Hope for Her (Hope #1) Read online

  “I rode to the hospital with her, but she was unconscious the whole time. I think they gave her something to knock her out.”

  "And the baby?"

  "I don’t know. He’s alive," Jackson said.

  "Did you see him?"

  "No. They wouldn’t tell me anything. I waited until she got out of surgery, but they told me to go home. She’ll be out of it for a while.”

  “What about her parents?”

  “They are on their way.” Jackson stood up, and I scooted up the wall and held on to balance myself. He approached me but kept his hands to his side. I was ready to take off if he put his hands on me again.

  "You need to go to the police. You need to turn yourself in. They are looking for you anyway. This is bad. It's going to be bad, but you have to do the right thing."

  Jackson stared through me. He said the right things and always played the stand-up guy, ignoring his real feelings and helping me. I shit on him and everything important to him. I took Carrington away from him. I hurt him. I needed to make this right.

  "Okay. I, umm, I need to change, and I'll go."

  "You can't go in your room. The police took the keys and told us not to let anyone in except the police. I'll get you some clothes."

  I watched Jackson walk up the stairs. When he got halfway up, I said, "Jackson, I am sorry."

  He nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

  He thought I was apologizing for what I did, but I was apologizing for what I was about to do.

  I headed straight for the front door, opened it, and ran.

  #

  From what I pieced together, I left my father's house and headed back to Tallahassee. My father's speech rocked me—to hear him say those things messed with my head. I thought that if he heard my side and understood that for the first time in my life I was taking responsibility for my actions, he would come around. I had more faith in him than he had for me.

  He told me to fix the problem, and when I left, I made up my mind to give it all up. I would cut myself off from my family before they rejected me. The name and the money fucked up my life and made me hate myself.

  I thought back to the last few months with Carrington—she and I alone in my room talking and laughing—knowing that my name and finances meant nothing. She loved me, and she loved being with me. We planned our future and our son's future together, and I fucked it up so bad. Everything was different, now.

  I studied my bruised hands. Turned them over. I couldn’t imagine hurting her with them.

  I wanted to see for myself. I shoved my hands in my pockets and continued walking.

  I avoided campus, figuring if the police were looking for me, someone on campus would recognize me. I made my way to the hospital, which sat adjacent to campus on the opposite side from fraternity row.

  I walked to the coffee shop across the street from the hospital; I checked my pockets and found a twenty. I bought a large coffee and a paper and found a seat in the back and got comfortable. I waited until it got dark before I entered the hospital.

  Four hours later, I snuck in through the emergency room doors and headed up the stairs to the nursery on the third floor.

  I found the neonatal unit and looked through the window. A nurse and a doctor stood over a tiny little brown baby with a head full of light brown hair. Their faces were emotionless, and although he appeared small, they looked down at him calm and collected, not frantic.

  My heart crept up in my throat, and I stifled a sob. It started deep in my heart and threatened to come up.

  It hit me all of a sudden that the baby lying in the incubator fighting for his life was my son. I clutched my chest again—trying to keep my heart inside of my chest where it belonged.

  A short, older lady in pale pink scrubs came out of the nursery, and I turned to walk away. She touched my arm, and I turned back around to face her. If she kicked me out or worse detained me until the cops showed up, well, I deserved it.

  "Can I help you with something?"

  "No, I—" I turned back to the window. "I've never seen a baby that small. Is he going to be okay?"

  "I know,” the nurse pouted, “too soon to tell, but he's strong."

  "What's his name?"

  "Unfortunately, his mother hasn't been able to name him."

  "Oh."

  "You okay? You look a little green."

  "No, I'm good. Just visiting a friend."

  I headed to the bank of elevators. Her footsteps slapped against the linoleum floor as she continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

  Instead of getting in the elevator, I wandered down the hall to the patient rooms. The nursery and the maternity patients resided on the same floor on opposite sides of the hospital.

  I scooted down the deserted hall, relieved the nurse's station at the end was occupied by one attendant, and her head was buried in a book.

  I found Carrington's room, opened the door, and slipped in. I stood with my back to her. I hesitated before turning around, not sure what I would find.

  When I worked up the courage to turn around, I stifled a sound, but my heart pounded as I surveyed her beaten body. She slept, but her face and her arms painted a canvas of the hell she’d been through. Her beautiful skin was covered with black and blue bruises, along her jaw as cut disappeared under a bandage on her temple. Her arms lay by her side; black bruises and scratches covered them from shoulder to her fingertips. On her right wrist, she wore a soft cast, and her left hand lay across her stomach, protecting her baby that was no longer there.

  I took one step closer but stopped when Carrington's eyes opened. I expected her to scream, try and get away, or something. Her body tensed and she held herself a little tighter and stared at me. Her eyes bored into me—daring me to do or say something.

  I wanted to look away, but thought after everything I did to her, it seemed disrespectful not to give her this opportunity to show me with her eyes what she thought of me.

  I said nothing. I backed up into the door, opened it, and left the same way I came. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

  She hated me—but not as much as I hated myself.

  I walked away from the hospital, not sure where to go, but I needed more time to figure out what happened over the last four days. I headed back over to Candace's place because there was no one else left for me to trust.

  I found her apartment and knocked.

  "Hey Joshie," she said. She answered the door in the same robe I left her in this morning.

  "Hey Candace, listen, do you know if my car is over at Dano's?" I asked.

  "Yeah, we left it there last night. You need a ride?" she asked.

  "Please, I need to get my car," I said.

  "Okay, let me put some clothes on." She walked back to her bedroom, removing her robe as she went, but I looked away.

  We drove to Dano's house. Getting high felt like the best and worst idea in the world at the moment.

  When we pulled up, I let out an audible sigh of relief. My car sat next to the curb unharmed. I jumped out of Candace's car as soon as she pulled to a stop. My heart sank for a minute. If my keys were in the house, I was done. I shook my head—after everything, I still wanted to get high.

  God, how did I get so fucked up?

  My second sigh of relief occurred when I tried the door and found it unlocked with my keys on the floor mat under the driver’s seat. I laughed and held them up for Candace to see.

  She stepped out of her car and headed up the walkway. She stopped when she realized I wasn't following her.

  "You coming in to say hi?” she asked.

  "I can't. I have to go."

  Her shoulders slumped, and she stood there not sure what to do.

  "You going to be okay?" I asked.

  She nodded, waved, and continued up the walkway.

  I got in my car, put the keys in the ignition, turned the car over, and tried to figure out where to go from here. If I remained on the road, the cops would spot me. Not
too many students drove a classic Porsche around Tallahassee.

  I opened the glove box, and my wallet and phone fell out on the floor. I laughed out loud. Only I would secure my wallet and phone before blacking out and beating up my girlfriend in a drug-induced rage.

  I touched my phone, and it illuminated with missed calls and text messages. I unlocked the phone and went to the call log; four missed calls came from Carrington and two from Jackson. I also missed a call from both my sister, and one missed call from my father, which surprised me. The time stamp on this call was this morning.

  I listened to Carrington's messages first.

  "Hey baby, I thought you were going to call me when you got there. Call me back. I want to know you’re okay."

  Next message.

  "Josh, where are you? Call me back. I'm starting to worry."

  Next message.

  "Josh, I'm getting scared that something happened to you. Call me, please."

  She sounded more frantic with each message.

  I hung up before listening to the last one.

  I switched over to my text messages and started at the first one. I hoped it would give me a better idea of what happen.

  When I drove back from Orlando, I texted my friend Jake in Gainesville.

  Josh: Hey Jake, I'm driving through Gainesville. You holding?

  Minutes later he replied.

  Jake: No, but pick me up. I know a guy.

  Next message on my phone was from Jackson telling me to call him.

  My phone offered no other clues. I tossed it on the seat next to me and pulled away from the curb. When I pulled up to the stop sign at the end of the block, I stopped. I had nowhere to go.

  The frat house was off-limits, and I thought about heading on down to Orlando, but I wasn't sure what was left for me there either.

  I had no options.

  My phone buzzed on the seat, and I stared down at it, afraid to pick it up. I pictured the police on the other end and as soon as I answered, a swarm of cops would surround my car like in the movies, and it would be all over. The thought of it made me smile. Going out in a blaze of bullets was not a bad way to go.

  I thought in the twisted center of my brain, that perhaps Carrington would call and check up on me. Maybe she needed to hear me say ‘I'm sorry’.

  I was sorry.

  I wanted her forgiveness, but I had no right to ask for it.

  I chuckled and then let my head drop back on the headrest. My father was right. I was a pathetic loser.

  I hurt my own child and the woman who carried him, proving I had no business being anyone's father. I would get caught and go to prison. I didn't think even Josh Elijah Griffin III and his millions could make this go away.

  My son would know his father tried to kill him. As soon as the thought entered my head, I forgot how to breathe. I opened the window, but my heart rate increased and I sucked hard, forcing the oxygen into my lungs. I scrambled to open the door and fell out of the car gasping for air.

  I started sweating, and a deep gut-wrenching sob started in my stomach and traveled up my throat. I covered my mouth to muffle the sound.

  I stayed on the ground gasping for air for a few minutes. My body responded to my brain by telling it to calm down and get a grip.

  I crawled back into the car, and I reached for my phone. I started dialing 911 when I realized the beep from a minute ago belong to a text message from Cade.

  Cade: In town, at one hell of a party.

  I caught my breath, climbed back in my car, and dialed as I pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Carrington Olivia Butler

  After a restless night filled with nightmares, I welcomed the morning. I would get to see my son this morning, and my anxiety increased the longer it took for the doctor to arrive and clear me to get out of bed.

  At one point last night, I dreamed Josh entered my room and stood by the door. He looked strange, wearing strange clothes, and his body glowed. We stared each other down. It reminded me of the day we met, and tears fell down my cheeks, but then Josh turned, opened the door, and left.

  I fought to keep my eyes open. As they closed, I forced them open expecting to see Josh standing by the door again. I fell into a deep sleep and woke up to Dr. Autrey's voice.

  "Good morning Carrington, how are you feeling?"

  Dr. Autrey's chipper voice was a little too happy for my taste. His bedside manner pissed me off.

  "Fine," I said, suppressing the urge to say more.

  "Well, your little boy gained a quarter of a pound last night," he said as he read the chart.

  "Is that good?"

  "Yes, very good. You ready to go meet him, hopefully give him a name?"

  "Yes."

  The doctor took his sweet time examining my new incision. The two-inch long scar sat on my bikini line, closed with staples. When he finished examining me, the nurse cleaned and replaced the bandages and went to get me a wheelchair.

  My abdomen hurt whenever I blinked, but I powered through the pain and transferred myself to the chair. The nurse pushed me down the corridor, and my heart beat increased the closer we got to the nursery.

  "Now, your son is in an incubator which looks like a plastic box. He has a tube in his nose and an IV in his chest."

  "Does he feel anything? Is he in pain?" I asked wiping the tears from my eyes. I didn't want to meet my son for the first time with tears running down my face.

  "No, only when we are poking and prodding him. And believe me, he lets us know," the nurse said and laughed.

  Why the hell is everyone so damn cheerful in this place?

  When we turned the corner, the NICU glass door came into sight. When we came near the door, the nurse stopped.

  "We will go into a little area for you to wash your hands, and I will give you some gloves and a gown you can put on over this one."

  "I can touch him."

  "Oh yeah," she said, "You can't hold him, but you can touch him and talk to him."

  "Okay."

  All scrubbed, sanitized, and ready to go, she wheeled me into the neonatal unit and over to my son.

  The nurse lowered the incubator to my eye level. I thought I would freak out once I saw him, but peering through his glass canopy, I understood why everyone seemed so happy. Laying eyes on him for the first time, I clutched my chest and stifled a squeal. The love I felt for him hit me like a thunderbolt. It was overwhelming. I cried, but not because I was sad. He was adorable—little, but adorable. His brown skin, a little lighter than mine, appeared translucent, but not scary. He looked like a baby. He head was full of brownish blond hair, the only physical trait he shared with his father. I smiled; he had my eyes and my nose.

  His eyes opened and darted around. The Vaseline over them made him look like an alien. The tube in his nose looked uncomfortable, but he seemed content. His little chest rose up and down at a steady beat, and he kicked his legs back and forth, dancing to the beat in his own head.

  He lay on his back, his little legs moving and shaking. I laughed out loud.

  His diaper took over his whole body. They didn't make too many products for babies his size.

  "He kicks his diaper off all the time," the nurse said.

  "It's so big on him," I said and smiled, so proud of my precious, energetic, and funny little guy.

  The nurse opened the little porthole in front of me and reached in to adjust his diaper.

  "You can touch him. He loves having his tummy rubbed," she said. This news kind of threw me, the idea she knew what my son liked before I did. I missed his first thirty-six hours. I wiped a tear away and told myself it wasn't my fault.

  I reached in and touched his little leg. His skin was dry but soft. I held on to his leg, between my thumb and index finger. He kicked out of my grasp, so strong.

  I rubbed little circles on his tummy and his legs calmed down.

  "Hey, little guy. How are you? I'm your mommy. Well, I guess I need to give you a name
," I said. I discarded the list created by Josh and I and thought about some of his rejections. Keanu crossed my mind, but the memory of our last few days together entered my mind, and it hurt too much.

  I shook my head and concentrated on my little guy.

  "Let's see. How about you tell me what name you like the best, okay?"

  I touched his leg with my other hand and rubbed his foot.

  "Michael." I got a little kick, but nothing major.

  "Jaken." This time, no response.

  I tried Ashton, Brandon, and Leonardo, but no response, not a twitch.

  A name popped in my head, and I thought I'd give it a try.

  "Okay. How about Jackson?" Before I finished the name, his little legs went crazy. "Jackson, you like Jackson." His legs continued to kick, and I laughed out loud, which made him kick harder.

  "Okay, Jackson David Butler. I like it, too. "

  He kicked and made a gurgling sound. It startled me, and I removed my hands. He settled down.

  The nurse came back over to check on us.

  "Everything okay?" she asked.

  "Yes. Jackson, say hello to the nurse who has been taken care of you."

  "Well, hello Jackson," the nurse said. "It's nice to put a name with that adorable face."

  Jackson David kicked one more time to let us know he liked the compliment.

  We spent another hour getting to know each other before the nurse kicked me out. She said we both needed a nap, even though I wanted to stay and keep an eye on him. I wanted to take him back to my room with me, but the nurse said they were more equipped to react to problems in the neonatal unit.

  When he gained two and three-quarters pounds, they would let him stay in my room and another pound more before they released him from the hospital.

  When I returned to my room, I fell fast asleep for the next three hours. I awoke to the sound of my mother's voice; my parents and my brother all stood over me.

  "Hey, sleepy head. You're finally awake," my dad said.

  “Hey, when did you guys get here?"

  "Last night, but you were out of it. We went to the hotel and got some sleep and came first thing this morning, and you were out."

  My mom touched my hand, and my dad and brother stood by the door, not sure what to do.