The squall of a baby and the declaration, “It’s a boy!” flittered around Trey’s semiconscious mind. That and some strange ammonia smell just beneath his nose.
“Come on, gorgeous,” a soft feminine voice said nearby. “Open your eyes for me. The messy part is all over now.”
Trey regained full consciousness with a sudden intake of breath. He instinctively knocked the offensive smelling salts from beneath his nose and sat up.
“There, he’s back with us,” someone said from the opposite side of the room. The doctor maybe? Trey couldn’t get his eyes to focus.
“Did I pass out?” Trey asked.
“Out like a light, buddy,” Brian said from beside Myrna’s bed. He chuckled much too gleefully.
“You cannot tell anyone about this,” Trey said, struggling to climb to his feet. He leaned his back against a wall to steady himself. He hated hospitals. He’d spent far too many hours in them as a child, including one entire summer when his father had been serving his residency and his mother had decided to ride a bicycle across the country. Just the smell of a hospital made his skin crawl.
“Yeah right,” Brian said. “I’m having T-shirts made. I wanted to wait to cut the cord, but you refused to wake up in time to watch.”
Trey’s stomach did a summersault. Cut the cord? Yuck. “Sorry I missed it.” Not.
“That’s okay. I got it on film.”
“Great…” Trey ducked his head to hide his crinkled nose.
A stunning brunette dressed in pink scrubs bent down to enter Trey’s field of vision. She stroked his hair out of his face. The slim brows over her striking blue eyes drew together in concern. “Feeling better now?”
He grinned at her and she flushed. “I think I’ll live,” he said.
Her hand slid to the back of his head. “You bumped your head.” Her fingers found the scar that ran beneath his hair in a wide arch over his left ear. She traced the ridge with her index finger. “What’s this?”
Trey captured her hand in his and pulled it away from his scalp. “Old war injury.” If getting hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat during a bar fight could be considered war. That little incident had landed him in a hospital for days. Not one of his better memories. “You have really pretty eyes,” he told the nurse, still holding her hand.
Her breath caught, pupils dilated slightly as she focused on his interested gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered, lowering her lashes to hide her deep blue eyes.
Trey released her hand and she sagged against the wall. He turned his attention to the bed, glad a blue drape cloth concealed whatever the doctor was doing between Myrna’s legs. Trey was pretty sure the doc was giving Myrna stitches and he did not want to know why that was necessary.
“So where’s this baby we’ve been waiting to see for nine months now?” Trey asked.
Brian waved him over to the bed. Trey approached cautiously. Myrna looked exhausted, and he knew better than to tick her off. He was prepared to make a run for it, if necessary. Brian wrapped an arm around Trey’s shoulders and they gazed down at the bundle in Myrna’s arms. A miniature, red-faced Brian jabbed his fist in his mouth and sucked earnestly. Trey’s heart skipped a beat before melting inside his chest. Brian’s son was the most perfect thing Trey had ever seen in his entire life.
Brian scooped up the baby and handed him to Trey. Trey drew his little body against his chest and stared down at him in breathless awe.
“We named him Malcolm Trey,” Myrna said. “After Brian’s father. And, well, you.”
Trey tore his gaze from the small wonder to gape at Myrna. “Me? Why would you name him after me?”
She smiled. “It seemed appropriate to name him after the two most important men in Brian’s life.”
“We want you to be his godfather,” Brian said.
“I…” Trey was honored, but he wasn’t an appropriate godfather. He was scarcely responsible enough to take care of himself. How could they ever expect him to be responsible enough to care for their child? “I don’t think…”
The baby in his arms gurgled, and Trey looked down to find him staring up at him with unfocused brown eyes. His father’s eyes. Brian’s eyes. Brian had made this. This perfect, beautiful little person.
Brian was a father.
Trey glanced at Brian and the enormity of it all stole his breath. Brian didn’t notice Trey. He only had eyes for his son. His pride in the little guy was tangible.
Trey turned his attention to the baby in his arms. He stroked Malcolm’s cheek and then touched his tiny hand, fascinated with his tiny fingers. His tiny fingernails. Tiny knuckles. Everything so tiny. Malcolm gripped Trey’s finger with surprising strength. “You’re going to be a master guitarist like your daddy someday,” Trey told him.
Malcolm scrunched up his face and Trey laughed, totally enamored with Brian’s son. The son born from the love Brian shared with his wife, Myrna. The son Trey could have never given Brian no matter how much he loved him. Trey took a steadying breath, kissed the baby’s forehead, and handed Malcolm back to his father. “Here. I’ll probably break him or something.”
“Good-lookin’ kid, ain’t he?” Brian pressed a kiss to Malcolm’s temple.
“Of course,” Myrna said, love shining in her hazel eyes as she stared up at her husband and son. “He looks like his father.”
“He has your lips,” Brian said.
“And your hair.”
Trey chuckled. Father and son both had tufts of black hair sticking up in all directions.
“I hope he has your brains,” Brian said.
“And your talent,” Myrna added.
“He’s perfect,” Trey said, unable to resist the impulse to smooth Malcolm’s fuzzy hair with his palm. It did no good. The baby’s downy black hair immediately returned to standing on end.
“You’ll be his godfather then?” Brian asked.
Trey lifted his gaze to Brian’s. As if he could deny him anything. “Yeah. I guess so.”
Brian smiled. “I think you need to get busy, Mills—find yourself a nice girl and make Malcolm a best friend. You’re already nine months behind.”
“Ha! Like that’s ever going to happen,” Trey said flippantly, but something inside him wanted that. Wanted something he and Brian could share. Pride of their respective sons. He could almost picture Malcolm and Trey Junior playing together in the backyard, learning how to play guitar together, getting into mischief, growing. Trey Junior? What the fuck was he thinking? There would never be a Trey Junior. He didn’t even like kids. Not even cute little shits who were cursed with the name Malcolm Trey. The baby cooed and Trey melted into a puddle of mush. Okay, so there was one exception to his dislike of kids, but only one.
“I should probably leave you three alone so you can bond as a family or whatever.”
“You can stay,” Myrna said. “You’re part of our family.”
He appreciated the gesture, but Trey knew better. Things would never go back to the way they’d been before Myrna had crashed onto the scene. He’d been sulking over it long enough. It was time to finally let Brian go. As agonizing as that decision was for Trey, he’d lost all hope of Brian ever returning his feelings. Brian belonged to Myrna. Belonged with Myrna. And Malcolm. Trey had been fooling himself into thinking Brian might eventually come to think of him as more than a friend, but now he didn’t even want him to. He wanted Brian to continue to be a wonderful husband and an amazing daddy. Myrna deserved that. Malcolm deserved that. Trey couldn’t interfere with something that important. It wouldn’t be right.
“You know I hate hospitals,” Trey said. “I’m going to go see what Dare is up to. Hang out with my big bro in his McMansion until we have to head back to the tour bus. You can call me if you need me to change a diaper or something.”