Songbird (37 page)

Rays of light stream through the blinds. With a groan, I curse the sun and throw the blanket over my head.

Worst hangover ever.

Then I recall my bender from the night Callie told me she was pregnant.

Correction.
That
was the worst hangover ever.

Still, this one’s rough, and the constant vibration of my cell isn’t helping. I ignore it for what seems like forever until I finally give up and reach for it on my nightstand. I blink my eyes until I can focus on the name on the caller ID.

“What do you want, Owen?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I . . . don’t know. Here, I think.”

“Where’s here?”

“My apartment.”

He sighs. “The one place I didn’t look. We’ve been trying to call you all night. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Because Callie and I got into a fight and then I got drunk, okay?”

“God, you’re an idiot,” he mutters tiredly. “Listen, you need to get to the hospital. I don’t know what’s wrong. I just know that Callie called Mom, and Mom and Dad took her to the ER.”

I bolt out of bed. “The hospital? Owen, what’s—”

“I don’t know. I just got here. Something about Callie’s blood pressure being through the roof. Just get your ass here.”

The line goes dead.

Time stands still.

The world stops turning.

And then I scream.

I’ve never been a religious man, but during my frenzied drive to the hospital, I find myself bartering my soul.

“Please let them be okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do anything. Give anything. Do anything. Just tell me what you want. Tell me what I need to do.”

Surely God isn’t this angry with me. He won’t take them away from me. He won’t rip my heart and soul out of my chest. God wouldn’t do that. Not again.

Would He?

Divine intervention must take the wheel, because suddenly I’m at the hospital. I rush through the emergency room doors and immediately crash into my brother’s iron chest.

“Whoa . . .” Owen grabs my arms and holds me steady. “Calm down.”

“Where is she?”

“You have to calm down.”

My voice is a pained whisper. “For the love of God, Owen, please tell me she’s okay.”

Tears run down my cheeks. The last time I cried was fifteen years ago.

I won’t survive it again. I can’t.

“She’s okay,” he says, and I feel relief course through my veins.

“And the baby?”

“Baby’s fine, too.”

I exhale a shaky breath and slump against the wall. “What the hell happened?”

“From what I understand, Callie was waiting up all night for my asshole brother to come home. When he didn’t—and when he refused to answer his phone after about the hundredth call—she had a complete meltdown that led to an anxiety attack. She called Mom. The panic attack made her blood pressure spike. I don’t know the difference between a systolic and a diastolic, but apparently, it wasn’t good. It’s better now.”

“I want to see her.”

“I’ll take you, but if you wake her up, Mom will kick your ass into next week. She’s
pissed
.”

“I know, okay? Just tell me the room number.”

“No, you
don’t
know!” Owen’s irate voice echoes down the hall. “The mother of your child needed you and you weren’t there. I thought falling in love would straighten your ass up, but you haven’t changed a bit.”

“That’s . . . not true.”

I
am
a changed man. Nina Drummond can attest to that. She’ll never speak to me again, and that’s fine. She never liked to be ignored or denied, and I’d shattered her ego once again by refusing her invitation last night. She and her driver had helped me inside, but when she offered to stay, I politely asked her to leave. Because even in my drunken stupor, she wasn’t what I needed. She wasn’t
who
I needed. And she wasn’t who I wanted for the rest of my life.

But I also know I don’t deserve a medal for resisting temptation last night. My ass should have been home with my girl.

Owen sighs heavily and places his hand on my shoulder. “Couples fight. If you get drunk every time you guys have an argument, you’re going to be a raging alcoholic. Grow up, McAllister.”

I nod.

“Second floor. Room 212. I’m going to work now, but if you upset her, I will come back and kick your ass.”

“If I upset her, I’ll let you.”

When I step into the room, the first thing I see is my mother. She’s sitting with her back to the door, but I can see that she’s holding Callie’s hand.

“It’s about time,” Mom whispers.

“I know.”

I sigh heavily and walk over to the bed. Callie’s sleeping peacefully, but seeing her in a hospital bed, with her blonde hair splayed across the stark white pillow, conjures images in my head that I’ve blocked out for more than a decade.

“Here,” she says, offering me her chair. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m okay. It’s just . . .”

Mom places her hand on my shoulder. “I know. Which is why I’m not going to tell you how disappointed I am. I’m going to assume that this will never, ever happen again.”

“It won’t, Mom.”

“Good.”

Leaning over the bed, I kiss Callie’s forehead before placing another kiss on her stomach. With a heavy sigh, I crumble into the chair. When I reach for her hand, Callie sighs softly in her sleep, and with that small, insignificant sound, I feel my body finally start to relax.

“Her blood pressure’s better now?”

“Yes. Dr. Clifton thinks he may keep her overnight, just to be safe. He also mentioned bedrest, which she won’t be happy about, so be ready for a fight.”

“No. No more fighting.”

She nods. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

Time passes slowly. At some point, Dr. Clifton arrives to talk to us. He tells us that Callie’s blood pressure has improved and the baby is perfectly fine. He does want to keep her for observation, and if her vitals are still good, she can go home in the morning.

“What about bed rest?”

“Not yet. But I do want her to come see me once a week so that I can keep an eye on it. When you get back home tomorrow, have Callie call to schedule an appointment.”

“I will. Thanks, Dr. Clifton.”

After he leaves, Callie’s nurse comes in and kindly but firmly reminds us about visiting hours. Mom takes the hint and gives me a hug, with the promise that she’ll call in the morning.

“And as for you, Mr. McAllister,” the nurse says. “Dr. Clifton says you’d like a cot?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m glad the doctor realized I wasn’t leaving her side. Not for a minute.

“I would. Thank you.”

She smiles and tells me she’ll be right back. I sit down next to Callie’s bed and reach for her hand once again.

“Devin?”

My head jerks up. Her eyes flutter open.

“I’m right here, Songbird.”

She squeezes my hand and smiles.

“Is the baby okay?”

“She’s fine.”

Tears fill her eyes.

“Are
we
okay?”

I lift her hand to my lips. “We’re perfect.”

“You have to forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Callie.” I lean over her and kiss her softly.

“I was so stupid, Devin. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I wipe away her tears and smile. “I’m sorry for the stupid fight and I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night.”

The bed’s small, but I have to hold her, so I pull back the blanket and climb in next to her. Callie snuggles close to my chest, and I hold her close. She melts into me, and for the first time since I stepped into this hospital, I feel the tension drain from my body.

“Say you forgive me,” she whispers.

“Only if you forgive me.”

She nods.

“Now try to relax. They’ll kick me out of here if you get upset.”

“Okay.” Her eyes close, and I brush away what’s left of her tears.

There’s so much more we need to say, but it can wait. With a tired sigh, I press my lips to her hair, and we drift off into a peaceful sleep.