Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

was no going back, either. There was no way to reclaim my heart. No way to take it and make it as small and unknowing as it had been before. No way to put it securely back in my chest.
    Her cries died down, and Cole looked over at me.
    “Do you want to hold her now?”
    I couldn’t answer. I needed to hold her. I knew that. But that implied a level of commitment I wasn’t ready for yet. That would be the final step toward losing my heart and myself forever.
    My dad appeared out of nowhere and put his hand on my shoulder. He smiled at me, his eyes warm and a bit amused, but sympathetic as well.
    “Scary, isn’t it?” he asked.
    I could only laugh at the inadequacy of the word. “Scary? More like terrifying.” Even that word wasn’t strong enough. Cole was still smiling at her. She held one of his fingers in her tiny fist. I turned to my dad again. “Does this panic ever go away?”
    He shook his head. “Never. Not even now, Jon. It’s still there.” He pointed at the gray hairs on his head. “Where do you think these came from?”
    “I’m serious, Dad.”
    “So am I.” He patted my shoulder. “All I can say is, you get used to it.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me from my seat. “Come on, son. It’s time for you to hold your daughter.”
    My daughter.
    If Cole shared any of my anxiety, it didn’t show. He looked at peace as he laid her in my arms. She was asleep now, her tiny mouth making little sucking movements. She sighed, and some of the terror fell away. I began to smile.
    “She’s perfect,” I said, and I was surprised to find I was crying.
    “She is,” Cole agreed. He kissed her forehead.
    “ She still needs a name,” my dad said.
    “Well,” Cole said, glancing from my father to me and back. “I guess we’ve ruled out Carol? And Elizabeth? How about—”
    But I didn’t even have to think about it. I knew her name. It had been there all along, simultaneously simple and profound, guiding us to this place. “Hope,” I said. “Her name is Hope.”

Chapter Ten

    M ANY times in the preceding months, I’d wondered how it would feel to stand outside the nursery window and see our child on the other side. I was surprised to learn that the idea of lining babies up on little carts on the other side of the glass was a thing of the past.
    “Normally the baby would stay with the mother,” the nurse told us, “but Taylor didn’t want that, so we’ve made other arrangements.”
    We were given a room on the maternity ward, just as if we’d delivered the baby ourselves. We were encouraged to hold her as much as possible—not that any of us needed much persuading on that count.
    Thirty-six hours later Taylor and Hope were released from the hospital. Technically, Hope had to be discharged into her mother’s care, but there was no law that said Taylor couldn’t give the baby directly to a babysitter, which was exactly what she did. It was unusual, certainly, and it felt a bit like stealing cookies from the jar when no one was looking, but Taylor didn’t hesitate to hand our baby over. And so Hope Nicole Fenton came home earlier than we expected.
    Cole was quietly, blissfully happy. He spent hours holding her and rocking her and taking a ridiculous number of pictures. Thomas warned us not to take anything for granted. After all, Taylor had another thirty-six hours to change her mind, but his well-intentioned warnings proved unnecessary. Exactly seventy-three hours after her birth, Taylor made it official.
    We were parents.
    There is no hope unmingled with fear, and no fear unmingled with hope. The words are as true now as they were then, but my father was right about this, as he is about so many things.
    You get used to it.

    Date: February 14
    From: Cole
    To: Jared
    Happy Valentine’s Day, sweets. I hope you and that big adorably grumpy cop have something sexy planned.
    Everything here is going well. Hope is perfect and beautiful, and I’m certainly the proudest father in the world, although Jon’s giving me a run for my money. I know I’ve been bombarding you with pictures, and I apologize, but what do you expect? You are, after all, her godfather. Of course I’m not Catholic, so I have no idea what that means, but it’s a title you should wear with pride. I’m not getting much sleep, but I don’t mind. Not yet, at any rate. Hope seems to sleep all day and be awake all night. I suppose at some point I’ll begin to feel exasperated as all parents do, but for now, I can