Coming Clean Read Free

son.”
    The most unbelievable wave of pure warmth and joy spread through every fiber of my being. A son. I had a son. The smile that bolted up my cheeks made my face instantly go numb.
    I had a son….
    But something was wrong. You could sense it with how quiet the room grew as the staff huddled around some sort of contraption where they had placed my little man. I couldn’t see anything. There were too many people. And my throat had shrunk down to the size of a grain of sand, allowing only a wheeze to escape as I stood frozen, unable to breathe.
    “What’s going on?” Cassidy sobbed, trying to lift her head. The anesthesiologist bent down and tried to console her. Something I should have been doing. But I knew if I turned to her—looked at her—I would lose it.
    “Shaw, why isn’t he crying?”
    God, please let everything be all right. Please cry, little man.
    I have never been a religious man. But in that moment, I prayed. Hard. I would have begged and bartered my own soul with the devil himself. Every second that passed without a sound from that corner felt like a thousand minutes. A million lifetimes.
    Muddled voices giving explanations I couldn’t comprehend bounced around my head. I was drowning. Again.
    “Shaw…stay with me.” The feminine, docile tone pulled at me, as I struggled to keep my head above water. Blindly, I reached out and felt Cassidy’s cold fingers grasp my own. Her touch grounded me and gave me the strength I needed.
    Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the most wonderful earsplitting wail filled the operating room.
    I collapsed back on the stool like a stone and let loose a long, shaky breath. “He’s okay.” I squeezed her hand and tried to squelch the lingering fear under my skin. “I mean, he’s truly okay? Right?” I asked for confirmation from the doctor, who I couldn’t see behind the drape. My palm was sweaty but I refused to let Cassidy’s hand go.
    “Sounds like he has a strong set of lungs, Mr. Matthews. He just needed a minute to clear out his airway and it didn’t help that the umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck. That’s what was causing all the trouble in the labor room.”
    Really, I heard nothing past
“strong set of lungs.”
All the rest was gibberish, medical mumbo jumbo that meant nothing to me. The little bugger hadn’t stopped bawling and a niggling of doubt resurfaced. “All that crying is good, right? He’s not in any pain, is he?”
    One of the nurses—hell, it was hard to tell with all the blue scrubs, masks, and awful head covers in the place—approached the bed. In her arms was a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle. She arranged the squirming wad of cotton on Cassidy’s chest. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself,” she murmured behind the mask.
    I lost the ability to move. I had no words.
    Peeking out from his warm cocoon, his pink face scrunched up in mid-cry, he was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.
    When I remained frozen and didn’t respond, the nurse chuckled and placed my arm behind my son in a protective hold before stepping away.
    “You have your legacy, Shaw. He’s beautiful.” Cassidy’s soft-spoken words had the effect of a battering ram, right in the solar plexus.
    Shaw Matthews, a rehabilitated selfish asshole extraordinaire, had a legacy. It was hard to tell which of us he looked like in his current state, but there was no denying he had his mommy’s ginger curls. A lot of them, too, which I’d been told would explain all the heartburn she’d had. And then he took a chance and slowly opened his eyes to take a glimpse at the world. Baby-blue peepers. Just like his daddy, who, incidentally, was the first sight he beheld.
    “No, he’s more than beautiful,” I told her, falling in love with the way he blinked his eyes. “He’s perfect.” My voice cracked, my face hurt from smiling nonstop, and my vision may have blurred a little with unshed tears, but I was too damn happy to give a shit.
    I