"Elizabeth," I call as I rush through the living room. Out of the kindness of her heart, she has agreed to help me prepare the bungalow for Dillon's homecoming. Six months pregnant and tired of sleeping without my husband, I know that I am irritable as I straighten the pillows on the couch yet again and check the refrigerator for Dillon's favorite foods one last time.
"Everything is fine, Lulu," she reminds me calmly. Handing me my soft pink cardigan sweater, she grabs the keys of the side table and heads toward the front door. A town car will be here to pick me up in a few minutes, and within the half hour, I will be able to watch my husband walk out the front door of General Hospital on his own.
I stretch and yawn as I pad up the stairs toward the nursery. Lucky, Nikolas, Emily and Elizabeth had worked day and night for the past week to help me get it ready. I wanted it to be a surprise for Dillon. Patrick had told me that he would be too weak to do much in the next few months, and I thought having this done would lessen his anxiety and guilt. I'd left a few small things so that we could do the finishing details ourselves.
On my way back downstairs, I sling my beaded handbag over my shoulder and lean against the front door in the entryway. The sun is shining, and it is a perfect 75 degrees in Port Charles. Fall is completely upon us, and within a few weeks, winter will be here. Until then, I am happy to enjoy the last few moments of beautiful weather my fair city has been blessed with. Jetting out the front door, I slip easily into the backseat of the waiting car. My body pulsates with excitement as the sleek vehicle winds its way through the streets toward the hospital.
"Thanks," I tell the driver as soon as he stops in front of the hospital. I barely allow him to put it in park before throwing the door open and running into the building. Patients and visitors litter the lobby, eyeing me cautiously as I bound toward the elevator. I know that I appear impatient, tapping erratically while the numbers light up above my head. Finally, the doors part, and I am on my way up.
"Hello, Lulu. I have to say, I am going to be sad not to see your glowing face every day," Patrick Drake greets me warmly as I step off onto Dillon's floor. His mischievous smile is enough to put an extra kick in my step, causing me to stop and throw my arms around the unexpecting man.
"I just want to tell you thank you for everything you have done for my husband and me," I giggle. "I still love saying that."
"Better you than me," he mutters, patting me on the shoulder before ushering me into Dillon's room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, I read the look of mixed exhilaration and fear in his eyes.
"Dillon," I say softly to announce my presence. He glances up at me, the look fading from his face. Struggling for a moment, he manages to stand up and walk slowly across the floor. By the time he reaches me, Dillon is visibly winded. "You can do this. We can do this."
"Just keep telling me that," he replies against my lips before kissing me. I melt into his body as he invades my mouth.
"I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it."
"Are you ready to go home?"
"I'm ready for you to take me home," I answer, slipping my hand into his. As we make our way toward the nurse's station, Dillon's steps become lighter. He seems to be struggling less, as though his initial walk toward me in his room was his warm up. "You're doing great," I muse. "What changed?"
"You're ready for me to take you home. That's all the incentive I need."
After signing approximately a thousand forms and bidding goodbye to his faithful medical staff, Dillon and I are finally on our way back downstairs. He has to return in two days for physical therapy, and Patrick recommended some activities he can do at home to build his strength. When we step outside, the car is waiting for us. Dillon even holds the door open for me, kissing me affectionately on the forehead as I slip by.
"So, am I going to have a lot of people in my house when I get home?" Dillon asks suspiciously.
"Not tonight," I promise. "Your family wanted to do this whole big thing, but I talked them into putting it off until tomorrow. I convinced your mom that you would be too tired to deal with so much company. More than anything, I just wanted to have you to myself tonight. I have plans for you, mister."
"Does it include me having to be on my back because I am thinking it should," he growls, leaning across the seat to kiss me. Deepening our embrace, I don't even notice when the car stops in front of our house. The driver clears his throat, breaking our moment. Dillon and I laugh as he carries Dillon's lone suitcase inside the foyer and retreats back to his vehicle.
"You made it!" I exclaim as he takes the final step into the house.
He looks around and smiles. "It's just like I remember."
"It hasn't been that long."
"It's been too long."
"You know what, you're right," I decide. "In fact, what do you say we don't wait any longer?"
He lifts an eyebrow and slowly follows me up toward our room. We take our time to undress each other, enjoying the seductive buildup. Within a few minutes, we fall onto the bed and carefully trade kisses. Though he moves slower, his touch is just as nimble and tender. Lovingly, he caresses me until I am beyond control.
Hours later, we begin to wake from our mutual deep slumber, wrapped only in a single sheet. Bare skin pressed against bare skin, his hands rest comfortably on my swollen stomach. My head is tucked into his arm, and everything is the way it should have been on our wedding night.
"How long have you been up?" he whispers groggily.
"Not long. Are you hungry?"
"I could eat."
"I'll be up with something in a few minutes. Do you need anything else while I'm downstairs?"
Dillon shakes his head. "No, I just need you to hurry." The hunger is apparent in his voice, and it's not in reference to the food. After grabbing grapes, cheese and a bottle of sparkling water from the kitchen, I once again seek comfort in his easy embrace.
"These are delicious," he mumbles as I pop a juicy red grape into his mouth. Leaning down, he kisses me intently. "You're delicious."
"I'm all the nourishment you'll ever need," I tease. "Can we leave this for a minute? There is something I would like to show you."
"Sure." I take his hand and lead him down to the nursery. He looks around the room, fingering the soft receiving blankets and running his hand along the books lining the shelf. Squinting, he makes his way across the room to the window and inspects the two frames. There is one of our first sonogram, matted into a charcoal frame. The other is of Dillon and me on our wedding day. "I've never been happier than I am in this moment."
"I remember saying that to you months ago. You couldn't say it to me then. I am really glad to hear you say it now."
"I wish I could sweep you into my arms right now and carry you back to our bedroom. I'd love to ravish you without abandon, but I just don't think it's possible."
"Well, that whole carrying me thing may not be possible, but I think we can work on the ravishing. I've got some strength. All this meat I have been craving has given me the protein equivalency of a bodybuilder. We'll meet each other halfway."
And before he can argue, we race (slowly) down the hallway and fall into the same pattern as before. It was a dance we would become familiar with over the next two months, filling the time between therapy sessions, doctor's appointments and time with our families. Before we knew it, the day would be upon us and our child would be here.
