told all was normal. A blue poster board placard read "Baby Boy Garrett". The cap the nurse had slipped on in the delivery room had fallen off (or been pulled off, it looked like). Instead of the blonde hair he'd been expecting, there was a covering of dark brown curls on the baby's head. Weird. Zoey must have some recessive genes somewhere along the line.
"Can I help you?" a nurse asked him in a pleasant tone.
"I'm…uh…." Chase didn't quite know how to explain the situation. That he was a friend of the mother and not related in any way to the child in the incubator would probably get him thrown out on his ear faster than he could say the words. The nurse arched an eyebrow before looking between Chase and the baby and breaking out into a smile.
" Don't worry, Daddy, I get it," she said, pulling up a chair from out of nowhere and setting it next to the little crib. She pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer from the pocket of her scrubs and squeezed a bit in his hands. "He's doing well. We're thinking of moving him to the regular nursery soon. I'll be right over at the front desk if you need me." She left before Chase could sputter out that he wasn't the father or any coherent sentence at all. He sank down in the chair, rubbing the gel in between his hands and waiting for it to dry.
It was, of course, a natural assumption, he supposed. After all, he was the only man involved in the situation that the hospital could see, and he had been in the delivery room. He shrugged it off. It was too complicated to explain the real situation, and he'd never have to see these people again once Zoey was discharged. He turned instead to the baby, who had woken at the words the nurse had said, and now looked at him with a curious look on his face.
"Hi, buddy," Chase said, reaching a hand into the incubator and stroking the baby's palm. He was delightedly surprised when the baby curled his fingers around his own. "I'm sorry your mom isn't here instead of me. She's…." He trailed off, trying to find child-friendly words. "She's asleep down the hall. But when she wakes up, I bet she's going to want to see you first thing." Chase still couldn't get over how tiny this baby was. The diaper he was wearing would have surely fallen off if he hadn't been lying down, and the wires monitoring his vital signs seemed to overtake him. His entire body could fit in Chase's hands with only his feet left, he was pretty sure. Not that he was quick to test that theory.
Around him were families coming to visit their own babies. To his left, the baby girl under the lights was being cooed over by a doting grandmother exclaiming what a good girl she was for not pulling off the patches covering her eyes. A few rows away, a toddler in pigtails wearing a surgical mask was held up to see her baby brother, who looked frailer than any baby Chase had ever seen. The toddler squealed in excitement, and frowned when she was hushed.
Chase didn't realize how long he'd been in the NICU until the nurse announced that her shift was ending and that she would tell the next nurse he was here and not to disturb him. Looking around, he saw the families who had been here earlier were gone, save for the grandmother who sat knitting in a chair next to the incubator. She gave him a smile and waved at him with her spare knitting needle. He waved back timidly, feeling oddly out of place.
"How early was yours?" she asked conversationally.
"Uh…." Chase tried to think of what the doctor had told him earlier. To be truthful, he hadn't really been listening. 36 weeks, he thought. How early was that? How long was a normal pregnancy? He desperately thought back to health class in high school and college. The number 40 popped into his mind. Forty weeks sounded right. "Four weeks, I think."
"Ah," she said knowingly. "My grandbaby was alright in that department. She just needs a little help to get everything working right." She looked at the baby. "He looks just like you."
"Oh, but I'm not—" Chase began.
"Yep. I can see it right in the shape of the nose and the chin," she cut him off. "Chrissy here looks just like her mother. I swear I've been thrown back twenty years! She's my third, and my daughter's second, you know. But each one is as unique as they come. People say that all babies look the same, but I don't think that's really true." Chase was sure she was going to launch into a speech about children and the meaning of life, but he was thankfully saved by a burly looking man—Chrissy's uncle, he found—tapped her on the shoulder and told her that he would take over watching the girl. The uncle was not the conversationalist his mother was, and for that Chase was grateful. He needed room to think.
His mind wandered in the silence. Zoey, James, the baby, the reunion, the accident. Four weeks early…the math wasn't adding up for him. Zoey told her that James had a vasectomy after her miscarriage five years ago. And while Chase knew it wasn't foolproof, the odds of this happening were very small. His mind automatically did the math. Thirty-six weeks ago…nine months….would be May. Out of curiosity, Chase grabbed the patient chart hanging from the far side of the baby's isolette.
His eyes scanned the page quickly. Most of the information was gibberish to him; blood results, urine results, measurements in abbreviations and language he couldn't understand. Chase glanced around him quickly to make sure he wasn't going to get yelled at. He wasn't a medical professional, but he was pretty sure reading someone else's chart was illegal. The nurse who had just come on shift sat at the front desk, flipping idly through a magazine. Chase turned back to the chart. Suddenly, his eyes found what they were looking for. Next to the positive pregnancy result, the date of the last menstrual period, and the baby's due date was "estimated conception date". In wiry block handwriting was "5/3/19".
"Oh, my God," was the only thing that came out when Chase's mind regained its footing again. He was a father. Short of a DNA test, Chase was sure of it. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he watched the baby—his son—drift off to sleep with Chase's finger in his grasp. Why hadn't Zoey told him? Probably for the same reason she had left him sleeping in that damn hotel room. She didn't want to burden him with what she considered to be her problems.
When Chase was sure the baby was asleep, he wandered back to Zoey's room. He was lucky his feet knew the way; his mind was too preoccupied to think about where he was going. He dropped heavily into his abandoned seat and looked to see that Zoey was in the same condition he'd left her in. He picked up her lifeless hand in his own and brushed a kiss over the palm.
"Come on, Zo," he murmured. "We've got to talk about this."
The next two days were spent in pretty much the same way that day had gone, with Chase alternating between the NICU and Zoey's hospital room. While Zoey's condition changed minimally, the baby made strides every day. The second day, Chase was able to take him out of the incubator and hold him. Later that afternoon, the wires were removed to see how well he did monitoring his oxygen levels on his own, and was able to be dressed in a loose t-shirt. The nurse who he had run into earlier had developed a soft spot for him and the baby, and Chase was relieved to find that he was never asked to leave. She encouraged him to try to feed the baby, an interesting endeavor that ended with a small amount of milk in the baby's tummy and a lot of it on Chase's jeans. The third day, the baby got the all-clear to be moved to the newborn nursery. Chase was happy; it meant no more wires or machines. It also meant Chase couldn't sit for hours and visit the baby.
Chase came to a decision as he watched the baby snooze on his chest one morning. He wasn't sure he could just let go if Zoey decided to leave. His heart couldn't take that pain again, especially now that there was an extra component in the equation. His house in Massachusetts was plenty large enough; it was a rambling farmhouse on a wooded lot. He'd always loved the look of old fashioned New England homes and had bought it with the intention of using it as a family home. He wanted to bring Zoey back to the house, and the baby too. He couldn't imagine his life without them anymore. His mind kept fast-forwarding his life to holidays and ball games and birthday parties. The hard part would be convincing Zoey. She'd been hurt badly—not just physically—by James, and he needed to show her that he would rather die than hurt her or their child. He'd gotten so close that night at the reunion, but it was going to be a long hard road for the both of them. He was willing to take it, if it meant she would stay.
The next afternoon, Zoey woke up. A lightning bolt of relief coursed through his veins so strong that he counted himself lucky that he was sitting down. She looked disoriented and confused as the fog of unconscious cleared from her system, demanding to know what he was doing there. He was surprised she didn't remember the accident, though she was probably better for it. He watched the hand he wasn't holding fly to her stomach out of habit, and the fear fill her eyes when she didn't find the baby within. Her previous pregnancy came to the forefront of his mind, and his heart shattered into a million pieces for the hundredth time. Life had been so unfair to the woman he had adored since he was thirteen. He didn't even try to suppress the urge to draw her into his arms, squeezing her tight and murmuring reassurances in her ear. The baby was fine. He'd just seen the child twenty minutes before, screaming his displeasure at having to wait for his lunch. Chase had chuckled at that. He wondered who he got that from.
When Zoey had been calmed, he left to bring the baby for his very first meeting with his mother. He couldn't help but smile at the nurse when he told her the good news. He didn't realize what a unique case theirs was or how much the nursing staff had been paying attention until the two nurses on call both gave him their congratulations and hurried to get the baby. They chattered to the baby as they moved him to a bassinette with wheels, exclaiming in that high-pitched voice adults used with young children that it was a big day for him. The baby paid no mind, save for glaring at the nurse for interrupting his nap and falling asleep again when he was settled.
Chase followed as they wheeled him into Zoey's hospital room, and could hardly contain his joy and pride when he handed her the baby. The look of awe on her face was the pinnacle of his day, and she cuddled her son close. There had never been a doubt in Chase's mind when they were younger that Zoey would be a wonderful mother; she had a way with children that was heart-warming to see. They had been paired up once for a biology lab that involved genetics and the like; Chase had jokingly asked her how many children she was planning on having. She had answered with "At least three", and left no room for teasing. The fact that she had been denied this desire was cruel, in his mind.
"What are you going to name him?" he asked. She looked up, broken out of her reverie.
"I hadn't really thought about it," she confessed, adjusting the blanket he'd tucked around the baby's feet.
"I thought that was one of the first things mothers thought about," he teased.
"Usually, yes," she muttered, not saying any more. She paused for a moment. "I've always liked the name Liam."
"Liam?"
"Yeah. Too weird?"
"No. I like it. We'll tell the nurse when she comes back in," they lapsed into silence again, both watching the baby. Chase reached out a hand to stroke the baby's soft curls.
"Chase," she said suddenly. "I need to tell you something—"
"I know," he said. "James isn't his father. I know that."
"How?"
"The dates didn't add up. Then I looked at his chart. The conception date was put down as May third. You weren't with James that night, as far as I know."
"No," she agreed. "So you know that he's—"
"Mine?" Chase smiled. "Yes, I deduced that."
"Good," she said. She looked away. "You don't have to do anything. I just wanted you to know he's yours. I don't want to force you into anything." Chase had thought she'd say that.
"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually," he said. He took one of her hands between both of his and pinned her with a serious look. "Zo, I've been miserable for the last eight months. When I woke up and found your note, I was devastated. I thought I had finally gotten you back for good, that we could try again and I could try not to mess it up. Knowing you had willingly gone back to the man who hurt you tore me up inside. I had these horrible nightmares about what he could be doing to you. I looked for you for months. Even your family didn't know where you were.
"Then I get the call a few days ago that you were in the hospital. I think I took out a few passersby to make it here. The doctor tells me that James tried to kill you, and that they have to deliver the baby because he was in distress. It was both the best and the worst days of my life. You were in a coma, and I didn't know if you were ever going to wake up. But I got to see them deliver our child, and it was the most humbling experience. They handed him to me and I just couldn't believe how tiny he was. His mother was unconscious and his father—or who I thought was his father, was in jail. I was all this little guy had, and I wanted to take him away from all this. He stopped breathing and I could tell he was terrified. I sat with him in the NICU and felt useless. And then when I found out I was the father, that he was part me and part you, I came to a decision.
"I don't want to feel like the last eight months and few days ever again. I have a house in Boston. I want you and the baby to come live with me. I know—"
"Yes," the word came out of nowhere. Chase looked up at her, shocked. Zoey looked a little surprised herself.
"Really?" he asked. She nodded.
"I want to get as far away from this place as I can," she said. "I don't have any good memories of California left. I want to start fresh. I want us to be a family. Liam deserves that."
"You do, too," Chase added. "Don't ever think you deserve less than the best, Zo." Chase moved to climb on the bed behind her, careful not to disturb any of the wires or wake the baby. After a moment, he sat with his back against the raised mattress, Zoey sitting comfortably between his knees and Liam tucked under her chin, snoring softly. For the first time in years, he felt wholly and completely happy. There was no raw ache in his chest, no nagging feeling that something was missing. He couldn't stop smiling; he was sure he looked certifiably insane. His heart leapt with joy as she settle more comfortably against his chest, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. Encouraged, he started to tell her about their new home in New England. The sweeping property and woods where Liam could play and explore. The old farmhouse he'd spent weekends restoring (well, restoring with a friend who actually knew his way around a hammer and nails) until it was beautiful again. He spoke of all the things they'd do in the house; Christmases and birthdays, reunions and barbeques. In a few moments, she was asleep. He smiled. He carefully reached around her to scoop Liam into the crook of his arm and then into the bassinette beside the bed before pulling the thin hospital blanket around them both and following her into sleep.
Two days later, mother and child were both discharged from the hospital, with the strict warning to Zoey to take it easy. She protested at having to be wheeled out of the maternity ward, but conceded when Chase pointed out that she couldn't hobble around on crutches and hold the baby at the same time. The nurse who had taken Chase under her wing hugged them both goodbye, and fussed happily over Liam on their way out, and all the staff on the floor wished them well. And as the small family stepped out of the hospital waiting room into the sunshine, Zoey and Chase simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. The nightmare that had been the last few days, and the misery that had ensconced the last decade was over.
They drove to a nearby hotel. Their flight didn't leave until the next day, and it was nice to have some downtime to relax and regroup that didn't involve hospital regimens. They settled on the bed with Liam in between them, simply enjoying him and each other's company.
"Before we go, did you want to get anything from the house?" he asked after awhile. He half hoped the answer was 'no'. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to see the place where she was tortured and nearly killed. The place where his son could have died. The thought of it sent shivers of horror down his spine. "Anything for Liam you wanted?"
"Actually, I did want to grab something," she said, capturing Liam's flailing little hand and kissing it. "It will only take a minute."
"Take as long as you need," he reassured her. She nodded and intertwined her fingers with his.
They planned their trip for later that afternoon. The apartment had been blocked off with police tape, but a notice on the door proclaimed the investigation was over and they were free to go inside. Chase waited outside in the hallway with Liam sitting in his carseat at Zoey's insistence; she didn't want Liam anywhere inside the building, she had said. She marched bravely into the living room on her crutches and then disappeared around a corner. A sudden panic came over Chase. He reminded himself that James was behind bars and would stay there, if he had anything to say about it.
Just when the temptation to go in and look for her was too much, she came back out. Chase expected to see a duffel bag or a stuffed animal for Liam, but was puzzled when he saw something purple and soft-looking tucked under her arm. He took it from her as she reached the door, and he saw her smile coyly as he unfolded it. It was his sweatshirt. Well, hers now, but it had been his in high school. He'd lent it to her the one day it had snowed at P.C.A. and had never thought to ask for it back. He couldn't believe she had kept it all these years. It was certainly worn from washings, but the school initials were still visible in a contrasting aqua color. He looked up at her and smiled in return.
"You know, you don't really need this anymore," he said. "You've got the real thing now. I've got a closetful of sweatshirts you can steal anytime you want."
"I know," she said. "But this one is special. It kept me sane at some of the worst times with James. It reminded me that I wasn't just what he told me I was. I used to be a strong, independent girl who had friends, and love. And for awhile, it was all I had of you." She stood up on her tip-toes and gave him a sound kiss on his surprised lips.
"You still are those things," he reminded her when they parted. "If I have to, I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you. I love you."
"I love you, too," she said, kissing him again. "Come on, Chase. Let's go home."
"Let's go home," he agreed, hefting Liam and his carseat over one arm and leading her away from the apartment. To their hotel, and then to their rambling farmhouse in the country. A place absent of fear, and full of laughter, life and love.