The Christmas You Found Me, page 16
I wonder how many times Emma’s had her own Christmas list on a hospital wall.
“The waiting room is at the end of the hall,” the CNA tells me. I thank her again and wonder how many halls like this have been in Guy’s life. How many salads or jokes or kind people who sacrifice five minutes of their day to a stranger who is lost?
The holiday decor is only muted when I reach the waiting room at the end of the hall. Maybe someone instinctively knew the parents of these kids needed a break from the bright reds and greens and sparkles and smiles. Instead, there’s a dull, scratched coffeepot and a basket of chocolate chip chewy granola bars.
Guy’s the only one in the waiting room. His long limbs don’t quite fit in the chair, and his shoulders are slumped. The man I first met in the coffee shop looks up at me with haunted eyes. There’s a little more flesh on his bones now, but the strain crushing him then is still crushing him now.
“How is she?” I ask, slipping into the seat next to him.
At first, I don’t think he’s going to answer me, because it takes him so long to reply.
“They’re giving her dialysis. Her nephrologist says it’s not a good sign she swelled up so quickly. They’re switching her over to dialysis every day.” His voice is toneless, his eyes staring at the wall just over my shoulder, but a muscle in his jaw twitches, the only tell this man has. I don’t know him as well as I want to, but I know this: Guy’s terrified.
I take his hand, and when he doesn’t squeeze mine back, I pull his arm over my shoulders. I slide my own arm between the seat and his back, gripping his worn leather belt and pulling him to my side. I’m not strong enough to budge him, not if he doesn’t want to move. But until he tells me otherwise, I’m giving him something solid to feel, someone else to lean on.
It takes him a moment, and one more. Then Guy turns and pulls me into his arms, holding me crushingly tight. His face presses to my shoulder, his whole torso shaking.
And when he cries, I hold him right back.
***
We don’t leave the hospital until they run blood work and are satisfied Emma’s stabilized…for now. At least there’s pediatric dialysis close by, because it’s going to be every day from now on.
“Will they let a stepparent take her for dialysis?” I ask as we get closer to home. The bulk of the drive has been in silence. I don’t know why Guy isn’t talking, but I’m staying quiet because Emma is sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her. He’s been staring out the passenger window for the last two hours, except for when he glances back to check on his daughter.
“I don’t know,” Guy replies hollowly. “It’s never been an option.”
He doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t give me any hint of what he’s feeling or what he wants me to do. My brain is racing as it tries to plan my way through this. What can I do, what does she need, how will this change things? I pull into the jobsite, and when I park near his truck, I move the driver’s seat back to give him legroom. His truck keys are still sitting in the cupholder of my truck, so I pick them up.
“I’ll follow you,” I say, because I’m not separating him and his daughter right now.
Wordlessly, Guy nods and gets out of the passenger side.
Guy’s truck is tidy inside, although it carries a light layer of sawdust, not unexpected for a man who works construction for a living. I’m grateful when the engine starts, because the temperature has taken a dive since nightfall, and I rushed out of the house without a coat this morning.
I give the engine a moment to warm up, fiddling with the driver’s seat so I can actually reach the pedals. That’s when I notice there’s a photo of Emma taped to the dash with duct tape. The edges are worn and the color is faded, but her smile is still bright as ever as she holds a massive floppy-eared bunny in her arms. Then I realize there’s a second, newer photo taped next to the first one. A photo of me and Emma in the photo booth at our surprise wedding reception, with us both making matching silly faces.
Guy’s got a photo of us in his truck.
This hits me hard, because it’s what my dad did: he kept a photo of me and my mom in his truck. I’ve always known, but suddenly I understand, really understand, what’s happening right now. Emma is dying. The little girl in my truck, waiting for me to pull out of the jobsite so her daddy can drive her home, is dying. And her daddy, who loves her enough to keep a picture of her on his dashboard, is going to lose her.
I’m glad to be alone because I sob all the way to the ranch.
It feels like a lifetime has passed between when I left the house and when we finally park back in the driveway. Guy looks exhausted, even more than I feel. His strong arms hold Emma close, and I wonder how much of her life he’s spent carrying her. He takes her up to bed, and I want to tell him that I can do it for him. I want to carry them both, despite it being physically impossible. Instead, I put on a jacket and go take care of chores, knowing the animals are all going to be very upset with me for feeding them late. I work fast, checking the water trough in the cattle pen for signs of freezing, making sure they have enough hay until tomorrow morning and that no one got hurt while I was gone. Then I get through the barn feeding in record time, because I want to be back inside with my family, not out here, wondering if they’re okay.
My family. They aren’t even mine, not truly, but in this moment, they feel like all the family I’ve got. I almost forgo checking the cattle gates, but a lifetime of repetition wins over.
When I get back inside, Guy is just coming down the stairs from putting Emma to bed. My heart hurts to see those broad shoulders slumped as he joins me in the kitchen.
He’s not meeting my eyes, and I wonder if it’s because he’s too tired to deal with a stranger who isn’t used to his life but is suddenly right in the middle of it all.
“Did you get anything to eat?” he asks me, and I blink at the question. Guy’s brow furrows. “You look dead on your feet.”
“I can’t remember, but you definitely haven’t.” I return to my default mode: make sandwiches, and make Guy eat the sandwiches. His furrowed brow softens when I put the first sandwich in front of him. Peanut butter and banana today. I don’t know if he likes them, but it’s my comfort food.
“Thanks, Sienna,” he whispers, and the way he holds my eyes for a longer moment, I feel like his thanks is for more than the food.
We eat in silence at the kitchen island, and I’m only finishing my sandwich when I realize I took the stool right next to him. I’m simply unable to stay out of Guy’s personal bubble right now.
“Do you need anything before I call it a night?” He’s so exhausted, his voice is a low, raspy version of his normal baritone. But in this moment, I realize Guy isn’t just being polite. Despite today, despite so many days and nights like today, he’s still willing to help me if I ask. Then he’ll head to a broken-down couch I never got around to replacing, the one that probably hurts his back and he’s never once complained about.
I don’t have the heart to ask him to sleep there tonight. Guy’s life is a train wreck not of his making. He shouldn’t have to be hungry. He shouldn’t have to sleep on a crappy couch.
“Will you sleep upstairs with me tonight?” I ask finally. “In case Emma needs anything?”
I’m aware I’m inviting him into my bed when I could have just offered to stay on the couch. The thing is, I’m not sure I’m okay with being far from Emma tonight. And maybe, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not okay with being far from Guy either. I need to keep them both close, where I can make sure I’m there if they need me.
Guy looks at me as if trying to process what I said. “I was planning on sleeping on her floor or in the hallway.”
Oh. It makes sense he wouldn’t want to be far away. “We can take turns on her floor if you want. Whatever she needs, Guy. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”
We sit there silently, and I wonder if I made a mistake by asking. Then Guy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m not thinking straight. Yeah, I’d love a real bed tonight. But if you decide at any point it’s not okay for me to sleep next to you, I need you to verbalize it, Sienna. I don’t trust myself to notice if something’s wrong. I’ll try, but my brain is scrambled.”
“I’ll say something,” I promise. “If I get unsettled, worst-case scenario, I’ll go sleep on the couch so you can be near her. Stop worrying about me, okay? Let’s just focus on Emma. We’re Team Emma. We’re in this together.”
And let me focus on both of you, I add silently.
His fingers are work-roughened, just like mine are. But mine feel small inside his as we climb the stairs together. He brushes his teeth in the hall bathroom and changes for bed while I do the same in my bathroom. Then he raps his knuckles lightly on the doorframe of my room in warning before coming in.
Guy’s never been in my bedroom before, and it’s a testament to his exhaustion that he doesn’t look around. Instead, he pauses and waits for me to sit down on the side of the bed I’m used to sleeping on. Guy’s careful to stay on his side of the bed, but he fills his side with long limbs and broad shoulders in a way that makes me feel like he’s dwarfing me. The bed is suddenly much smaller with him next to me. I could flex my fingers and almost touch his arm. Instead, I tighten them into a fist and tuck them behind my back, willing them to stop shaking.
How many nights did Guy face this all alone? What could I ever say to make any of this okay? I’m in over my head, desperate to do anything to help when there’s nothing I can do. I love that little girl when I never expected to love anyone ever again.
“Sienna?” His voice is rougher, and I don’t know for sure, but he might be crying. “Thanks for being there for us today.”
My fingers no longer shake, not when they cover his hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper in the darkness of the room. “We’re in this together.”
Chapter 15
Sometime after midnight, my body betrays me, and I turn Guy into the little spoon.
I don’t remember wrapping my arm around his waist, entangling our legs, and stuffing my nose in between the muscles of his shoulder blades. I should probably extract myself, but his arm is draped over mine, and his breathing is slow and steady. If he’s finally getting some much-deserved rest, maybe I shouldn’t move? Every muscle beneath his clothing is lean and solid, the product of hard labor and a harder life. I can feel every ridge and plane of his stomach, and my fingers curl into the deepest ridge.
Just when I start to think I’m feeding him enough…
A soft chuckle accompanies the movement of his abdomen beneath my arm. “Sienna, no more sandwiches. Not unless I’m making them for you.”
Guy rolls and faces me, somehow knowing what I’m thinking. My arm is still around his waist, and as I start to untangle myself and scoot back, a warm, strong hand rests on my hip, silently asking me to stay. No problem. All the warmest parts of the bed are in the critical foot of space between us.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, glancing at the clock on my nightstand. It’s only half past two, and Guy sounds much too alert.
“No, I’ve been awake for a while,” he admits. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
“If I said anything incriminating, I plead the Fifth,” I murmur. Like how his lower back seems to have invented some new muscles where most men just have normal flesh.
“You talked about cookies.” The hand on my hip slides so his fingers span my lower back, a moment so foreign between us but not unusual between two people curled up together.
“I like cookies,” I admit. I also like the weight of his hand, but I don’t tell him.
“What kind of cookies?” Guy’s question seems oddly specific after the events of today.
I huff a laugh. “Pretty much anything with sugar and flour is good in my book. Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to sneak some more intel out of you. I know you like my daughter, Legs, and brownies.”
“I like Emma much more than Legs. And I really like Legs.”
Guy’s expression changes, and in the dim glow of the woodstove, I see his eyes flicker down to my lips. “Duly noted,” he murmurs.
“Should we go check on her?” I ask, because it’s safer to focus on Emma than it is to focus on a low, gentle voice asking me about cookies. I swear even his body language is coaxing me closer.
“I checked Emma a little bit ago,” he tells me. “Her vitals are good, and the swelling is better. She’s sleeping.”
“You aren’t though, are you? Do you want me to leave so you have some more space?”
“That’s the last thing I want.” Guy hesitates, then he asks softly, “Can I hold you? I know it sounds needy, but it’s been a tough night.”
“It’s not needy,” I promise. “We’re married, Guy. I know this is a marriage of…”
“Convenience?” he supplies with a tiny smile.
“Purpose. We have a marriage of purpose, and that’s helping Emma. There aren’t any rules for how we do it. If midnight snuggles help you, which will in turn help Emma, I’m in.”
Guy sometimes gets this look when I talk, and I don’t know how to read what he’s thinking.
I inhale a deep breath, then add, “It will help me too. Plus, since I already had you in a rear body lock tonight…”
He sighs with playful lust. “If you watch MMA, you just secured your place as my dream girl.”
I snicker as I scoot over those important couple of inches closer to him, enjoying how the blankets are trapping heat in the space between us. Then I turn so my shoulders are pressed to his chest. His hand on my hip becomes a muscled arm looped around my waist, cradling me close without locking down too tight. Guy’s a much better big spoon than me, and I allow myself a moment to experience being held by him. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been held. It’s…nice.
I’d almost forgotten what nice was.
The moon is bright tonight, and as we lie there in the pale wash of moonlight through the window, I’m overly aware of how close we are. I feel like someone should say something, so my tongue decides on the first random thought that pops into my head.
“Do you remember when I called you the first time, and you thought I was trying to get you naked?”
He smiles against my shoulder. “I remember thinking I knew better, because the wildly hot ones always get me in trouble, but I was sorely tempted.”
“Wildly hot ones, huh?” I can feel my cheeks heating.
“You’re beautiful, Sienna.” His voice softens. “You might be the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. I could barely open my mouth the first time I saw you.”
This from a man who had me drooling from his first push-up.
“It’s been a long time since anyone called me beautiful,” I admit. “I think it was my wedding day.”
“So, two and a half days ago?”
“Brat. No, my real wedding.” My grin slips when I realize what I said. “I mean, not that ours wasn’t real… I just meant…”
Guy makes a soft noise in his throat. “I know. I didn’t take it that way. We’re not doing this the usual way.”
I look over my shoulder at him and see Guy’s eyes sweep over me. “I’ve spent all night thinking about how grateful I am Emma has you.”
“You have me too,” I whisper, wishing my heart wasn’t hammering in my chest because of how he’s looking at me.
He doesn’t ask if he can kiss me. The way his thumb traces my cheek is a silent question and one I know the answer to. When I nod, he dips his head, brushing the softest, slowest kiss across my lips.
“Like this?” he asks gently, and I murmur an affirmative, turning in his arms. The second kiss is even slower, somehow even softer, for all it sends my pulse frantically scrambling. “Or like this?”
“Now you’re showing off,” I decide, and the best thing happens. He grins, a real, happy grin, and I see a glimpse of the man he could have been if life had been gentler on him.
“You bring it out in me, Sienna. I can’t help myself.” One last kiss to the tip of my nose, then Guy snuggles in, as if holding me is just as good as any of the rest of it.
I daydream, just for a moment, that he’s holding me from love and not convenience. A life with Guy would be a gentler life. Loving a man like him would have been safer than the path I chose for myself. The girl who picked the wrong boy because he looked cute on a horse and held on long after she knew she had to let go. Somewhere there’s a version of me that’s more than a shadow of who I could have been too.
I wish I had any idea of how to find her. I wish I could tell her I’m sorry this happened to her.
“Hey, Guy, I promise, okay? No matter what happens, you and Emma will always have me. No matter what we choose to do.” Then I yawn and cuddle deeper into his arms, adding sleepily, “Since it’s technically Tuesday now, we married six days ago, mister. It’s too soon to forget our wedding date yet.”
His low laughter accompanying a brief kiss to my brow is the last thing I know before sleep takes me. “Trust me, Sienna. I’ll never forget.”
***
Guy checks on Emma a couple more times throughout the night, and every time, the movement of him in bed wakes me. I offer to go check on Emma for him, but he just murmurs for me to go back to sleep. I do, but only after he comes back to bed, and I know Emma is still safe.
My mental to-do list decides to turn up the volume full force an hour before my alarm goes off, forcing away the last vestige of sleep I was hoping for. The list today is long, and there are two people and a lot of animals in my home who will need breakfast. Guy’s boss told him to take today off, so if I move quietly enough, maybe he can get a little extra sleep. If Emma is feeling better, maybe I can coax her into eating something she likes after morning chores.
“Sienna?” A low voice thickened with sleep makes a hushing noise. “Come back to bed.”
