Full Hart, page 13
If Grant had done something, had upset Lydia in some way to cause her to miscarry, Rex didn’t give two shits if his mother was madly in love with the man. Rex would kick Grant’s ass until the man had swollen eyes and broken kneecaps.
He arrived at the desk, not even out of breath but with his blood pumping because of the rage inside of him, and gave the nurse at the computer Lydia’s name.
“Room Twelve-A,” the nurse replied.
He thanked her, got his bearings, and headed off down the hallway. He saw the sign for Room Twelve-A, and the door was open.
Slowing his roll, he crept to the edge of the doorframe and just listened.
“This isn’t your fault. This shouldn’t have happened, and you are allowed to get and be as angry and sad as you absolutely need to be. This is all about you. About your family. You and your husband. You lost something today, a piece of yourselves that you can never get back, and if you want to scream or squeeze my hand until you think the bones will break, then you can. You can do whatever it is you need to do to ease the pain you feel inside your heart right now. To fill the sudden emptiness. Don’t let anybody dictate how you get through this, okay?”
Lydia’s “okay” was small and choked.
“None of this is right,” Grant went on. “None of it. You did everything right. You are a wonderful mother and were a wonderful mother to that baby right up to the end. None of this is your fault. You understand me?”
“Yes,” she choked out.
Right up to the end.
Fuck, that meant she miscarried.
The agony Rex felt in every one of his bones intensified to the point where he wanted to scream. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Lydia. He’d bear his pain—and hers—in silence, because one of them needed to stay strong, to keep their little family standing.
“I need to hear you say it, Lydia,” Grant went on. “Say, ‘None of this is my fault.’”
“None of this is my … fault,” she whispered. The last word was forced out and followed quickly by harsh sobs and whimpers.
Rex peeked his head around the corner, hoping to remain out of view for just a moment longer, and what he saw made every ounce of anger and bloodlust he had disappear. Grant was in a chair, sitting beside Lydia, who was sitting up in a hospital bed. They were holding hands and had their foreheads pressed together as Lydia’s body shook and she cried.
This man was there for Rex’s wife when Rex wasn’t, when he couldn’t be, and by the way Lydia’s chest began to rise and fall in even breaths and her eyes lay closed gently, Grant was also saying all the right things to ease the painful burden of grief inside her.
How was that possible?
Rex shouldn’t feel like an intruder coming into his wife’s hospital room, but at that moment, he did.
He also couldn’t just loiter around the hallway like some weirdo, though, so even though his arms prickled with unease and uncertainty, he cleared his throat, rapped his knuckle against the doorjamb and stepped inside. “Sweetheart.”
Lydia’s eyes popped open, and she pulled her head away from Grant, untangling their hands and reaching out to Rex, her eyes instantly flooding with fresh tears.
Now he felt like he belonged. Only it was for all the wrong reasons.
Neither of them should be there.
This shouldn’t have happened.
She didn’t deserve this.
Neither of them did. But least of all Lydia. She’d already been through so much in her life. She deserved nothing but happiness and joy for the rest of her days.
He ate up the short distance between them, sat on the edge of the bed and scooped her into his arms, her body shaking with new wracking sobs as her tears drenched his long-sleeved shirt.
“I lost our baby,” she kept saying.
“Shhhh,” he murmured, stroking her back and kissing the side of her head. “We’ll get through this. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry for what you have gone through and that I couldn’t get here faster.”
“I’m sorry,” she wailed against his shoulder. “One minute I was picking sprouts. The next minute I was …” She clutched him tighter. “Our baby!”
“Shhhh, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. You did nothing wrong. You are the best mother in the entire world and took care of that baby.”
“Not well enough.”
Fuck, he was so lost right now.
She was blaming herself.
Even after Grant told her not to, that none of this was her fault, after Rex reiterated it all, she still believed that the reason she miscarried was her fault.
He hedged a glance at Grant, imploring him for direction. He seemed to know what to say, or at least it appeared that way.
Rex, on the other hand, was so freaking lost.
Normally, he had all the answers. He was the protector and the defender, but he had no answers here, no way of protecting his wife from her grief, from her self-deprecation and blame.
Grant’s mouth dipped down into a frown and he was about to open his mouth when there was a gentle rap on the door.
“Is it okay if we come in?” Pasha’s voice echoed softly through the hospital room.
Rex glanced up to see Krista, Pasha, and Stacey all standing in the doorway, waiting to be invited in.
Lydia pulled away from Rex’s embrace and wiped her eyes, nodding at her sisters-in-law.
All three women entered wearing matching somber expressions.
Lydia sniffed. “One in four women, right?” Her lip trembled, and more tears sprang into her eyes.
“Oh, honey,” Stacey crooned, nudging Rex out of the way and going in to hug Lydia. “That doesn’t make it any less terrible.”
Rex glanced at Grant again and tilted his head toward the door. Grant nodded, and the two men stepped outside the hospital room to give the women a moment.
Once the women’s voices became no more than a murmur, shoving his hands in his jean pockets and studying the mottled tile floor, Rex looked up at Grant. “I need to thank you.”
Grant shook his head. “I just did what I thought was right. I’m sorry if you think I overstepped.”
Now it was Rex’s turn to shake his head. “You didn’t. You were there for my wife when I couldn’t be. You took care of her, and you seem to be saying all the right things. So … thank you.” He held his hand out, waiting for Grant to take it.
Grant’s hesitation only lasted a moment before he smiled grimly and shook Rex’s hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Wish there was a better way I could have proved to you that I’m not the monster you all think I am. That I’m just a lonely widower, looking for company and great conversation. And your mother provides me with heaps of both.”
Rex’s lips pinched, and he pulled his hand from Grant’s. “How do you know what to say to her in this situation? I’m lost.”
Grant’s throat moved on a hard swallow, and his gaze turned sad. “My wife had ten miscarriages.”
Ten?
Jesus Christ.
“Some were early, some a bit later. It was after we lost our daughter at nineteen weeks, Daphne called it quits. Said she wanted to get a hysterectomy because she didn’t think she could survive another loss. But after everything she’d been through, losing ten babies and not ever getting one to hold and bring them home, I said she shouldn’t have to go under the knife, so I got a vasectomy. She was always enough for me. The love of my life, but she desperately wanted a family. We fostered for a while, but that became too hard when we would have to say goodbye to children we’d grown attached to. We also considered adoption, but the day after we got the notification that we’d been selected to adopt, she got her cancer diagnosis, and it became a five-year battle that she eventually lost.”
“Holy fuck.”
“I know what to say … or I should say, I assume that I know what to say because I’ve been down this road a few times. Both with the miscarriages and cancer. But every woman—every person—is different. And nobody knows your wife better than you, so just listen and be there. Let her pound her fists against your chest and scream if she needs to. Let her stay in bed and cry for days. Let her grieve the baby the way that feels right to her. She will come around, and each day it will get easier. But just give her time.”
Rex nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
Grant’s big palm landed on Rex’s shoulder and squeezed. “And you’re allowed to grieve, too. This is your loss, too. That was your baby, too. So don’t bottle it all up inside until you feel like your head is going to explode because you think you have to be the last remaining pillar of strength for your family. Go a few rounds on a punching bag or drive out into the woods and scream. I know you think you’re her protector, but who is protecting you?”
That last bit made Rex snort. “Lydia is my protector. Or at least she thinks she is. Protects me from myself.”
“And she’s currently out of commission to do the job. So you need to find somebody else. Or something else to help you.” He released Rex’s shoulder and took a half step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“How did you cope with the losses?”
“Various things. I would often go flying. Take the chopper up to a random mountain, stand on top of it and scream until I felt like my lungs were bleeding.” Grant shrugged. “I also have a punching bag in my garage—if you need one.”
Brock had one in his home gym, too, and Rex had gone more than one or two rounds with it over the years.
Footsteps behind Rex grew louder and Grant’s expression perked up slightly as he focused on whoever was approaching.
“How is she doing?” Rex’s mother asked, coming to stand between Rex and Grant and gaze up at them both curiously.
“Who’s with Maeve?” Rex asked.
“I dropped her off with Chase. She’s in good hands. But I needed to come to see how my darling was doing. How is Lydia?” His mother reached for Rex’s hand and squeezed it before pulling him down to her for a hug.
Hugging his mother was always awkward given how short she was and how tall Rex was. But he sucked it up because the woman who’d raised him was also a saint and he loved her.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispered into his ear. “Let me know if there is anything I can do.”
“Thanks, Mum,” he said, though his words were growing more forced and jagged as he tried to cram them through his constricting throat.
“I hear the girls in there with her. That’s good.”
Rex nodded. Even though that was his wife in there and his baby, he wasn’t sure he could give Lydia what she needed right now. Grant seemed to know what to say, and Lydia seemed to be speaking and not through sobs to her sisters-in-law, but what would happen when he walked back into that room?
Would she take one look at him and well up with tears again? Did she think he blamed her?
For the first time in a very long time in their relationship, he wasn’t sure he was what Lydia needed right now, and the thought of that gutted him. He wanted to be there for her, to comfort her and help her through her pain. But the longer he stood there and listened to her talking to the other women, the more he worried he wasn’t what—or who—she needed.
“I’m going to poke my head in and check on her,” Joy said, stepping around Grant and Rex.
“We’ll head down to Tim Hortons on the main floor and grab everyone some coffee,” Grant said, stepping forward and patting Rex on the shoulder. “Come on, Rex. Everything makes more sense once we’re caffeinated.”
Rex snorted and fell in line with Grant. “Not gonna argue with you there.”
They arrived back at Lydia’s hospital room a little while later with trays of coffees and boxes of pastries.
When they rounded the corner and approached Lydia’s room, laughter could be heard coming through the open door.
“Well, at least she’s not crying,” Grant said with a lopsided smile, stepping to the side so Rex could enter first.
All the women, including Rex’s mother, were crowded around Lydia’s bed. Some were sitting in chairs, others standing.
But the most beautiful thing of all was Lydia’s smile.
It wasn’t huge, but it was real, and that made the shredded pieces of Rex’s heart begin to fuse back together.
“What’s so funny?” Grant asked, handing the coffees around.
“Krista was just regaling us with her most recent arrest,” Pasha said with a giant grin. “You never told us you had a trespasser on your property, Grant. I hope you’re okay?”
Grant glanced at Joy. “I didn’t want to snitch. I figured his wife was dealing with him and there was no need to run and tattle to his mama.”
“Oh, I dealt with him all right,” Krista said, sipping her coffee coyly.
“Did you know your brother was going snooping?” Rex’s mother asked, turning to him with pinched brows and that threatening look in her eye. Like she was one breath away from ripping off her slipper and throwing it at his head. Only she wasn’t wearing slippers, she was wearing running shoes, and getting knocked in the brain with that would hurt.
Rex held up his hand in protest. “I did not. That was between Chase and Brock. I was at Heath’s, and we were hanging out with the kids while our women shopped.”
“Very convenient alibi if you ask me,” Stacey said before turning to Krista. “I say we hook him up to a lie detector and put him under the bright light.”
“Put electric probes on his nipples,” Lydia added, then giggled. “Oh, wait, he might actually like that.”
Rex glanced at his wife in shock. She was grinning at him, and a sparkle emerged in her eyes.
Thank fuck.
There was his strong, hilarious woman.
“Right, Rexwell. You got a penchant for pain.”
“More than his mother needs to know, my dear,” his mother teasingly lectured. “But I don’t believe his plea of innocence for a minute either. I think they’re all conspiring together.”
Rex fixed his gaze on his mother for a moment, then Grant. “Not me anymore. I’m done. I’m out. I just want you to be happy, Mum. I happen to think Grant is not such a terrible guy.”
Grant snorted. “That’s the best endorsement I’m going to get, eh?”
Rex grinned. “Don’t push it.”
Everyone laughed.
“I’m dealing with Brock,” Krista said. “He’ll probably be the last to come around, but he’ll get there. Just … maybe invest in a security camera or borrow a rabid Doberman from someone for a couple of weeks. Just in the event he catches another case of stupid and tries to break into your house again.”
Lydia snagged Rex’s eye and reached for him. He went to his wife immediately and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. It creaked and groaned slightly beneath his weight.
She kissed his shoulder, and he kissed the top of her head as he wrapped his arm around her.
“Thank you for coming.”
He could see it in her eyes, the determination to be strong battling it out with the pain and heartbreak that was so raw on the surface.
He squeezed her close. “Anything for you, sweetheart. You’re in the driver’s seat here. But just know, I’m here for whatever you need, whatever you want.”
Fresh tears sprang up in her eyes, but she smiled through them. “I know you are, and I’m so glad that we’re going through this together.”
“I’m your rock, Lydia.”
She nodded. “And I’m yours.”
Fuck yeah, she was. And he’d never met anybody stronger.
Chapter 14
Grant & Joy
Grant turned off the oven and, with a mitt on one hand, pulled out the steaming casserole dish of roasted squash. He’d gone back to The Root Cellar, but they were out of brussels sprouts, so he had to settle for squash.
Not a big deal.
He’d make his mother’s famous truffle and Parmesan sprouts for Joy another day. But tonight, he was making a squash recipe he found online that had like a thousand five-star reviews. If a thousand people thought it was delicious, there was a good chance he and Joy would, too.
Soft rock played in the background and the fireplace had toned down its licking flames to a beautiful glowing ember.
Joy was set to arrive any minute, which was perfect because dinner was just about ready.
They’d been seeing each other for six months now, and he’d cooked for her many times, but tonight felt different.
Maybe it was because he had finally met all of her children and their families and was also getting to see another side of her—or perhaps it was because, after all this time, he was finally ready to tell another woman that he loved her.
He’d never said it to anybody else besides Daphne, and he knew Joy had never truly loved another man besides Zane, so for both of them, this was going to be a big step.
But he was ready—or so he kept telling himself.
He poured them each a glass of pinot noir that he had emptied into a decanter earlier, checked the steaks, which were resting, and brought the salad to the table.
He hadn’t changed much in the way of décor after Daphne passed away.
Her taste had always been complementary to his—modern, clean and easy. She wasn’t into knick-knacks or florals or even throw pillows. She liked clean lines, block colors, and lots of windows. He wouldn’t call their home—correction, his home—sterile, because it had homey touches here and there, but it wasn’t super kitschy or even what he would call cozy.
Unlike his wife. Daphne had been the warmest, most comforting, and caring person he’d ever met. So for her style to be on the colder side always made him laugh.
“What?” she would squeak. “My mother just had so many things and trinkets that would collect dust, and you know how bad my asthma was as a child. I don’t need dust collectors. We have our few key pieces of art, our stylish furniture, this handsome, chic rug, and some plants. What more do we need?”
He would just laugh, shake his head, smile and say, “I need nothing else when I have you.”
That would always make her blush and give him a smile that melted his insides.
