Chapter 7 - THE AMBULANCE
Z
Beckett had never known sixty seconds could last that long.
Celeste's lips had begun turning blue.
Violet took her from his arms and positioned her exactly as the NICU nurses had taught her.
"Come on, sweetheart."
Her voice shook.
"Come on."
Beckett heard the emergency operator asking questions.
He answered automatically.
Five weeks old.
Premature.
Respiratory history.
Breathing difficulty.
The elevator took nineteen seconds to reach the penthouse.
Beckett nearly tore the doors apart waiting.
Then Celeste coughed again.
A tiny gasp.
A breath.
Violet began crying.
"She's breathing."
Beckett dropped to his knees beside them.
"Celeste."
Her chest moved.
Once.
Again.
The paramedics arrived minutes later.
Beckett rode in the ambulance.
His security team followed.
Violet sat beside Celeste's stretcher holding one tiny foot while monitors beeped around them.
Beckett had spent millions developing medical devices.
Now every alarm sounded like a threat.
At Westfield, doctors were waiting.
Celeste disappeared behind double doors.
Violet stood frozen in the hallway.
Beckett put both hands on her shoulders.
"She's going to be okay."
"You don't know that."
"No."
His voice broke.
"I don't."
Violet looked at him.
For the first time, she saw Beckett completely without armor.
No control.
No strategy.
No confidence.
Only fear.
He sat beside her.
Hours passed.
No phones.
No board calls.
No assistants.
At 1:36 a.m., Dr. Brennan finally emerged.
Both stood.
"She's stable."
Violet nearly collapsed.
Beckett caught her.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Likely a combination of reflux and immature respiratory coordination. Her oxygen levels recovered quickly."
"Does she need surgery?"
"No."
"Medication?"
"We'll adjust her feeding plan and monitor overnight."
Beckett exhaled slowly.
"Can we see her?"
"One at a time initially."
Violet looked at Beckett.
"Go."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Go see her."
"You should."
"I've had every night."
Her eyes softened.
"You missed the first five weeks."
Beckett couldn't speak.
He entered the room.
Celeste looked impossibly small beneath the hospital lights.
A sensor wrapped around her foot.
Tiny wires crossed the blanket.
Beckett sat beside the crib.
"Hello."
His voice failed.
He tried again.
"Hello, Celeste."
She slept.
He placed one finger beside her hand.
Her fingers curled around it.
Again.
The same way they had the first time.
Beckett lowered his head.
"I owe you an apology."
His voice trembled.
"I spent thirty-six years believing avoiding love was the same thing as avoiding pain."
He swallowed.
"I was wrong."
Celeste's fingers tightened.
"I'm going to make mistakes."
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Beckett didn't wipe it away.
"I'm probably going to buy too many things. Your mother is going to yell at me."
He almost smiled.
"And someday you're going to learn that your grandmother is terrifying."
He breathed.
"But I will be here."
That promise felt different from every contract he'd ever signed.
"I don't care where work sends me. I don't care what meetings happen. I don't care what anyone expects from me."
He leaned closer.
"I will show up."
Behind the partly open door, Violet heard every word.
She quietly stepped away before Beckett saw her.
At three in the morning, they sat together in the waiting room.
Violet rested her head against the wall.
"You should sleep."
"So should you."
"I forgot how."
Beckett looked at her.
"When did you last sleep more than four hours?"
"Before she was born."
He said nothing.
Then he removed his jacket.
Violet frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Lie down."
"Beckett."
"Use my lap."
She almost laughed.
"Absolutely not."
"Violet, you are falling asleep while arguing."
"I'm perfectly—"
She yawned.
He raised an eyebrow.
Twenty minutes later, Violet was asleep with her head against his thigh.
Beckett didn't move for two hours.
At dawn, Eleanor arrived.
She stopped when she saw them.
Beckett looked up.
His mother's gaze moved toward the NICU door.
"How is she?"
"Stable."
Eleanor nodded.
For once she had no cutting response.
"May I see her?"
Beckett's expression hardened.
"Why?"
Pain flashed across Eleanor's face.
It was gone instantly.
"Because she's my granddaughter."
"You filed for custody of a child you had never met."
"I was protecting—"
"No."
Beckett kept his voice low so he wouldn't wake Violet.
"You were controlling."
Eleanor stared toward the floor.
"I heard she stopped breathing."
"Temporarily."
His mother's face became pale.
And suddenly Beckett remembered.
James.
He saw her hand tremble.
"You thought it was happening again."
Eleanor looked at him sharply.
Neither said his brother's name.
They didn't need to.
"I don't know how to do this," Eleanor whispered.
Beckett almost laughed at the terrible symmetry.
"I said the same thing yesterday."
Eleanor looked at Violet sleeping against him.
"She hates me."
"She has reasons."
"I thought she would ruin your life."
Beckett looked toward his daughter's room.
"She gave me one."
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Then she reached into her handbag.
"I brought something."
She placed an old photograph on the chair.
A six-year-old Beckett stood beside a pregnant Eleanor.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
Beckett stared.
"I didn't know this existed."
"Your father missed one."
Her voice cracked.
"I kept it."
She turned to leave.
"Mother."
Eleanor stopped.
"If you ever threaten Violet again, you will not be part of Celeste's life."
She nodded.
"I understand."
"But if you want to meet your granddaughter..."
Eleanor turned slowly.
"...ask her mother."
For the first time, Beckett wasn't simply protecting Violet.
May you like
He was acknowledging her authority.
And when Violet opened her eyes moments later, she had heard enough to know the difference.
