Page 6 of Right the Wrongs (Broken Vows #5)

Chapter Four

Griffin - Past

“God damnit!” I shout and throw my phone. I immediately regret it, because I didn’t get the insurance. With a baby on the way, I don’t need to be blowing money because I’m a dumbass.

Hattie peeks her head into the waiting room where they deposited me while the social worker meets with the doctor. “I’m guessing that Wren didn’t take the news well, did she?”

I cross the room to get my phone. At least one thing is working in my favor. My phone landed on one of the padded chairs, and it isn’t broken.

“Everything is fucked,” I answer Hattie.

“I keep wondering when something is going to happen that pushes her over the line. I know I’m really fucking lucky that she gave me another chance after I pushed her away.

Every day I get with her is a bonus, but I’ve always known that someday it would be too much having Liam around.

I don’t know how to balance having both of them in my life. ”

She nods. “Yeah, that sucks.”

I stare at her, waiting for advice or reassurance, but she only stares back at me. “That’s it? I’m telling you I think my wife might leave me over this, and your only comment is, ‘That sucks’?”

Hattie shrugs her shoulders. “It does suck, but you’re an idiot if you think something like dealing with Liam is going to run Wren off, and you don’t know her very well. Have some faith in your wife.”

Those words keep banging around in my head after she leaves.

I have what feels like endless minutes to reflect on having faith in Wren.

It doesn’t take me long to see that it’s me I don’t have faith in.

She deserves the world, and I’m not sure I’m capable of giving it to her.

I’ll damn sure try, but I’m terrified I’m always going to come up short.

I shove those thoughts aside, but the only thing in this room to concentrate on is the relentless tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall. Staring at that long, thin, red hand seems to make it move slower. I break up the monotony by staring at my phone, willing Wren to reach out.

“Mr. Hale?” a young nurse asks from the doorway.

She’s carrying a metal clipboard, but I think she’s using it as more of a shield than for information. I know I can be a bit, uhm, let’s say intimidating, but I didn’t realize that I terrified people I haven’t even spoken to.

It occurs to me that I’m scowling from all the shit that’s gone down today, and probably not presenting the most welcoming demeanor. I try to soften my expressions, but for me, that means I try to stop glaring at everything like I want to commit violence.

“Th—the doctor is ready. Let me show you back to exam four,” she stammers.

“I don’t bite you know,” I tell her.

“Yes, he does,” I hear a familiar voice rasp behind me.

I close my eyes for a second, and a feeling of warmth spreads from my chest to the rest of my body. This must be what peace feels like.

“Baby Bird,” I say, and turn around.

There’s an apologetic look on her face, but my girl has nothing to be sorry for. I hold my arm out, and she takes my hand without hesitation.

We follow the nurse down a long hallway.

It’s cold and sterile, but at least this hospital is more modern than the sad excuse for an emergency room in Harriston.

There, the walls are still a mustard yellow that most hospitals have changed in favor of more soothing colors.

The fluorescent lights always seem to be on their way out.

They flicker just enough to be annoying, but apparently not enough for the people who run the hospital to bother changing.

An older gentleman in a white lab coat is in the room we’re shown into. Natalie is still small enough that they have her in one of those clear bassinets they use in the nursery.

His eyes fall on Wren’s very pregnant belly, then back at Natalie. I can tell he’s trying to do what he thought was going to be a simple math problem and found a complex equation instead. Still looking confused, he picks up the chart and flips through some pages.

“Natalie is your—” he trails off, leaving me to fill in the information he is missing.

“Granddaughter. And yes, since I can tell you are wondering, this is my wife, and our baby is due in a couple of months. So, if I’ve satisfied all of your curiosity, can you let me know how Natalie is doing?”

Before he answers, the social worker from earlier enters the room. In her hand is a thick packet of paperwork. She doesn’t say anything, so the doctor finally begins.

“Natalie is doing very well. She was a little dehydrated, and her skin was irritated from sitting in a dirty diaper for a few hours, but she will be better by tomorrow. Physically, at least. Babies can be fussy after being abandoned like she has been. I’m signing off on her release.

Ms. Palmer here will guide you through the legal things to take her home. ”

Wren’s hand clenches mine harder. I know this isn’t what she wants.

I don’t want it either. I love my granddaughter already, but she should be with her parents.

Hell, she should have two competent adults for parents instead of the fuckup I raised and the slut who chose her best friend’s husband over a lifetime of friendship, but as I’ve been taught frequently, life isn’t fair.

Ms. Palmer reminds me of my ninth-grade biology teacher.

Harriston is a jeans and blue collar kind of town, and yet my teacher always came in wearing a blazer, dress shirt buttoned to the neck, and a skirt that fell somewhere mid-calf.

Even at the start of the year, when the inside of the school was as hot as a sauna and smelled like the boys’ locker room after practice, she still wore the same clothes.

This woman might have dress slacks instead of a boxy skirt, but she’s still way overdressed for a town that sports more denim than tweed.

I can also tell she’s one of those types who looks down her way too sharp nose at grease monkeys like me.

She doesn’t see a business owner when she looks at me.

Her type, judges worth by the degrees on your wall and the zeroes in your bank account.

Social workers are criminally underpaid for the work they do, but something tells me money isn’t a problem for her.

She carries herself with a confidence that only comes with the freedom of never having to worry if you’ll be able to pay all your bills and eat, or having had to choose between power and water.

Only someone who comes from money thinks wearing pearls when dealing with struggling families is a good look.

A person can be pretty and ugly at the same time it just depends on how much of their soul shines through.

I can tell she is not impressed by me. She probably thinks that she’s presenting a professional demeanor, but I didn’t miss the way her nose crinkled when she saw the state of my hands.

I usually do a good job cleaning the grease out of my nails, but I had to check a few things on my truck before we left home this morning.

Her eyes bounce between Wren and me, and I can tell she’s also doing math.

I know I look good for a man in his early forties.

I could probably pass for several years younger due to a life of no smoking and only drinking occasionally, and even then only in moderation.

I have a few crows’ feet, and there’s a bit of silver starting to sprout up at my temples, but thanks to having a physically demanding job, I’m far from looking like a fragile old man.

However, I do not look like a man in his mid-twenties.

Wren turned twenty-four a couple of months ago, but people often mistake her for younger. I know we don’t look like we fit.

Ms. Palmer clears her throat and clicks her pen, ready to fill out her precious paperwork. “Are you married, Mr. Hale?”

Unlike her, I’m making no effort to control my expressions. My face is practically shouting, at least until Wren subtly elbows me in the side. “Yes, I’m married.”

She makes a noise that sounds like she’s both clearing her throat and judging me at the same time. It’s not a full, “Ahem,” but it carries the same judgmental tone. “And will your wife be joining you and your daughter here?”

Her pen is poised over the paper, eyes wide open and blinking. Not for a second do I believe she thinks I’ve been holding hands with my adult, pregnant daughter. But asking that question allowed her to speak her mind.

My Baby Bird has a spine of steel, though, and she never seems to let the opinions of others bring her down. Her shoulders roll back, and her chin tips up. “I am his wife.”

Ms. Palmer’s mouth gapes open and closed over and over. “Well, I have to be honest and tell you I’m concerned. You are clearly much younger than Mr. Hale. When did you two meet? I need to make sure there wasn’t any predatory behavior before I place a child in your custody.”

“In a town the size of Harriston, everyone knows everyone, at least on the surface. When I met her the first time isn’t as important as when we got together. And to answer what I’m sure is your next question, that was almost a year ago.”

There’s a knock on the door frame, and Hattie pokes her head in. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, fucking fantastic. Apparently, I might be a predator,” I snap. See, sometimes I have a tendency to let my mouth run when I shouldn’t.

Hattie winces. “How did she find out you used to be married to his son?” she points her question to Wren.

Wren’s green eyes open wide, and she’s subtly shaking her head, but the damage is done.

Ms. Palmer sets her pen down on top of the stack of papers. “I’m shocked. I don’t see how I can place an innocent baby in a home with an incestuous family.”