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There’s no way for her to know for sure, but I let her believe whatever she wants.
All too soon, the nurse is back at our side, reclaiming the baby, stating he needs his special bath to get all the gunk off of him. I want to shove her away and demand she leave, but I push back the impulse and allow her to walk away with him.
I sit on the edge of Savina’s bed, her hand clutched in mine, and we both watch the rigorous bathing ritual with rapt attention. I try my best to ignore the doctor as he messes around down between my wife’s legs, doing whatever doctors and nurses do after a woman gives birth. I’m about to go over the edge of reason and break his fucking arms when he finally finishes. He says a few things to Savina that I don’t really pay attention to, and then he leaves.
It takes too long before the nurse brings our son back to us. He’s securely bundled up in a soft blue blanket. Only his head peeks out of the material. “Do you want to try breastfeeding him? Or would you prefer to bottle feed him the first time?”
“He’ll take his milk from me.”
The bed is lifted into a better sitting position, and I help her pull down the front of her gown. It’s not the scratchy kind that most patients wear. This one is a soft lavender that Savina picked out herself.
When her breasts are bare, I can’t help but stare at them. They’re fuller than they used to be. Over the months of her pregnancy, they’ve grown in size and have become hyper-sensitive. I’ve enjoyed the lushness of them many times over.
As soon as our son is settled against Savina’s breast, instinct takes over, and he seeks out her nipple. He latches on immediately, causing Savina to laugh.
“He’s already a greedy little thing,” I comment, mesmerized by the sight of my son taking life-sustaining nourishment.
I’ve heard of men becoming irrationally jealous of their offspring when it comes to a mother feeding their child this way, but I’m utterly fucking captivated. I’ll gladly share this part of Savina with my son because I know it gives him life. For the first time since I laid eyes on her, I don’t have the urge to maim a male for touching her.
I watch as his little bowtie of a mouth sucks at her nipple. A little dribble of clear liquid seeps out of the corner, and I use a thumb to swipe it away. I bring it to my lips and lick it.
Savina wrinkles her brow, a disturbed look crossing her face. “You aren’t going to be one of those fathers, are you?”
“One of those fathers?”
“The kind who develops a breast milk fetish.”
“Baby, anything to do with you, I have a fetish for. This is common knowledge. Would it really surprise you if I did develop one?”
“Not really.”
I grin and bend down for a kiss. “Then don’t worry about my fetishes.”
An hour later,in which I took over holding our son while I forced Savina to get some much-needed rest, there’s a light knock on the door. With my son tucked safely in my arms, I get up from the chair I was occupying and go answer it. I’m not surprised when I see the small group of people on the other side.I almost turn them away and tell them to come back later, but Savina made me promise to wake her when our families were allowed to visit.
I open it wider and allow them to enter. Alexander and Caroline are at the front of the small group, and I know before she even asks that Caroline wants to hold the baby. I’m reluctant to let him go, but I do so anyway after she washes her hands with disinfectant soap.
“Oh, my precious,” she says softly, staring down at her grandson. “He is positively gorgeous.”
Pride fills my chest.
“Congratulations, Ryker.” Alexander holds out his hand and we shake. Our relationship is still rocky and he still doesn’t fully trust me—I’m not sure he ever will—but he’s finally come to accept the fact that Savina is mine and there’s not a damn thing he’ll ever be able to do to change it. He may not have liked my methods in ensuring that, but he’s got no choice but to accept the outcome.
Bishop and Cassio step up next. Bishop still hates the ground I walk on, but he’s cordial when we’re in the company of others. I couldn’t give a single fuck if he likes me or not, but for Savina’s sake, I put up with the bastard. Cassio’s attitude is better than Bishop’s, but he’s still not entirely on board yet. Given time, he will be though.
I shake both of their hands, my lips curving when Bishop squeezes my hand extra hard in a show of intimidation. Before I revealed my plan regarding Savina, Bishop and I had a semi-close relationship. He knows damn well intimidation doesn’t work on me.
When they step to the side, the last two people come forward. My father and my mother. It took a couple of months for my mother to come out of her protective catatonic shell, and another two of intensive physical and mental therapy. My fatherstayed by her side the entire time. Literally, he never left her alone, spoke to her often like there was nothing wrong, fed and bathed her, and took her for long strolls in her favorite place, the flower garden in the backyard. Every morning, he presented her with her favorite flowers, cooked all of her favorite foods himself, sat beside her on the sofa, and played her favorite movies and TV shows. Each night, he read to her the mushy romance books that she used to love, and slept with her in the same bed they shared before he disappeared.
Eventually, she started to respond more and more. It was little things at first. A twitch of her hand. A slow blink instead of a mechanical one that’s second nature to a person. Pupils dilating and reacting to stimuli. Little noises in her sleep. Slowly moving her gaze to movement in the room or some sound. The first time she spoke was during dinner one night. My father was telling us about the time he slipped and fell in a mud puddle. It was before they were married, and he was still in the process of wooing my mother. To show his gentlemanly side, he scooped her up to carry her through the puddle and ended up on his ass instead.
“That was when I knew I would one day marry you.”
Three heads damn near broke off their necks because we all whipped them around so fast. There was my mother, her eyes clearer than I had seen them in twenty years, with a soft smile on her face.
“We both ended up soaking wet, our clothes ruined.” Her words were slow and stilted, but clear. “It wasn’t the valiant act itself that made our future clear to me, but the laughter I saw in your eyes. You looked utterly happy, not a care in the world. I fell in love with you that day.”
I was still in speechless shock, but my father jumped up and went to her. He swiveled her chair around and was down on hisknees in front of her. Up to then, I don’t ever remember seeing my father cry. He did that day.