This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2) (26 page)

Shrugging, I take note that the searing ache in my chest has lessened thanks to a healthy dose of pain meds upon my being admitted again. “It was nothing.”

And that is a lie. Baylee is everything.

“War. Be frank with me. Give me the gory details.”

Jerking my gaze back to Dr. Daniels, I sigh. “I had a nightmare earlier. There was blood. Everywhere.”

He smiles which immediately causes me to frown. “On your girlfriend?”

“Fiancée and mother of my child,” I correct, scrubbing my jawline with my fingertips and level my gaze at him. “But then, when I felt those old demons closing in on me, I focused on
her
. Baylee’s always been my savior—my light in the maddening darkness. I’m going to be a father now. Getting well isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about my family.”

He nods and sits on the foot of my bed. I don’t jerk away from him. I don’t wonder about what he had to eat today or whether or not he washed his hands after he used the restroom. Instead, I want to know how he’ll
help
me. How he’ll
fix
me.

“Do you love her?”

I glare at him as if he’s the one losing his mind, not me. “Of course I fucking love her. She’s everything to me.”

“Good. Then you’re going to need to get yourself better for her. I just visited with your fiancée before I came to see you. She’s going to need your light, Warren.”

My heart rate quickens and I furrow my brows together in question. “Do you think I can be her light? Even though I can’t seem to stop these thoughts every time I close my eyes?”

“Of course I do. And you know this too.”

I
do
know this.

A rush of relieved breath escapes me as I feel my shoulders relax.

“Those thoughts,” he assures me, “will eventually fade.” He breaks eye contact and pats my shin. “You were getting better, weren’t you? I’ve read your history and talked with your father,” he says and lifts his gaze to regard me. “Miss Winston was helping you, right?”

I nod without hesitation. “She cures me, Doc.”

He smiles. “She’s definitely been instrumental. With my help, I think we can continue to get you on a path to a healthier life. You’ve already come leaps and bounds. With some talk therapy on a weekly basis and the proper dosage of anti-anxiety medication, you can live a normal life, War. I know you want that for yourself.”

“I want this for
her
,” I tell him with conviction.

I cringe at the idea of spilling all my problems to this guy. But then again, he doesn’t seem judgmental. He actually seems like he wants to help me.

“The medications I’ve taken in the past seem to mess my head up even more though,” I admit and pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off a headache that’s forming. “I want my head clear for her.”

He knits his brows together in a thoughtful manner and nods. “I agree. In the past you weren’t getting the proper help you needed. But that’s why we’ll work through this together. This has to be a team effort, War. I don’t need you seeing me as the bad guy. I was just in there with Miss Winston, and she needs you. She needs for you to be the strong one. That poor girl has been through so much. I believe you can do what it takes to get better for you and your family. We can talk about whatever bothers you and we can get you on a medicated regime that actually works. What do you say?”

I close my eyes and try to imagine a life where I walk through a store, hand in hand with Baylee, as we shop for baby furniture and then eat at a restaurant overlooking the ocean. One where I’m not continually assaulted with what ifs, gory imageries, and microbes by the millions. The idea is so fantastical, so out there, that I actually laugh. When I open my eyes, Dr. Daniels isn’t amused. But he’s not annoyed either. He’s calm and simply waiting for my answer. With a sigh, I tell him the only answer that matters now that Baylee is a part of my dark, twisted world.

“Yeah, of course. Help me get this sick shit out of my head.”

A week of psychotherapies and medicinal cocktails for my mental health, and pulmonary therapies for my physical health, and I’m finally ready to go home. And boy am I ready to get back to reality. A few days ago, Dad took Baylee back to Oakland for her father’s proper burial beside her mother. Stark, as promised, has had uniforms following them around just in case Gabe tries to show back up.

Fortunately for us, he hasn’t. The medical examiner claims that Gabe’s blood loss would have been too much to survive without receiving immediate medical attention. And since the blood trailed all the way to the ocean, they’re convinced that he likely drowned.

I’m glad the fucker’s survival rate wasn’t viable after what Baylee did to him. It was a small price to pay for all the heartache and pain he put her through. She still won’t speak of what he did to her after I was shot. Nor do I press her. My Baylee’s different. Vacant and quiet. She forces smiles for Dad and me, but as soon as no one’s watching, she’s back to picking lint off her pants or gnawing on her fingernails.

She’s stressed the fuck out.

I can see the worry in her eyes. That he’ll show back up and take her again. I wish I could find a way to make her relax and trust that he got what he deserved.

Once we’re back home, together, I’ll find a way to bring her back to me.

I’m not giving up on her now. Not after everything.

“You all ready?” Nurse Cathy questions when she comes into the room pushing a wheelchair. Baylee trails in behind her with her arms folded across her chest. I wish she would come over to me and crawl into my bed. I crave to press my lips to hers and kiss away all her worries. Unfortunately, she doesn’t show me her familiar spark and I don’t push to see it. Not yet. So instead, I press gently whenever and wherever I can. Eventually, I’ll push through the wall she’s forming around herself. I’ll get to her like she got to me.

We’ll fix this.

“I’m ready for things to go back to normal,” I tell the nurse but my gaze drifts to Baylee. She fidgets uncomfortably in her chair but doesn’t make eye contact. My heart squeezes in my chest. Each day, the distance between us grows wider and wider. I’m afraid any farther and she’ll disconnect from me altogether. I’ll die before I let that happen. When we get back to the house, things
will
fall back into place like they once were.

My head is clearer with the newest concoction of antidepressants and anxiety meds. The blood and germs and toxins are dulled in my mind and my skin no longer crawls when people come too close. I can’t help the way my mind obsesses over exactness, though. Perfection. Details. It’s as if my OCD has worsened in some ways. I knew it was getting bad when I tried to count each tiny square between the woven threads that the hospital blanket was made up of. Dr. Daniels told me he was seeing progress on my end though, and I wasn’t going to ask for another medication to thrust me into oblivion.

Once I’m settled in the wheelchair and Baylee stands to follow, she reaches a hand out to me. The movement is subtle, her hand barely coming forward. But it’s something. It’s everything. A spark.

Without hesitation, I snatch her hand and bring it to my lips. Hope twinkles briefly in her eyes before she breaks our gaze.

One tiny spark at a time is all I’m asking for. Soon, our love will be back to blazing and consuming everything in our path. I’ll feed the flames. I will torch the past. All for her.

Hang in there, Bay.

I’m going to make you all better.

I
T’S BEEN OVER
a month since we’ve been home.

At night, after War’s breaths even out, I cry myself to sleep.

Even with Land and War around me all the time, I’m alone.

Even with our love child growing inside of me, I’m drifting.

Dad’s gone.

Mom’s gone.

Brandon’s gone.

And Gabe is somewhere.

It’s not that I’m really even afraid of him. If he were alive, he’d have come back for me already. Stark promises they’ve cased every hospital in the state and not a word on his arrival or anyone matching the description of his injures.
He’s dead
, she swears.

I want to believe her.

Maybe rationally I do.

But sometimes, late at night as I cry in bed, I can almost feel his presence. The devil warms me and I drift off to sleep, weak and exhausted.

I hate the things he did to me.

Yet, my heart aches from missing him in the same way I miss Brandon, Mom, and Dad.

It’s stupid and bordering on crazy, but it’s the way I feel. How I could miss both a monster and a dragon? How I could miss a father who would sell his daughter to save his wife?

Since we’ve been home, War spends an ungodly amount of time holed away in his office. He’s obsessing. He’s scouring the Internet for clues and leads. Anything to point them in the direction of the WCT and people who were involved. Stark had gotten a judge to approve a warrant for Forrester Whitehead’s office and home. They turned both places upside down looking for evidence but he was good. ‘Ol Buck and his wife knew how to leave absolutely no trails back to their affluent clientele. And as for Edgar Finn, turns out it isn’t so easy to get into the finance mogul’s home without reasonable cause. Apparently my testimony isn’t enough, without some sort of substantial evidence.

So for a month now, War has done what Stark has asked him to. He’s been trying to hack into both Mrs. Whitehead’s and Edgar Finn’s financial information. War is good at what he does but they’re just better at hiding their trails.

“How’s my grandbaby?”

Land’s voice sends a jolt of warmth through my heart, thawing out the frozen, black parts of it. I roll over in bed and see him smiling in the doorway of War’s room. He, like me though, wears a false smile. And me, like him, pretends as well. I plaster on a fake grin. “Your grandbaby makes me sleepy.”

It’s the truth. Sort of.

I’m pretty sure losing all of your loved ones will make you depressed and that will make you sleepy, but I let him think happier thoughts.

Unborn babies make their pregnant mothers tired.

Of course.

“You’ve been in bed all day,” he says softly, his smile falling. “Maybe we should take you in to the doctor. See about switching out your prenatal vitamins or something. Have you made an appointment with the therapist Dr. Daniels suggested?”

The concern written all over his face reminds me of when I’d be sick and my dad would take care of me. Mom was great about making me homemade chicken noodle soup or buying me new books to read to keep my mind off being ill. Always trying to find a way to make me better. But Dad? Dad would hold me and just let me be his baby for however long it took to get well.

Tears streak down the side of my face and soak the pillow I’m laying on. The ache in my chest hurts more than normal and I try to swallow down the emotion that seems to have seized my throat.

“I miss my mom and dad,” I choke out with a sob. I’m embarrassed that I sound like I’m twelve years old again, needing my daddy to make it all better. But that’s exactly how I feel. Young. Alone. And scared of the outside world.

Wordlessly, Land rounds the bed and climbs in next to me. He wraps a warm arm around my middle and hugs me to him.

“I’m so sorry, Baylee,” he says, his own voice thick with emotion. “I wish I could take it all away.”

When I start to cry, he follows in behind me, his deep sobs in melody with my higher pitched ones. Together we cry for those life took from us. I know he hurts for his wife and daughter. I’m bleeding over my parents. And together our hearts sometimes ache over War. The sweet, broken man whose afflictions occasionally steal him away from us.

In our own way, we lean on each other.

We lie like that for some time. Land’s fatherly presence reminds me of my own and it comforts me.

“I’ll never replace your dad,” he says softly, “but I’ll protect and love you like you are my daughter. When that boy gets stuck inside his head from time to time, I’ll be there for you.”

I swallow down the tears. War has been great. Determined to bring down the WCT during the day but still attentive to my emotional needs at night. He makes sure I eat, hovers when I’m not wearing my fake smile, and crushes me with his warm embraces. We’ve yet to make love again and I have my reasons. War wants in desperately. But it’s me who’s stuck inside
her
head. It’s me who can’t let go of the past several months. It’s me who pushes him out when I crave him more than anything.