Tracy Solheim - Foolish Games

“Roscoe!” Carly admonished her husband’s agent and best friend.

“We don’t have time for this!” Julianne’s eyes were slits in her face.” My baby needs a transfusion as soon as possible, and you’re his father.” She flung a hand at Will.

He arched an eyebrow at her, not relishing the fact that he wasn’t enjoying her discomfort more. “Not until the lab says so.”

“Will!” Carly turned her censure onto him.

Julianne shrugged out of Carly’s embrace and stepped to within inches of Will. His body’s visceral reaction annoyed him. “Of course you’re his father! My God! If I were going to make up an imaginary father for my son, do you think I would pick you?” She finished up with a few mumblings in Italian.

“Julianne!” Carly was practically calling roll in their little drama.

Will absorbed the pain of her words and internalized them without flinching. Of course she thought he wasn’t good enough. No one ever thought Will Connelly was good enough for anything. No matter how he tried to improve himself, he’d still be the poor, fatherless kid from the trailer park whose mother drove a school bus and cleaned houses for a living. But this woman had another thing coming if she thought she could walk all over him. Nobody did that anymore.

“Perhaps we’d best take this discussion inside.” An urbane-looking black man appeared at Will’s shoulder, carrying an armful of coffee and scones. His British accent made the statement sound like a question. The expression on his face, however, made it clear it was not.

“Sebastian’s right.” The senator herded their party behind the curtain. “Let’s take this to a more private location if that’s even possible.” He pulled his sister down beside him on the small sofa. Hank Osbourne offered a chair to Carly before taking another for himself. Roscoe turned one of the remaining chairs around and sat straddling it, his arms draped over the back. The Brit, Sebastian, offered the final chair to Will, but he declined. Instead, he propped a shoulder against the wall closest to the curtain and tucked his hands beneath his armpits in a defensive position. Mr. Clem stood, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

Sebastian handed Julianne a paper coffee cup before opening a box of scones and placing it on the table. Steam rose from his own cup as he pulled the lid off and took a sip.

“Ahh. Everything looks better after a bracing swallow of tea.” His tone dripped with civility, though his eyes were anything but civil as they met Will’s. “Now, what’s this I heard about you not believing you’re Owen’s father?”

Will twitched slightly. The boy had a name. Owen. He remained silent as the Brit took another sip of tea.

“Of course, you’re the boy’s father. Otherwise, why would Julianne involve you?” Sebastian’s imperious tone was beginning to grate on Will’s nerves.

“That’s exactly what I tried to tell him!” Julianne sprang from the sofa before her brother pulled her back down.

“And you”—Sebastian turned to point an accusing finger at her—“need to settle down and learn to be more gracious. I’m sure this whole situation was quite a shock to Mr. Connelly this morning. He needs time to adjust without you caterwauling at him.” He turned back to Will. “As much as I can appreciate your discomfiture, time, unfortunately, is something we don’t have right now.”

“Which is what I’ve been telling him all morning!” Mr. Clem’s shrill voice could have made a statue cringe.

Will remained motionless as he carefully dissected the scene before him. Julianne shifted on the sofa, her eyes focused on her hands in her lap. Swallowing hard, she wiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. It was costing her a great deal to have to ask for his help. She was apparently so ashamed at having Will as the father of her child that she intended to keep the baby’s paternity a secret. And that part made him furious. But was he angry enough to let an infant suffer?

“Will.” Carly’s voice startled him. He hadn’t noticed her rise from her chair to stand beside him. “I’ve known Julianne practically all my life. She may have made some irrational decisions these past few months.” Her voice hitched a little before she continued. “But she wouldn’t lie about this. Owen needs this transfusion and you’re the only one who can give it to him. I know this has been quite a shock and your pride might be a little stung right now, but you have to think of Owen first. After he’s better, then you and Julianne can work this all out.”

Before Will could respond, a nurse poked her head into the room. “Miss Marchione, Dr. Ling says you can have fifteen minutes to visit with your son now.”

Julianne was striding for the hallway before the nurse had even finished her sentence. Will followed quickly behind her. He hadn’t intended to move at all, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. They entered a small anteroom just outside the NICU suite. Julianne was hurriedly dressing herself in a yellow paper gown and booties. She moved to wash her hands and hesitated as she noticed him behind her. Turning quickly so he wasn’t able to read her eyes, she handed him a gown and some booties. “See if you can make these fit.”

The gown she wore swallowed up her petite body, while he was forced to remove his suit jacket so his wouldn’t split down the back. She sat on the bench and slipped booties over her tiny ballet flats. Will’s booties barely stretched over his loafers, but at least he was able to leave his shoes on.

“You need to soap up thoroughly,” she said, demonstrating at the sink, “and rinse for a full sixty seconds.”

She waited quietly while Will sanitized his hands. They both then proceeded into the NICU, the door hissing as it sealed shut behind them. The suite was quieter than Will expected, the monitors more muted than out by the nurse’s station. Instead, James Taylor sang a lullaby softly over the intercom. Will’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the low lighting as Julianne quickly made her way through the maze of incubators to one in the far corner. He followed closely, realizing he didn’t even know which of the infants belonged to her.

A woman dressed in hospital scrubs adorned with bears scooped up a baby, expertly wrapping him in a warm blanket so that the tubes and cords he was still hooked up to wouldn’t get tangled. Julianne took the baby from her, a serene smile enveloping her face. Curious now, he stepped nearer to get a better glimpse. Would he even look like Will?

It took a moment for Julianne to register that Will was still with her. When she did, her eyes flared briefly with fear before guilt took its place. She chewed on her bottom lip as she gathered Owen closer to her, a mother instinctively protecting her child. But if Owen was his, she’d soon learn there would be no way to keep Will from his son. He reached over to pull the blanket away from the baby’s cheek, but Julianne quickly turned and gestured toward the glider next to the incubator.

“Sit,” she commanded, surprising the hell out of him.

Not wanting her to change her mind, he squeezed his large frame into the chair. She hesitated a moment before slowly lowering the baby into his arms. Grasping his left hand, she showed him how to cradle the baby’s neck. Will’s breath hitched as he looked into the face of the small bundle in his hands. Owen wasn’t much bigger than a football, swaddled as tightly as he was in the blanket. The silly cap on his head covered up what little hair he had. Will was surprised to see it was blond, like his own. All morning he’d been picturing a baby with his mother’s coloring. The baby’s eyes were closed, and disappointment flickered through Will. He wanted to see them, to see into them.

Julianne crouched down in front of the pair, pain etched on her face as another tear slipped from her eye. “Owen,” she said softly. “This is your daddy. He’s come to make you better.”

Will’s heart nearly stopped when, at the sound of her voice, Owen squinted with one blue eye as he worked a hand free of the blanket to give a pump of his right fist, before he worked the hand to his mouth. At that moment, Will knew there would be no more waiting on a paternity test. He prayed his blood would be a compatible match because he’d give this baby every drop of blood in his body to see him survive.

Owen was his son. He’d figure out what to do about Julianne later. For now, getting his baby well was the top priority.

The procedure took less than six hours. Without hesitation, Will neatly rolled up his shirt sleeve and stretched out on a gurney in a sterile room beside the NICU. Casually crossing his ankles, he didn’t even flinch when the nurse inserted a needle into his arm. Restless, Julianne had paced the room while Will stoically watched the blood flow from his body into the collection bag. Twice Julianne attempted to speak to him, but both times he’d held up a large paw to silence her. He’d been doing that all day, much to Julianne’s aggravation.

Not that he didn’t have every right to be angry with her, he did. But Julianne was a talker. The anxiety she felt for Owen made her more chatty than usual. If she could just clear the air with Will rather than be subjected to the silent treatment, she’d feel better. Less guilty. She’d explain everything. Well, maybe not everything. Because if she explained everything, she’d have to say she was sorry. And even though she was very sorry, she wasn’t about to give him more power over her and Owen. Instead, she bit her lip. It was better than staring at the palm of his hand in her face.

When they’d extracted and processed what looked to Julianne like a ridiculously large amount of blood, the nurse brought Owen and his incubator into the room. Unlike his father, the baby was not as easygoing during the transfusion process. Owen howled as Dr. Ling and the nurses poked his tiny arms and feet with needles. Julianne stood to the side, tears streaming down her face, wishing she could somehow absorb her son’s pain. It was only after the procedure was over that she realized Will stood beside her the entire time, his annoyingly patronizing hand rubbing her back as she cried.

All that was left now was the waiting. Dr. Ling had explained that it would take a couple of hours before she knew if Owen’s body would accept the antibodies in Will’s blood, but the doctor was optimistic the procedure would be successful. In nearly all cases, one of the parents’ blood proteins was a match. Julianne felt that familiar stab of pain that her blood hadn’t been good enough to save her child. Once again, she’d had to rely on someone else.

She’d lost all track of actual time. The last shift change was several hours ago, so she assumed it was late evening, although it was hard to tell inside the hospital. Sebastian was at dinner with friends. Carly had left, too. She’d gone home to her new family. The knife twisted in Julianne’s gut again. Owen was supposed to be her family. And if the blood disorder didn’t take him from her, the behemoth pretending to sleep on the sofa would certainly try.

She glanced over at Will stretched out on the love seat, his long legs protruding into the center of the room. Either he was a very heavy sleeper or the champ at playing possum because he hadn’t so much as moved since he’d closed his eyes an hour ago. Both hands lay across his midsection, and his muscled abdomen rose slightly as he breathed. He looked less forbidding with his eyes closed, his long lashes resting against his cheeks. In this state, he seemed almost approachable. More human. When he was awake, Will resembled a Norse god, his intense eyes, square jaw, and massive shoulders intimidating. All that was missing was the horned helmet.

His jacket and tie lay folded neatly on the back of one of the chairs. Childishly, she wanted to walk over and rumple them up to see how he’d react. He’d been annoyingly cool and unflappable all day, in complete control as if he’d come from his Viking ship to rescue her. Except he hadn’t come to save her; he’d come for their son. Given the opportunity, she figured he’d toss her overboard without a backward glance.

Dr. Ling pushed through the curtain, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the tile floor. Will’s eyes shot open.

“Good news!” Dr. Ling smiled widely at them both. “Owen’s body is thriving with the new blood cells. In fact, he’s even generating blood proteins of his own already, which tells us he’s going to make a complete recovery.”

Julianne’s hands were shaking as she pressed a finger to the cross beneath her shirt and whispered a prayer. Tears were streaming down her face as she reached out and hugged Dr. Ling. “Thank you! Thank you so much for saving Owen.”