CHAPTER TWENTY NINE — Rook's Hands
1225 Words
LENA'S POV
Rook did my morning checkup three days later in the small medical room he had set up off the main corridor.
I had grown used to this routine by now. The careful way he checked my blood pressure first, then listened for the heartbeats with the portable monitor he kept charged and ready at all times, then asked his usual round of questions about sleep and appetite and any unusual symptoms.
That morning was different.
He found the first heartbeat quickly, steady and strong, the way it always was. Then the second. When he searched for the third, he paused, the monitor held still against my stomach a moment longer than necessary.
I watched his face. "Is something wrong."
"No," he said. "I just like hearing all three."
He held the monitor there, listening to the third heartbeat for several seconds after he had clearly already found it and confirmed it was healthy. I watched something move through his expression while he listened. Quiet and private and enormous.
"You do this every time," I said.
"Do what."
"Linger. After you have already confirmed everything is fine."
He set the monitor down carefully. "Yes," he said, without embarrassment, the way Rook said most things.
"Why."
He considered the question the way he considered everything, taking his time before answering honestly. "Because for a long time in my life I did not have anything worth lingering over," he said. "I am making up for that now."
I looked at him. At the careful hands and the steady green eyes and the particular gentleness he brought to every single thing he did for me and the babies, a gentleness that did not match the size of him or the patch on his vest that said Sergeant at Arms.
"Their hearts are strong," he said, returning to his clinical voice, though something warmer still lingered underneath it.
"You said that already," I said.
"I like saying it," he said.
I smiled. "Rook."
"Yes."
"You are going to be a good father to them," I said.
He looked up at me then. Held my gaze the way he did when something mattered enough that he would not let himself look away from it.
"I am going to try very hard," he said.
"That is the same thing," I said.
"It is not," he said. "Trying does not guarantee good. But I am going to keep trying anyway, every day, until it becomes something I do not have to think about anymore. Until it is just who I am."
I reached out and took his hand. "It already is who you are," I said. "You have been doing this since before you knew the results. Since the first night you sat outside my door."
He was quiet for a moment, his hand warm in mine. "That feels like a long time ago," he said.
"It was not that long ago," I said. "It just feels long because of everything that happened in between."
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it feels long because I have changed enough since then that the man who sat outside your door does not feel like the same person anymore."
I thought about that. About how much had shifted in all of us since the night I walked through that gate in a torn wedding dress with bleeding feet.
"You have changed," I said. "All three of you have. So have I."
"For the better," he said. Not quite a question.
"For the better," I confirmed
That afternoon Helen called with an update that pulled the warmth of the morning into something sharper.
Ghost put her on speaker in his office, the same group gathered around the desk that had become routine by now. Helen's voice came through tired but determined.
"The court date for the paternity case has officially been set," she said. "Two weeks from today."
I felt my stomach tighten. "Two weeks."
"The new judge moved quickly once she took over the case," Helen said. "Which is good news in most respects. It means we are not waiting indefinitely. But it also means we need to be fully prepared in a short window."
"What does prepared look like," I said.
"It means you need to be ready to testify," Helen said. "Edmund's team will be aggressive. They will try to paint you as unstable, manipulated by a criminal organization, unfit to make decisions about custody or anything else."
"They already tried that on television," I said.
"They will try it under oath, which is different," Helen said. "Under oath, every claim they make has to hold up to cross examination. That works in your favor if you are prepared. It works against you if you are caught off guard."
Ghost looked at me across the desk. "We have two weeks to prepare you properly," he said. "Helen will run you through what to expect. I want you ready for everything they could possibly throw at you."
"Including the hallway," I said quietly.
The room went still for a moment.
"Especially the hallway," Helen said gently through the speaker. "If they bring it up, and they likely will given your public statement, you need to be ready to speak about it clearly and steadily. I know that is hard."
"I already said it on camera," I said. "I can say it in a courtroom."
"I know you can," Ghost said. "I have watched you do harder things than this in the past few weeks."
I held onto that.
Rook stayed late in the medical room that evening, going over the physical demands of testifying while seven months pregnant with triplets, making sure I understood what my body could handle and what accommodations the court would need to provide.
"You should not be standing for long periods," he said. "I will make sure Helen requests that you can remain seated throughout."
"I do not want special treatment," I said.
"It is not special treatment," he said. "It is a medical necessity. There is a difference between asking for favors and asking for what your body actually requires right now." He looked at me steadily. "You are not weak for needing accommodations. You are carrying three lives. That is not a small thing to ask the body to do while also fighting a legal battle."
I sat with that. "Okay," I said. "Tell Helen what I need."
"I already did," he said. "This afternoon, before the call."
I looked at him. "You did that without asking me."
"I should have asked first," he said. "I am sorry. I was thinking about what was best for you and the babies and moved too quickly."
I considered being annoyed and found I could not quite manage it. "It is fine," I said. "I am glad someone is thinking that far ahead."
"That is my job," he said simply. "Among other things."
"Among other things," I repeated, smiling slightly.
He almost smiled back, the rare full version of it that I had learned to treasure because it came so infrequently and meant so much when it did.
Two weeks.
Then court.
Then Edmund, finally, having to answer for everything in front of a judge who could not be bought.
I was ready for it.
I had been getting ready since the moment I said no at that altar.
- Writer
