Page 118 of Hendrix

Then, suddenly, his voice was all around me.

Anna. Wake up.

Wake up, baby.

Anna. Somebody wants to meet you.

I love you, Freckles.

My eyes blinked open, and I let out a low, broken moan. The dull ache in my stomach was so acute that it took my breath away. It was agonizing, like I’d been ripped apart from the inside out. Instinctively, I knew the baby wasn’t there anymore because I felt empty.

The dim light of the room was gentle on my eyes, so it only took me a minute to work out that I was in one of the medical rooms at the hotel.

The relief I felt at not being back in that house was so immense that I felt a tear trickle down my face and fall into my hair. “Jamie?” I whispered, my voice raspy from underuse. “The baby. Where is he? Is he okay?”

Jamie’s voice whispered from somewhere in the dim light. “He’s perfect.”

I closed my eyes as another tear fell.

Hendrix’s voice didn’t come from my bedside, like I expected. It came from further out in the room somewhere. I turned my neck, averting my eyes to the side of the bed, and I drew in a sharp intake of breath at the sight before me.

Jamie lounged back on a comfortable-looking armchair wearing just a pair of jeans. His feet and chest were as bare as the day he was born. His hair was loose around his shoulders, and his eyes were bright with tears as they stared into mine.

But what made my heart leap for joy was the sight of the baby held secure and safe in his huge, muscular, tattooed arms.

My heart skipped a beat at the first glimpse of my boy.

My son.

I choked out a sob and tried to move my body up the bed, needing to get to them. My arms felt empty, and my heart felt lost and adrift.

“No. No, baby, don’t move,” Jamie murmured. “I’ll bring him to you. You had a C-section yesterday, and you’re stitched up.”

“Is he okay?” I croaked. “What happened? I remember running with Charlie.” I paused as another memory hit me from left field. “Oh my God. I shot Daisy. Is she dead?”

“Let’s hope so,” Hendrix mumbled. He maneuvered himself to his feet and took the few steps toward the bed before dropping his ass smoothly next to mine and stretching out beside me.

Making a cradling motion with my arms, I waited for my son to be gently transferred into them.

“There you go, little fella,” he murmured. “There’s your mom. Told you she’d be back soon.”

My heart knitted back together, and suddenly, I felt full again. Wet eyes sliced downward, and I drank in every tiny detail of my son’s face.

Jamie was right. Hewasperfect. The baby wore a little white knitted hat and a diaper. He was sound asleep, and his little rosebud lips were pursed. His skin held a slight olive tone and was so smooth that he felt like silk in my arms. I counted his little fingers and toes and smiled at his slightly distended belly and spindly legs and arms, wondering how I could have made something so damned beautiful.

The stitches in my stomach pulled from the angle I sat in, but I didn’t care. The pain didn’t register. All I could feel was my heart bursting with love and relief that my boy was okay.

I tilted my head and smelled his wonderful baby scent. “Isn’t he cold?” I whispered, wondering why he wasn’t in a romper.

“We were doin’ a bit of skin-to-skin contact,” Hendrix murmured. “Doc says it’s good for bonding, and I want our boy to be just as happy in my arms as he is in yours. Doc says my body heat will keep him warm enough, but I can wrap him in a blanket if you prefer. Whatever you want, baby. You’re his mom.”

“How do you know about skin-to-skin?” I asked gently.

“I read about it,” he replied. “Been reading up on a lotta stuff while you were asleep.”

“How much did he weigh?”

Hendrix grinned. “Five pounds one ounce. He was born at eleven fifty-eight last night.”

---