If it’s in the cards.
My heart stumbles in my chest. The memory flickers and dies in seconds. One I can’t place, can’t remember, and yet somehow know it means something. And I don’t give it a second thought when the nurse holds him out to me, wrapped tightly in a blanket.
I freeze. Like arctic-chill freeze because all of the sudden I’m afraid I’m going to hurt him. Thank fuck the nurse sees my reaction because she shows me how to hold him and then places him in my arms.
And then he looks up. And this time I freeze for a completely different reason.
I’m mesmerized, lost, and found again. By bright blue eyes, little lips, and a soft cry. By dark hair and perfect ears. By his untouched innocence, unconditional trust, and love: all three given without asking the first time I look into his eyes.
I go to speak. To reassure my son I won’t let him down. I open my mouth. I close it. I can’t lie to him right off the bat. Can’t tell him that when I know I’m going to screw up sometimes.
But I sure as fuck am going to do everything in my power to be what he needs.
PINCH ME.
This can’t be real. This beautiful baby boy in my arms can’t possibly be mine.
But if this is a dream it’s so incredibly real I never want to wake from it. Sure my body is exhausted, and despite my legs still being slightly numb, I ache all over the place. But the one ache I don’t think will ever go away is the one in my chest from my heart overflowing with love.
I can’t stop looking at him as he sleeps soundly against my chest. The nurses suggested putting him in his bassinet but I can’t bear to part with him just yet. I’ve waited way too long for this moment. I’m fixated on every single thing about him and can’t get over how much he looks like what I think Colton would have looked like as a baby.
When I look across the dimly lit room toward Colton, his phone is up and he is taking another picture in an endless line of photos of us. It’s adorable how he wants to document every moment. His need for his son to have tangible memories of being a baby since he has absolutely none is both moving and bittersweet.
I smile softly as the flash goes off and then raise my eyebrows and wait for him to lower the phone. When he does, our gazes meet, and there’s the slightest flicker of something I can’t quite read. He blinks it away as quickly as it comes and grants me an exhausted smile in exchange.
“Is he sleeping?” he asks, leaning forward so he can see for himself.
“No. Do you want to hold him?” I ask, knowing damn well I don’t want to give him up, and yet also feel I’ve been hogging him. It’s only been two hours since we moved into the maternity suite and between trying to get the baby to latch on and the nurses coming in and out constantly, Colton hasn’t had another chance to hold him.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Leave him be.” He stands and comes to sit on the edge of my bed and leans forward to press a gentle kiss to our son’s head before granting me one as well. Our lips linger momentarily before he leans back, a large sigh falling as he shakes his head again. I get it though, because I keep shaking mine too, trying to wrap my head around the fact the one thing I never thought I’d ever get to experience has just happened.
And I was able to share it with him.
“Well, I guess I can’t stall any longer on the name thing unless we want to make BIRT the official one on the birth certificate.”
“No,” I whisper, harshly contradicting the smile on my lips. “So we’re really going to say our first choice at the same time and go that route?” The whole idea makes me nervous. And I hate that such a lasting, important decision is going to be made on the fly.
“Yep. Perfect plan.”
“No.” He’s going to give me hives if he keeps this up. And he knows it. I can see it in the little smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes. Damn, Donavan.
“Or we could just call him Ace Thomas Donavan and call it a day,” he murmurs, head cocked to the side, lips pursed as he waits for my reaction. My eyes flicker down to his visitor’s badge, where the two names are spelled out, and for a moment I’m hit with utter clarity amidst the haze of drugs and fog of fatigue.
Ace Thomas.
Looking down at my sweet baby boy, I roll the name on my tongue as it repeats over and over in my mind. It’s nowhere close to the unique and trendy names I’d narrowed down on my numerous lists, and yet as I stare at his tiny fingers curled around my pinkie, I can’t believe I didn’t think of the name myself because it couldn’t be more perfect.
Those two names hold so much significance in our relationship so why not put them together? My nickname for Colton and his endless attempts to know what ACE stood for. Allowing my son to have a part of my identity by giving him my family’s last name as his middle name. Our first date at the carnival when Colton used the name as his alias and confessed he used it because he wanted me all to himself. And of course, Colton’s own definition of the acronym that fits so poignantly now: A chance encounter.
And look what we have now as a result of that chance encounter.
“Ace Thomas,” I murmur softly, liking the sound of it more and more with each passing second.
“I had other names in mind but as I was sitting watching you sleep between contractions, I couldn’t get it out of my head. It fits, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” I say hesitantly. When I look from our son to Colton and then back to our son, I know it makes absolute perfect sense. “Hey Ace,” I say to the snuggling baby in my arms. My heart skips a beat as I feel like all the stars have aligned and our little world we’ve created becomes complete.