Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,137

made it worth living.

“Knox.”

Ah, there’s her sweet, melodic voice now. Beckoning me. How could I ever leave her?

“Knox…”

The images of her begin to fade away, and I shake my head, willing them to come back. It’s no use. She’s gone.

My head feels heavy, like there’s an anchor weighing me down. The longer I lie here, wherever I am, sounds around me start to register.

A slow, steady beeping.

Low murmurs.

Amelia weeping.

I try to smile, but I can’t move my face. Still, I feel that smile straight down to my soul.

My Amelia.

A warm hand slips into mine, squeezing gently.

“Knox?”

It takes enormous effort to open my eyelids. They’re uncooperative, and it’s only after a few light blinks that I muster up all my willpower to fully open them.

Amelia’s the first thing I see.

The only thing I see.

“Mel—”

Amelia brushes her free hand over my forehead. “Don’t talk, Knox. Just rest. You’re going to be okay.”

A lone tear slips out of the corner of my eye.

My wife wipes it away, her own tears glistening. “I thought I’d lost you. Thank you for coming back to me.”

I shake my head even though each movement elicits sharp pain. “Never,” I croak.

Forty years. Forty fucking years I’ve been married to this woman, and I love her more with each passing day.

“Mel—”

Her forefinger presses against my lips, silencing me. “I said no talking, Mr. Wellington.” She reaches down beside her to bring her purse to her lap. When she takes out a notepad and a pen, I understand what she wants.

She watches intently as I write.

Party.

Her nose wrinkles, and she glances around the room. My eyes follow her. It’s the first time I’ve noticed my sons and their wives are all here.

Cohen is still wearing scrubs, dark circles rimming his eyes. Andi is in her standard jeans and concert T. Branson’s wearing the suit he had on the night before, which indicates he hasn’t left. Ari’s in yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her hair thrown into a messy bun. If I know Ari, she ran home to get the kids situated, threw on something, and raced back to the hospital to be with her husband. Charlie’s here, dressed much like Ari is, which isn’t surprising since, as different as Knox and Branson think they are, they both chose strong, vibrant women. And then my gaze lands on Knox. He’s wearing a faded ARMY EOD T-shirt, the tattoos on his arms visible under the sleeves.

My mind races. Have I told him how proud I am of him? Does he know that the only reason I didn’t want him to join the Army was because I was terrified for him? Does he know I love him as much as I love Branson? Cohen? Have I done enough since he’s come back to us?

Our eyes meet. He must see the panic in mine. Dropping his arm from Charlie’s waist, he comes to the side of my bed, opposite his mom. He leans down, whispering in my ear for only me to hear.

“I know. Water under the bridge. Let it go.” He lifts, our eyes meeting. He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Welcome back, old man.”

I start to laugh, which turns into a cough.

Knox gestures to the notepad. “So, what’s this about a party?”

I pick it up again, showing it to Amelia.

“Party?” she repeats.

I write more.

“40?”

I nod as enthusiastically as I can. Which is to say not much. I underline both words three times, then gesture back and forth between the two of us.

Finally, Amelia’s eyes light up. “You want to have another fortieth anniversary party?”

“Yes,” I manage to choke out. I go back to my pad and hold it up.

A re-do. I didn’t even get to give my toast before I had to leave.

“Honey,” Amelia begins.

I furiously write on my pad.

Say yes. Please.

Her eyes dart around the room, no doubt checking in with each of our sons. My eyes don’t deviate from her. Finally, when she returns to my gaze, she smiles. “I’ll agree to a party as long you’re fine waiting until you’re given a clean bill of health from the doctor.”

I nod my agreeance.

My wife leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You stubborn fool. I’ve never been able to say no to you.”

Back to my pad.

That’s what I was counting on.

WITH A GRUMBLE, I FLING the tie onto the bed. I don’t care if this is a formal party. Ties make me feel like I’m choking, and if I’m holding one of my toddler twins, I