Page 4 of Fighting His Fate
She turned to find John standing by the nurses’ station. She frowned. “What are you doing here?”
He moved to her and kissed her cheek, taking her hands in his. “Work.” He occasionally came to the hospital to visit members of the congregation or help deliver difficult news. She didn’t think she could handle any more sad stories tonight, so she didn’t ask for details. She was emotionally exhausted from trying to save that mother and irrationally irked that he was here. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She bristled. He knew about her parents, of course, but she had no desire to explain what she had been through tonight, what she was feeling in that moment. “Rough shift.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” She pulled her hands away, already feeling guilty for not being warmer, more grateful for his presence, more loving. She forced a small smile onto her face. “Can we talk tomorrow?”
He took her hand again and brought it to his lips. “Of course. I’m looking forward to our dinner.”
She watched him walk away, Brett Champion’s parting words to her echoing in her mind like a taunt.
He’s a good man.
Just a good, good man.
She shook her head. Champion had gotten to her, all right. But she had more important things to worry about right then. She headed for the lounge, the high-pitched shriek of an infant in the distance seeming to call her like a siren’s wail.
She pushed into the room. An orderly rocked a howling baby in his arms, and he turned to Grace with a pleading stare. “Tell me social services is here.”
“No.” She crossed to him. “But I can take over for a while.”
He handed the baby over with obvious relief. “According to his shirt, this is Theo,” he said. “He cries every time I put him down and sometimes for no good reason at all. I changed him, I fed him, I rocked him. He’s just one unhappy little dude.”
Grace took the squealing Theo and lifted him to her shoulder, the sweet weight of his little body feeling good against her chest and the scent of his skin seeming somehow familiar. He settled instantly. The insanity that had been building inside her began to ease.
J’von pointed to a second sleeping infant in a rolling bassinet. “That one’s Toby. He’s pretty chill.”
“You look exhausted,” she said. “Go on. I’ve got this.”
“You sure they don’t need you out there?”
The ER had calmed considerably, and she doubted she’d be missed. Besides, she felt connected to these children. Responsible. Attached by the invisible cord of shared experience. “I’m sure.” He left and Grace walked to the window, swaying with the infant. She couldn’t see past the darkness and rain.
Theo’s impossibly small chest rose and fell rhythmically. Who would take care of these babies now? Who would help them grow up, give them a home, love them unconditionally? Her eyes burned again. So many tears she’d shed over the years, and there never seemed to be an end to them.
The Bryants had adopted her, given her a family and a life that, from the outside, looked perfect. But she’d always wondered what her life would have been like if her parents had lived, the unanswered question leaving a permanent scar on Grace’s soul.
She kissed the top of the baby’s head, inhaling his scent. A tear rolled down her cheek and onto his head. Her breath hitched, and she wished she could take them home and keep them safe forever.
“You must have family who loves you. Grandmas and grandpas and uncles and aunts…” She settled on the couch, minutes melting into hours as she cared for the boys, feeding them, burping them, holding them.
“I hope you find a family that loves you just as much as mine loves me,” she whispered, suddenly feeling sleepy. “And I hope you don’t have to go through hell to get there.” She propped pillows on either side of her body and cradled the sleeping brothers against her chest.
4
Brett’s headached with the waning effects of alcohol and the tidal wave of grief that hung suspended, refusing to break over his consciousness.
Joni and Luke were dead.
He’d been roused from sleep by loud banging on his door for the second time, and he was sure his neighbor was back to yell at him again for some shit he didn’t do. He enjoyed fighting with her, but twice in one night was a bit much, even for him. His mouth was dry as he threw open the door, only to find a police officer holding his hat in his hands despite the rain.
Brett had raced to the hospital, memories flooding his thoughts, demanding his attention.
Sweet Joni.
She’d been his friend since childhood, having grown up two doors down. A tomboy who enjoyed playing cops and robbers or searching for rocks far more than dolls and dress-up with the girls, always searching for pretty rocks. In his mind she was always dirty, magically appearing transformed in middle school, suddenly female and clean. That had nearly ruined their friendship, but they’d gotten through it somehow.
