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Chapter Two

brYSON

T he speedometer needle trembled past seventy, pushing eighty, as I pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor. White lines on the asphalt blurred into a single streak beneath the tires of my car. Columbus faded behind me; Lakeside Ridge loomed ahead.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, glancing at the clock. Each tick felt like a hammer against my chest, my heart matching its relentless rhythm. My grip on the steering wheel was white knuckled as I ignored every rule of the road. My focus was singular. I needed to get to the hospital. Chloe needed me.

When the hospital's angular form finally came into view, a surge of adrenaline shot through me. Barely waiting to put the car in park, I scrambled out and bolted towards the entrance, my breath forming ragged clouds in the crisp Michigan air.

The sliding doors whisked open, and I surged into the sterile calm of the hospital. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. I skidded to a stop at the reception desk, chest heaving, words tumbling out before I could catch my breath.

“Chloe Murphy. I need— Where is she?”

The nurse's gaze met mine, unflappable amidst my panic. She offered a small, reassuring smile, her voice a calming balm to my frazzled nerves. “Please take a moment to breathe, sir. Can I have your name, please?”

“Bryson Kelly. I’m her godfather. I also have papers her parents filled out in case of emergency,” I explained, handing over the papers they had asked their lawyer to draw up when Chloe was born.

She looked them over, typed something on her keyboard then smiled at me. “There is a social worker in the room with her. You’ll need to show these to her as well. Chloe is in Pediatric Ward B, room 204. Take the elevator to the second floor, turn left, and it'll be the third door on your right.”

“Thank you,” I tossed over my shoulder, already sprinting toward the elevators, the nurse's directions echoing in my mind. My hands shook as I jabbed the button repeatedly, willing the doors to part faster. When they finally did, I slipped inside, alone with my racing thoughts and the silent prayer that Chloe was okay.

“Please be all right,” I whispered to no one, as the elevator ascended with agonizing slowness.

The sterile chill of the hallway did nothing to cool my overheated mind as I approached room 204. The door swung open with a gentle nudge, revealing a doctor clad in powder blue scrubs, his expression a practiced blend of professionalism and empathy. Beside him, stood a woman in a navy pants suit. She had a kind smile.

“Mr. Kelly?” he inquired, his eyes searching mine.

“Yes, that's me. How's Chloe? Is she...” My voice trailed off, the question was too heavy to finish.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm Ms. Lewis from Child Protective Services. I'll need to see some identification and paperwork before we can give you any information or allow you to see her. Do you have any documentation of your relationship to Chloe?"

“Oh, yes. Here,” I said, handing her the paperwork. She took a few moments to look it over then, seemingly satisfied, she nodded to the doctor. I had never been more grateful for my best friend’s foresight and attention to detail, not that she ever could have imagined…

“Chloe’s doing fine, Mr. Kelly,” the doctor said. “A few tiny bumps and bruises, but no serious injuries,” he assured me. His words were a lifeline thrown into the dark sea of my fears.

“Thank God,” I exhaled, the weight of dread lifting from my shoulders, replaced by a relief so powerful that it made my knees wobble. Yet, beneath that relief, there lurked pain and grief. I forced myself to push them aside for the moment.

“Can I— May I see her now?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Of course.” They stepped aside, allowing me to enter the pastel haven of Chloe's hospital room.

I tiptoed closer, the quiet hum of medical equipment barely audible over the soft cadence of her breathing. There she was, an angelic figure nestled among cotton sheets, her chest rising and falling with a reassuring rhythm.

Sitting beside her crib, I let my gaze linger on her peaceful face, and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth despite the somber mood. It was impossible not to think back to the day Brooke had asked me to be Chloe's godfather.

“Are you sure you're ready for this, Bryson?” She had teased; her grin contagious as we sat in her living room. “It's a big responsibility, being someone’s godfather.”

“Please, I was born ready,” I'd quipped, smiling down at the newborn sleeping in her mother’s arms. “Besides, how hard can it be? I'll just shower her with gifts and teach her the fine art of sorting laundry by color and fabric type.”

She had laughed, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Perfect! Nothing says 'I love you' like an organized closet.”

“Seriously though, are you sure I’m the right choice? I’ve never really been religious,” I reminded her.

Brooke’s smile softened. “There’s no one we’d trust more. I mean that. Besides, to us, having you as a godfather is more of a promise that you’re going to take an active role in Chloe’s life and if—God forbid—something was to happen to me and Zach, you promise to always watch over her and keep her safe.”

“That’s the easiest promise I’ll ever had to make. I’m already crazy about this little girl,” I said, reaching out to softly touch Chloe’s hand and marveling at how delicate her fingers were. “I promise to always be in her life and to love and protect her as if she were my own.”

Brooke’s eyes swam with tears as she leaned into me, and I wrapped an arm around her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

That memory, so full of love, stood in stark contrast to the dim room where I now sat. But the promise I'd made that day—to be a constant in Chloe's life—was as strong and unwavering as ever.

I reached for Chloe's tiny hand through the bars on the crib, her fingers curling instinctively around mine—a reflex, they'd told me, but it felt like so much more. Her breaths were soft and even, a balm to the chaotic rush of my heartbeat. I couldn't help but let my guard down, the walls that held back my emotions crumbling in the silence of the room.

“Brooke, I'm sorry,” I whispered, not sure if I was speaking to her spirit or simply voicing my thoughts aloud. “I promised you I'd always be there for her, and I will. But God, I’d give anything to have you here instead.”

The words caught in my throat as I finally allowed my tears to flow freely, mourning the loss of my friends, my family, and grieving the fact that Chloe now had to grow up without her parents. I felt my heart shatter all over again at the thought and I vowed then and there that as long as I had breath in my body, Chloe would be showered with love.

Not only that, but I would make sure she knew how very much her parents had loved her. I stayed like that for what felt like hours and when I finally peeled my hand away from her grasp, it wasn't with reluctance, but with a renewed sense of purpose.

The next day brought sunlight and a whole new set of challenges. With Chloe still sleeping, I called my boss and explained the situation and said that I would be staying in Lakeside Ridge for a while. She told me to take all the time I needed, and I promised to keep her up to date.

As soon as I hung up, the door opened and the doctor walked in, along with Ms. Lewis and a man in a police uniform. The officer was tall with salt and pepper hair and kind eyes. He walked over and shook my hand. “I’m Officer Daniels. We spoke on the phone last night. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

I winced at the reminder of that terrible phone call. “Thank you,” I said. My voice sounded gruff, and I tried clearing it.

“I wanted to follow up on Chloe, see how she’s doing this morning,” he explained.

We both turned our attention to the doctor who was finishing a quick examination of Chloe. The disruption woke her, and she blinked her eyes open, searching the room. At the sight of the doctor and police officer, she started to cry, and I rushed to her side. Seeing me seemed to soothe her and the doctor was able to finish his examination.

“Other than the bruising—which will begin to fade soon—she looks perfectly healthy. I have some paperwork to fill out and then you should be able to take her home.”

Tears sprung to my eyes. I squeezed them shut as I kissed the side of her head and said a quick prayer of thanks that God had decided to spare this precious little girl. “Thanks,” I managed to choke out.

The doctor gave my shoulder a sympathetic pat before walking out of the room. As the door shut behind him, Officer Daniels turned to me, his tone gentle. “I know you and Ms. Lewis spoke last night and she’s given me a copy of the emergency paperwork, but I brought some forms of my own, things I’ll need you to fill out before you can take your goddaughter home.”

“Of course,” I said with a brisk nod. I sat down with Chloe in my lap as he pulled out a file and set it on the rolling tray. He slid it over to me and handed me a pen. I filled everything out as quickly as possible, name, address, contact information, etc. Once I’d finished, Ms. Lewis scheduled an in-home visit for the following day and then they both left. By then Chloe was starting to squirm in my arms, ready for a diaper change and her breakfast.

A nurse came in and helped me feed and change her, showing me how the diaper went on and instructing me on how to clean her, so she wouldn’t get an infection—who knew babies could get UTIs. Once the doctor was finished with the release papers, it was time to go.

“Okay, little one,” I said, trying to wrangle the car seat straps around her. “This is like trying to lasso a very delicate, very important... squirming... kitten.” I huffed out a laugh, partly out of nerves, partly because I imagined Brooke would have found my fumbling hilarious.

“Here, like this,” the nurse said, showing me how to properly tighten the straps. She made it all look so easy, and I just prayed I would remember everything she’d told me. She must have noticed the anxious look in my eyes because she laid a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Try not to worry. Babies are very resilient. Even if you make a mistake, she should be just fine.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. Her words, meant to comfort, only added to my stress. I didn’t want to make any mistakes. Not when the safety of the most important person in my world was at stake. My eyes searched the hospital room, making sure I had everything. “Right, diaper bag,” I muttered to myself, patting down my pockets before realizing I didn't actually need my car keys just yet.

I slung the bag over my shoulder, nearly knocking over the tray of food one of the nurses had brought me. She’d been so kind, I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I didn’t feel like eating, especially after Brooke and Zach’s attorney had called to set up a time to go over the will. I knew all of that would need to be taken care of, but I wasn’t ready to think about any of it just yet. All I cared about right then was getting this tiny angel home.

The nurse walked outside with us, making sure Chloe was securely fastened in the back seat before wishing me luck and walking away. I climbed in behind the steering wheel and buckled my seatbelt with shaking hands. I couldn't help but feel like we were both buckling in for a lot more than just the drive back to Lakeside Ridge.

The bottle seemed to mock me from its perch atop the counter, its contents too cool for Chloe's liking. She let out a wail, hungry and short on patience since I was apparently taking too long.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m not very good at this, but I’ll have it warmed up in no time,” I promised. I bounced her on my hip as I filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. My hands shook slightly as I adjusted the flame—a little too high, I realized, when bubbles began dancing wildly across the surface.

“Brooke, you made this look so easy,” I said under my breath, grateful for her well-organized kitchen which had made finding all the supplies much easier.

I tested the formula’s temperature against my wrist like I’d seen Brooke do—too hot. I cursed softly, as I unscrewed the lid and set it on the counter to let it cool. “Chloe, your godfather might just be in over his head,” I confessed as she continued to sob.

I tried swaying her from side to side while making a gentle whoosh sound, but it did nothing to soothe her. Between the stress and the noise, it felt like a marching band was making their way across my skull. Screwing the nipple onto the bottle, I tested the temperature again. Perfect, thank God.

Taking a deep breath, I cradled Chloe in my arm and offered her the bottle. Her tiny lips puckered, and she took a tentative sip, then another, and for a moment, I felt like I was getting the hang of it. But my triumph was short-lived; burping her proved to be another hurdle. She fussed and squirmed as I patted her back, each attempt more awkward than the last. “Come on, little burp,” I coaxed, second-guessing every pat. Was I doing it too hard? Too soft? Should I rub instead of pat?

Finally, a delicate burp bubbled up, and I exhaled in relief. “We did it, kiddo!” I praised both of us, surprised by the success. I flashed her a weary smile, hoping I was doing at least something right.

The swing was supposed to be my ace in the hole—an automatic soother according to Brooke. Yet as I settled Chloe into it and started the gentle sway, her face scrunched up into an expression that was far from soothed. “Huh, not a fan?” I asked, stopping the motion. Her cries escalated, piercing the quiet of the room.

“Okay, no swing. Got it.” I lifted her out, feeling the weight of frustration bear down on me. Determination set in as I bounced her lightly in my arms, walking back and forth across the living room. Each step was a silent promise—to Chloe, to Brooke, to myself—that I would get this right, no matter how many tries it took.

“Alright, little one, I've aced tests, navigated tough clients... but this—this is the final boss level,” I muttered as I laid her gently on the changing table. Her tiny legs kicked in the air, oblivious to the battle of wits that was about to unfold between man and diaper.

“Right, so the tabs go... where exactly?” I fumbled with the new diaper, turning it this way and that, trying to make sense of the cartoon animals that seemed to mock my confusion. “Are you supposed to be facing up or down? Because frankly, Mr. Monkey, you're not helping.”

I took a deep breath, steadying my hands that were more accustomed to typing than this gentle art of swaddling. “And we're going for lift-off,” I announced as I lifted Chloe's bottom and slid the diaper underneath.

“Oops, sorry, sorry,” I winced as her feet plopped back down, a little too fast for my liking.

“Okay, Chloe bear, let's get this over with before either of us loses our...” My voice trailed off as I quickly secured the diaper, patting it smooth, hoping against hope I'd done it right.

“Look at that, we survived! High-five?” I offered my palm, but Chloe just gurgled, clearly unimpressed by my efforts. With a chuckle, I scooped her into my arms, ready for the next round.

But the peace was short-lived; the crib was no solace, and my bouncing brought no joy. Chloe's cries filled the room, each wail a tiny dagger to my heart. With a weary sigh, I began to pace the house.

“Alright, how about some music,” I suggested, although I hadn’t sung in years—at least not in front of anyone else. Still, I cleared my throat and started with the first thing that came to mind. “I’m a genie in a bottle, you gotta— I crooned, the song ending as abruptly as it had begun.

“Uh, maybe not that one.” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, even though Chloe couldn't possibly judge my poor choice in melodies.

“Let's make up our own song, shall we?” I said, swaying with each step, her nestled against my chest. “Hush now, baby Chloe, it's time to sleep, your godfather's here, no need to weep.”

It was silly, it was nonsensical, but I poured all the love I could muster into every made-up line. Despite my exhaustion, I found a rhythm, a gentle melody that seemed to slow her tears and I sent up a silent prayer that she’d be able to fall asleep.

The knock on the door felt like a lifeline, a chance that whoever was on the other side might know more about babies than I did—which wouldn’t be that difficult since I clearly knew nothing. I stumbled to the door, Chloe's wails piercing my brain. Swinging it open, I almost wept at the sight of Tucker standing there, his coal-black hair tousled and those blue eyes so vibrant despite the exhaustion I could see in them.

“Please,” I gasped, the word a desperate plea. “Help.”

Tucker blinked as he looked from me, to Chloe, to the living room behind me, taking in the chaos of baby paraphernalia strewn about like a tornado had just swept through. “Wow, looks like you've been having quite the party.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “If by 'party' you mean a one-man circus trying to entertain a very tough crowd, then yes, it's been a blast,” I deadpanned.

As if on cue, Chloe decided that moment was perfect for another performance. A gurgling sound bubbled from her tiny lips, and before I could react, she expelled a fountain of formula onto my shirt. My heart lurched, my OCD instincts kicking into overdrive. This was not control; this was chaos embodied in a spit-up stain spreading across my chest.

“Ah, one of the many joys of spending time with a baby,” Tucker chuckled. His laid-back demeanor stood in stark contrast to my horror as I stared down at the milky mess.

“Joy? I feel as if I’m under siege,” I sputtered, my mind racing through the mental checklist of cleaning protocols I would need to employ.

“Come on, Bryson. It's just a little baby vomit.” Tucker chuckled, plucking Chloe from my rigid arms with ease. “You'll get used to it.”

“I doubt that very much,” I muttered.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot how… particular you are about things. Why don’t you go clean up and I’ll see if I can get my niece to sleep.”

I didn’t give him a chance to change his mind because I needed to get out of these clothes and cleaned up before I lost mine. I headed toward the bathroom, calling out over my shoulder, “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying all day.”

The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the remnants of curdled formula and the stench of my own inadequacy. In the solitude of the shower, I let the steam envelop me, a comforting shroud for the raw nerves and exposed feelings that I usually kept in check. The rhythmic beat of water on the tiles was a soothing balm to the chaos that had been my introduction to godfatherhood.

“Sorry, Brooke,” I whispered so low that no one could hear my confession. “I'm trying, I swear.” My words were lost amidst the mist, but the promise lingered, tangible as the water that traced paths down my back. “I won't let you down. I'll keep her safe, happy... even if it means learning to deal with a little vomit.”

Turning off the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist, the fabric soft and fluffy against my skin as I looked in the mirror. Dark smudges lined the delicate skin under my eyes and my skin looked sallow, the result of no sleep and a broken heart.

I dressed quickly. Despite him teasing me about my quirks, I felt guilty for thrusting a baby onto Tucker as soon as he walked in the door. I hadn’t even asked him how he was holding up, but from the look of him, this had all been as rough on him as it was on me.

Padding softly into the nursery, I paused at the doorway, struck by the scene before me. There was Tucker, stretched out in the rocking chair, his long legs finding room where there seemed to be none, cradling his niece in his arms like she was the most precious artifact he'd ever come across on his travels. Her tiny chest rose and fell in peaceful slumber, oblivious to the world's sharp edges.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching them. “Never thought I'd see the day,” I murmured, not realizing I'd spoken aloud until Tucker's blue eyes flickered up to meet mine, crinkling at the corners with an unspoken understanding.

“Life's full of surprises,” he said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. “Like how perfectly she fits right here.” He adjusted Chloe slightly, emphasizing his point without waking her.

A surge of warmth flooded through me, chasing away the lingering stress of the day. “Thanks for taking her so I could get cleaned up,” I said, gratitude mingling with a newfound respect for the man who seemed to embrace each twist and turn life offered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Anytime, man.” His gaze returned to the baby in his arms, protective and tender. “It takes a village, right?”

“Right,” I replied, feeling a little bit of hope and a whole lot less alone than I had earlier.

I backed out of the nursery, wanting to give Tucker a little time with his niece. My feet felt leaden as I shuffled toward the living room, each step muted against the soft carpet. The couch beckoned—a beige, overstuffed sanctuary that had seen countless late-night heart-to-hearts between me and my best friend. Its familiarity was a balm to my frayed nerves.

I sank into it, feeling the cushions envelop me like a long-awaited hug. The room was dim, save for the gentle glow from a lamp with a sea glass base, casting dancing reflections that played across the walls.

I drew my knees up, curling into the smallest version of myself. My hands were still faintly scented with that lavender baby wash Brooke swore by, and I breathed it in. The edges of my vision blurred as I let my eyelids droop, each blink heavier than the last. The weight of the last twenty-four hours—the devastating phone call, my mad dash to the hospital, Chloe’s sweet face pinched in a sob as I made mistake after mistake—settled around me.

As exhaustion claimed me, tugging me into its depth, I surrendered to the notion that tomorrow was another day—one more chance to get it right, one more opportunity to keep my promise to Brooke. With that thought cradling my consciousness, I drifted off into a restless sleep.