Jace

Nova hasn’t spoken one word since the news yesterday.

Not one fucking word.

I’ve tried desperately to get her to talk to me, to even look at me, but it’s like she’s comatose. She keeps sitting there, frozen on the couch, clutching her stomach like she can will the baby back to life.

My already broken heart feels shattered completely as I watch her helplessly.

I know there’s nothing I can do or say to make this better for her but I want to try—I want to try so much that my own grief is buried down so low I can barely feel it now.

“We need to go,” I say softly, lifting the duffel bag on my shoulder, full of a change of clothes and other things I thought she might need. It killed me packing the bag for her, thinking this was something we would’ve been doing closer to his due date, adding his stuff along with ours.

Nova doesn’t move. She sits there, staring straight ahead as her hand rubs her stomach, her face is void of emotion.

“Nova,” I say more sternly.

Slowly, she turns to look at me. Her brown eyes, once full of happiness and life, are now dark and void of emotion. 

She stands and heads for the door.

“Nova,” I say again, “your shoes, and you need a coat.”

Woodenly, she turns back around and slips her feet into a pair of boots and grabs her coat.

I press my hand to her back, leading her out and she flinches away from my touch. That one reaction is like jabbing a knife into my heart and twisting it. The girl I love doesn’t even want me to touch her.

Yesterday, when we came home, she went straight to bed, fully clothed, and didn’t move. I don’t think she even cried, if she did I didn’t hear her, but it was like she had to shut herself out from the world.

As much as I didn’t want to, I took the time to call our friends to tell them what happened. They were as shocked as we were—are—and Thea sobbed when I told her. I felt like crying with her, but after leaving the doctor’s office my tears had dried up for the moment.

We get in my truck and I drive to the hospital. Nova looks out the passenger window, her reflection showing the complete blankness that has become all too familiar in the past twenty-four hours.

It’s like her soul has been sucked from her body and a shell has been left behind.

I park at the hospital and shut the truck off, sitting there for a moment.

“Nova,” I plead softly and she reluctantly turns my way after a moment. “I love you.” I don’t know why, but I need her to hear it, to understand I truly do love her, and nothing, not even this, could ever change that.

Her face changes, gone is the blankness and in its place is pure anger. At least it’s better than the nothingness of before.

“How? How could you love me when I don’t even love myself? How could you love me when my body failed us? Failed him?”

If there was any bit of my heart left to break, it would have.

“This isn’t your fault, Nova.”

“Yes, it is,” she snaps. “Something went wrong in my body and it’s my fault.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know that. Any number of things could have gone wrong. These things just happen.”

“Shut up!” she screams so loud I wince. “You sound like my doctor.”

“Because it’s true.”

“No, it’s not. You know what is true? It’s that I’m worthless.”

Before I can respond, she’s fleeing the truck and slamming the door behind her.

I can feel her slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to prevent myself from losing her forever.

Nova grips the railing of the hospital bed and grimaces in pain.

She refuses to get an epidural, wanting to force herself to feel the pain I guess, and she also refuses to hold my hand. Her distance is as unnerving as it is frightening. We’ve been through so much together. I don’t want to start fighting our battles alone, especially when it’s the same battle. We need each other now more than ever but she can’t see that. It’s like she thinks by punishing herself, she can relieve some of the pain. But she’s wrong, all she’s doing is hurting us both.

I wet a cool cloth and press it to her forehead. Her eyes are squished closed and she pants. 

“You’re doing great,” I tell her.

“Ahhh,” she moans in pain.

I wish she’d get the fucking epidural, because seeing her in pain like this is slowly killing me. 

I bend and press my lips to the top of her head. “You’re amazing,” I murmur. “You’ve got this.”

She begins to cry. “Make it stop. Make it go away.”

“Fuck, I wish I could, Little Star.”

I would do anything for her if I could. I hate this is one thing I can’t.

Panting, she reaches out for my hand and my heart lurches at her acceptance. She’s been in labor for three hours and not once wanted to hold my hand, and if I tried, she pushed me away.

I gladly give her my hand, not even caring she’s squeezing the life out of it.

The door opens and our nurse breezes in. “How’s it going in here?”

“How’s it look like?” Nova slurs through clenched teeth, fighting another contraction. They’re insanely close together now. I don’t know how her body can handle it. Women are powerful immortal creatures, I’m sure of it.

The nurse checks Nova and steps back with a satisfied smile. “It’s time to get the doctor. You’re ready to push.”

Nova begins to cry. “I can’t do this.” She looks up at me with scared eyes. “This means it’s over.”

“Oh, Nova,” I breathe, brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead. “He’ll always be with us.”

“This isn’t fair,” she sobs. “What am I being punished for? Is it for abandoning my parents?”

“God, no.” I glide my finger down her cheek, her skin is smooth but damp. “Neither of us did anything to deserve this. Life had other plans for us, I guess.”

“Life can kiss my ass.”

I chuckle. There’s my girl.

“We’re going to get through this, I promise.”

She looks up at me and her lower lip trembles. “I wish you were right.”

Before I can ask her what she means, the doctor is in the room, pulling on gloves and sitting down.

I’m directed to hold one of Nova’s legs while the nurse holds the other.

“You can do this,” I tell Nova. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

She begins pushing and it isn’t long until the baby is out.

That precious cry you wait desperately to hear isn’t there and it isn’t coming. There’s solemnness in the air and it creates a heaviness, like the whole world is pressing upon our shoulders.

The doctor places the baby on Nova’s chest and she begins to cry harder than before. She touches him hesitantly, like she’s afraid to break him, though it would make no difference. He’s small, so small. He could fit in the palm of my hand, I’m sure of it. He has a smattering of dark hair, that I’m sure would’ve only grown more plentiful if he’d made it to full term. His fingers and toes are all there and tiny and completely perfect. Their nails already formed. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted. If I wanted, I could pretend he’s sleeping.

I didn’t realize it, but tears are streaming down my face.

I let go of Nova’s leg and lean against her, our heads bowed together as we look down at our son.

Tiny and perfect and ours.

Ours to protect.

Ours to cherish.

And now, ours to mourn.

The doctor lets me cut the umbilical cord and then takes the baby to clean him up. Nova protests, crying harder, and I’m sure she’s having flashbacks to Greyson being taken from her. This has to be much worse.

Beckett’s been taken forever.

I grab a tissue and dry her face of tears. She turns her red-rimmed eyes to mine.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m such a failure. I’m so—”

I press my lips to hers, silencing her apologies, but her lips are frozen beneath mine. When I pull away, confused, she turns her head in the other direction avoiding me.

Slipping.

Slipping.

Slipping.

No matter how hard I grip, I’m losing her.

Beckett is clean and wrapped in one of those blankets with the blue and white stripes with a little hat on his head. It barely fits and keeps slipping off. Nova clenches him close to her chest, her tears never ceasing. I don’t think mine have either, but I’m not aware of them.

The door cracks open and I see our friends, waiting hesitantly to be invited. I wave them inside.

Nova doesn’t look up or say anything to them, not that I expected her to.

I clear my throat. “Meet our son, Beckett.”

“He’s so small,” Thea whispers, creeping closer. “He looks like a little doll.”

“He’s perfect.”

Rae comes to my side and holds up her camera. “I thought you guys might want some pictures?” She frames it as a question.

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” I whisper, “but yes, we’d love some.”

Rae gives a small smile and nods.

Cade takes her place as she goes to take pictures of Nova and Beckett on the other side of the bed.

Cade claps my shoulder. “I know this doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry, man.”

“Thanks.” I give him a forced smile.

Xander stays a way back, his eyes flicking from the baby to Thea, and I know what he’s thinking.

What if this was them?

I lean against the bed beside Nova, trying to get closer to her and Beckett. I’m surprised when she scoots over, making room for me in the bed.

I climb into the bed beside her, leaning against her. I reach my hand out, touching Beckett’s cheek. In the back of my mind I hear the click of Rae’s camera.

“He’s perfect,” Nova whispers. 

I find one of his hands, touching his small fingers. His body is cool, the warmth from Nova’s long gone, but he still looks as if he’s sleeping.

“He has your lips,” Nova whispers.

I smile at her, though she’s not looking. “And your nose,” I add.

Nova brings him closer and presses her lips to his forehead. “I love you so much,” she whispers softly. I would think I’d imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that I watch her lips move.

“Can I hold him?” I ask.

She looks up at me with wary eyes, not wanting to let him go, but finally hands him over.

Like I thought, he’s small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. The doctor weighed him and he came in at a little over three pounds so he’s tiny.

He smells like a baby—sweet and slightly powdery. Everything about him is small, and like Nova said, perfect. It doesn’t seem right he’s gone before we even got to meet him.

I can feel Nova getting antsy beside me so I kiss his forehead, the hat he’s wearing falling onto the bed, and reluctantly give him back. She cradles him in her arms.

I hum a song I was working on for him—a lullaby I had planned to sing to lull him to sleep.

Time passes and our friends leave.

When the door opens next, it’s the nurse.

“It’s time for us to take him.”

Nova stiffens beside me. “No, no, you can’t take him.”

She squeezes him close, like she’s willing him to sink back into her body. 

“I’m sorry, but—”

“No!” she shouts. I can feel her panic rising, thick and clogging the air. Her legs begin to thrash like she’s trying to get the blankets off and make a run for it with him.

“Nova,” I try to get her attention to talk her down. 

“Get away!” she screams at me. “You can’t take him from me! He’s mine! I’m his mother! I have to keep him safe!” She begins panting as her panic kicks in full force.

“Nova, breathe,” I plead. 

She shakes her head. “You’re on their side!”

I wince. “Never—I’m always on yours. Always.”

“He’s my baby! They can’t have them! He’s mine!”

“Nova,” I say harshly. “He’s my baby too. Do you think I want any of this?”

She sobs, holding him against her chest, his little head pressed into the crook of her neck.

“I don’t want it to be over,” she sobs. “I don’t want him to be gone.”

I reluctantly remove myself from the bed.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask the nurse, nodding toward the door.

She nods and follows me. I close the door behind us.

“Nova’s going to lose it if she has to watch you take him away. Please, give her some more time and I’ll get her to put him in the bed, and we’ll leave.”

Since Nova doesn’t have to stay overnight, she protested when the doctor brought up staying, so finally the doctor agreed she was safe to come home but to visit her tomorrow. I think this is the best course of action. She already had to watch one son be taken from her, she doesn’t need to have the same happen with another.

The nurse nods. “Okay. We can wait a bit longer, but she has to let him go eventually.”

“I know.” I clear my throat and repeat, “I know.”

The nurse gives a pitying smile and heads down the hall. I turn back into the room.

“He’s not coming back,” Nova whispers. At first I think she’s talking to the baby about me, but I quickly realize she’s telling me about the baby. “I … I thought, if I held him, and he smelled me, felt me, he’d want to come back to us.”

She keeps breaking my heart—taking a battering ram to it and smattering it to a fine dust.

“It’s silly, I know,” she continues. “But I refused to accept this was real.”

“We’re still a family,” I tell her, moving toward the bed and sitting by her feet. “He will always be a part of us even if he’s not here.”

She nods and croaks, “I know.” But the tone of her voice sounds doubtful. “We have to go, don’t we?”

I nod. “I’m sorry.”

She looks down at Beckett. “It’s okay. I knew I couldn’t hold him forever.”

“If you could, I’d let you,” I promise her.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” 

I let out a heavy breath. “You have no idea.”

She presses her lips together and looks down at Beckett, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. I hate seeing her like this and knowing I can’t fix it. A wound like this is irreparable. She nods to herself and hands him to me.

“Take him.”

I do before she can change her mind.

I cradle him for a moment, looking at him and memorizing his face.

I never want to forget it.

I place him gently in the bed and back away.

Nova gets out of the bed and starts getting dressed. Her movements are wooden, like she’s on autopilot. 

She’s shut down, I know it.

When she’s fully dressed and looks at me, my breath catches.

The look in her eyes …

I don’t know this person.

She’s a stranger.