Page 166 of Rush
"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm choosing you, I'm choosing this baby, and I'm choosing to be the father I never had."
She starts crying again and I pull her against my chest. "We're having a baby," she says.
"Yeah, we are."
The reality of it settles over us and I put my hand on her stomach. It's flat still. There's no sign of the baby growing inside, but it's there.
Our kid.
Later that night, we're lying in bed and Everly's curled against my side. My hand is still on her stomach, feeling the flatness of it, trying to imagine what it'll look like in a few months, round and full with our baby. The thought makes my chest tight with something that feels like joy mixed with terror.
"What are you thinking?" she asks.
"That this is real."
"Yeah, it is."
"And that I'm going to protect you both."
"I know you will."
"No, I mean it. I'm going to protect you and this baby with everything I have. Not with violence, not with fear. But I'm going to make sure nothing hurts either of you."
"Rush, you don't have to?—"
"Yes, I do. Let me say this. I need you to know." She's quiet and I keep talking. "I'm terrified of becoming a father, but I'm more terrified of not being there. Of not stepping up. Of letting fear control me instead of love."
She touches my face. "You're going to be an amazing dad."
"I hope so."
"I know so."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you're already thinking about how to not fuck it up. Your father never thought about that. He never questioned himself. But you're already questioning everything, already trying to figure out how to be better. That's what makes you different."
The words settle something in my chest, something that's been restless for years. "I'm going to be better than him," I say.
"You already are."
"No, I mean it. I'm going to be the father our kid deserves. Patient, kind, protective without being scary."
"Rush—"
"I'm going to teach them that they're safe, that they're loved, that they never have to be afraid of me."
"I know you will."
"And I'm going to love them so much they never doubt it."
She's crying again and I pull her closer. "I'm sorry I was scared to tell you," she says.
"Don't be sorry. You had every right to be scared."
"But I should have trusted you."
"You did trust me. You told me even though you were terrified. That takes courage."
