“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.
Four
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.