Molly McAdams - Capturing Peace

“Is he okay?” Keegan asked.

“He’s doing fine. A little sick, scared, probably in pain. He doesn’t need stitches. They took him back for some X-­rays to make sure he didn’t crack his skull and to see if there’s swelling. Reagan went with him.”

The three let out a collective, relieved breath. “So, he’s awake?” Mr. Hudson asked.

“Yeah, he’d already woken up by the time I got here.”

“Speaking of . . .” Keegan trailed off and raised an eyebrow at me.

I shot him a confused look. “What?”

He cleared his throat and jerked his chin toward the check-­in desk behind me. “When Mom and I got here and asked about Parker, the receptionist didn’t seem thrilled that more of his family was here. Told us to be assured Parker’s parents were with him, and one of them would let us know how Parker was doing. Then she started grumbling about Parker’s dad almost getting himself thrown out of the hospital for the way he acted.”

“She wouldn’t tell me where he—­” I paused, and jerked my head back. “ Dad ?”

“That’s what we said, she look really nervous. Said you claimed Parker was your son, and then she began describing you at the same time she called security over, probably to have him hunt you down. But when she described you . . . we told her she was correct.”

I stood there, not seeing anything as I thought back to my conversation with the woman behind the window. Looking over my shoulder at her, air wheezed out of my lungs. “And he’s my son . . .” Facing Reagan’s family again, my face fell. “Oh my God,” I muttered, and shakily walked over to one of the chairs.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she took the chair next to me.

I stared down at the tile below me and just focused on pulling air into my body.

“Steele.” I looked up to find Keegan smirking. “You doin’ okay there?”

“I hadn’t even realized . . .” I trailed off and shook my head.

His smirk morphed into a full-­blown smile. “I can see that.”

I barely glanced at Mrs. Hudson to see her smiling at me with her eyes watering, before looking back at the floor. I stayed like that for minutes as I tried to figure out what had happened, and how I couldn’t have even realized what I’d been saying. I wanted to say it was because I was scared, or because I knew Reagan needed me, and the lady hadn’t been about to let me back there . . . but that wasn’t it. It hadn’t been a calculated response; it’d just been the first thing that left my lips when she tried to keep me from Parker. My Parker.

“I need to get back there,” I said suddenly, and stood. Looking at the three of them, I tried not to notice how differently they were all watching me now. Like they knew what I’d just come to realize, and were happy.

I was happy. I was also scared as shit.

“I’ll let you know what the doctor says.” Turning, I walked back to the doors and waited for them to let me through.

Reagan’s soft voice drifted out of the room, so I stopped before I got to the doorway. Taking deep breaths in, I ran my hands over my face, and hoped like hell that she wouldn’t notice a difference in me.

“Hey.” She smiled. “I’m guessing they’re out there?”

“Yeah, sorry it took me so long to get back.”

She waved off the apology and looked at Parker. “Please don’t be sorry. Do you mind sitting in here with him while I go talk to my parents really quick?”

As long as they didn’t tell her what I’d said. “Go for it.”

“Okay, they light is still bothering him, but he needs to stay awake.” Reagan leaned up on her toes to kiss me. “Thank you for getting here so fast, Coen. I—­as soon as I got the call, I just knew I needed you. So, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Reagan.” I cradled her face in my hands and kissed her once more. “I love you. I’m always here when you need me.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, and sent me a longing glance before walking out of the room.

Grabbing the chair and moving it closer to the bed, I sat down and looked up at the beeping monitors.

“Hey, Coen?”

“Yeah, bud?” I asked, glancing down to Parker.

“Don’t tell Mom, ’kay?”

I bent forward to rest my elbows on the side of his bed. “Don’t tell her what?”

“When I woke up here, I was scared because I couldn’t find you.”

My chest tightened and a lump formed in my throat. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, bud.”

“Mom wasn’t here either, but I looked for you.” His words were starting to slur, and I didn’t know if this was just talk because of the concussion, or if he’d actually been scared because I hadn’t been here.

Grabbing the hand closest to me, I squeezed it gently, and looked at his drooping eyes. “I’m here now.”

He nodded slowly and blinked heavily before widening his eyes at me. “Love you, Coen.”

Thank God I was in a hospital, because I’m pretty sure my heart had just failed. Everything in me seized up, and my heart stuttered after missing a few beats before taking off quickly. The lump in my throat grew, and I couldn’t get it to go away. He loved me. I’d called him my son without realizing it. My Parker.

“I love you too, Parker,” I choked out.

All of the adrenaline from the fear of him not waking up, trying to be strong for Reagan—­even if only for a little while—­and all the emotions that had been coursing through my body in just the last ten minutes were suddenly too much. Dropping my head onto the mattress, I let myself cry for the first time in two and a half years.

Reagan—­ October 27, 2010

I STOOD IN the doorway of Parker’s room late that night, and watched as Coen lowered him onto his bed before tucking him under the covers. In the three and a half weeks since we’d started letting Parker know that Coen was staying the night, Coen hadn’t once put him in bed, or woken him up—­and I’m pretty sure it just became my favorite sight in the entire world.

Coen bent down low, placing his hand on the top of Parker’s head, and whispered something against it, too low for me to hear.

Never mind. That was my favorite sight.

Straightening up, he gave Parker one last look before walking over to where I was waiting on him. I tried to contain the ridiculous smile I knew must have been plastered on my face, but there was no way to. I was so in love with him. I loved the way he loved me, and I loved the way he loved my son.

Letting my fingers trail down his forearm, I pushed away from the doorway and walked over to the bed. Pressing my lips to Parker’s temple, I brushed back some of his blond hair and tried to remember him just like this. There’d been no crack on his skull, and no major swelling; the doctor had told us he’d been incredibly lucky. And I was so thankful for whoever was looking over my son.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I whispered. “I love you, baby.”

With one last kiss to his forehead, I stood and walked into Coen’s waiting arms. I inhaled sharply when he grabbed the backs of my thighs and pulled me up, but quickly wrapped my hands around his neck, and legs around his hips.

His dark eyes stayed locked on mine as he walked us out of Parker’s bedroom and into mine—­leaving both doors open. Letting me slide down his body, his fingers went to my pants, but there was no heat in his dark eyes tonight. I stepped out of them when they pooled at my feet, and raised my arms when he began pulling my shirt over my head. Leaving my camisole on, he reached inside to unhook my bra, and worked it off before dropping it on the floor as well. Taking a step away from me, he took off his jeans and shirt, leaving himself in only his boxer briefs, and reached for my hand. He brushed his lips slowly across mine while his eyes still held mine captive—­and in them I saw everything I was feeling being reflected back on me. The fear, the craving, the love, the trust.