Hi, everyone! This is my first official post here on 2 Men, and I’m so happy to be here. I’m looking forward to joining Nic, Kelly, Clare, and the rest of the gang for future Behind the Scenes and other group posts as well as adding my own rants and babbles here and there.
This week is a nail-biter for me. Heartbeats comes out tomorrow on Amazon, and I’m both excited and anxious to hear what everyone thinks about Andrew, Bradley, and the twins. The title comes from the fact that when you have preemies in the hospital, you tend to find yourself getting engrossed by the cardiopulmonary monitor. Your own emotions rise and fall as you watch their heartrate and respiration for any sign of distress, and every alarm causes panic, even the ones caused by the baby moving or an electrode becoming detached.
When my own twins were born prematurely, my husband sat in a rocking chair next to their incubators and read “Goodnight, Moon” to them every evening (something he’d actually started while I was still pregnant because he’s awesome that way). After a day of being poked and prodded, shuddering at every loud noise or unexpected touch, they’d calm down as soon as Daddy started reading. You could see the effect his voice had on them by watching their heartrate on the monitors.
In Andrew and Bradley’s case, their worry is exacerbated by not knowing the paternity of the twins. They used the same surrogate, and she fraudulently contracted with both men for the pregnancy. As they get lulled into the rhythm of the beeping monitors, Andrew and Bradley can’t help but open their hearts to the struggling preemies, but only one of them is the father. The other will walk away brokenhearted. Or will he?
Below is an excerpt from Heartbeats. I love to hear from readers! You can find me on:
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EXCERPT FROM HEARTBEATS
Copyright 2018 Jenna Kendrick
COMING MARCH 13, 2018
“Surely you can tell me something. How are my babies?” Bradley raked his fingers through his hair, barely resisting pulling it out by the handful. No telling what it looked like, but he left it firmly attached to his scalp.
“Mr. Stern, as I’ve already said, someone will be out for you shortly.” The NICU nurse’s voice straddled a fine line between professional courtesy and annoyance. “Now, are you going to wait patiently, or do I have to ask security to escort you out of the hospital?” As he turned away, the glass divider between the info desk and the waiting area rattled with more force than the last time he’d demanded answers. Too bad, because he wasn’t budging until he knew what was happening to his twins and their surrogate.
For all that the hospital had tried to create a welcoming environment, the empty waiting room stank of lost hopes, stale coffee, and the astringent smell that lingered in all hospitals. If he sat, he’d be swallowed up by the despondency that clung to the chairs. Instead, he walked. Fourteen steps up the hall, fourteen steps back, just far enough for it to be considered pacing and not hovering. He’d practically worn a trench into the hardwood floor. It’d been hours already—he glanced at his watch—no, more like twenty minutes. No wonder the staff was losing patience. Time was standing still.
His mouth opened in an overly loud yawn that had him looking right and left with embarrassment, but it was too early for anyone other than hospital staff to be milling about. The inscrutable nurse didn’t even look up from her computer screen.
The adrenaline rush from racing to get here battled with the exhaustion of having been awake for over twenty-four hours. After a long week in New York City filled with frustrating meetings and high-profile events with Uncle Richard and his merry band of blowhards, he’d been unable to stand one more night there. Every car horn and squeal of brakes from the street below set him on edge, and come morning, Richard would have one more piece of business, one more person he needed to meet. Any excuse to keep him nearby and try to wear him down. He’d just wanted to get home to his mountain, treacherous roads in the middle of the night be damned, and he’d called down for his Tesla Roadster before he so much as loosened his tie. Halfway to Egremont, he’d received the call that had him veering east to Springfield.
The same refrain haunted him as it had the rest of the drive. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Never mind that this was the culmination of a long-held dream. Making lists of baby supplies and everything he needed to decorate the nursery was a far cry from having checked so much as a single item off said lists. But none of that was important right now. He’d deal with the nursery and all the rest once he knew his babies were well.
They’re not ready, either. He’d been reading about fetal development week-by-week throughout the pregnancy, not that he could recall a single useful fact right now. Fingernails and blinking—the parts he’d been so excited about a couple days ago—suddenly took a back seat to lung development. He swallowed the knot in his throat and reached into his pocket. No. Already a hair’s breadth from losing his shit, Googling worst-case scenarios wouldn’t help him avoid being kicked out of the hospital for causing a disturbance.
Stomping feet and labored breaths caught his attention as two men ran down the hall. One pointed at the chairs, then approached the nurse’s station, quietly giving his name. His companion, jacket wide open and sweatshirt clearly inside-out, looked around the area wide-eyed before lurching across the hall to the restroom.
“Did you see where my brother went? A little bit taller, a lot less handsome?”
There was no reply from the nurse. Bradley glanced over to see the man staring back at him quizzically. He pointed at the bathroom just as the door opened.
The brother was indeed taller, by at least a few inches. But his dark blond hair, bright blue eyes, and muscles for days rendered him a hundred times sexier than the first guy.
Judging from the greenish cast to his skin, he was also either hungover or sick. Bradley stepped away in distaste, leaving the other men to melt into the chairs of despair while he resumed pacing. Fourteen steps up the hall. Turn. Five, six, seven—
The door to the unit opened. “Who’s here for the Penn twins?”
—Eight, nine. Wait. Penn.
Bradley hurried over to the man in bright blue scrubs. The surgical mask tucked under his chin pulled his ears forward, giving him a slightly elfin appearance. Or maybe lack of sleep and stress were making Bradley as fanciful as the giraffes and elephants painted on the walls.
The nurse gave Bradley a welcoming smile. “You the new dads?”
Bradley looked to his right, only then noticing the tall guy had also approached.
“Oh, we’re not together,” he said. Being together with someone wasn’t in the cards for him. His heart was taking a big enough risk letting children in, much less a partner.
“We ask that only parents come into the unit for the first visit. Which one of you is the father?” He looked expectantly between the two men.
“I am,” they both replied at the same time.
Jenna Kendrick writes contemporary, new adult, and paranormal romance about smart guys with a propensity for snark. Jenna went to a small college in the woods of Western Massachusetts, where she alternated between bare feet and hiking boots and used dining hall trays as a mode of transportation in the winter. She fell in love with creative writing after writing a satirical essay to get out of yet another literary analysis assignment. Unable to choose a coast or climate zone, she bounced around the country before settling in Upstate New York. She lives with her husband and several furry creatives, some of whom think of her desk as their own.