Page 23 of Brood (After the End #5)

“You’re welcome. But I might as well thank you. It was a lot better than I would have expected with me feeling like a hippopotamus.”

He laughs again, his softening cock still partway inside me. “What is a hippopotamus?”

“It’s an animal on the surface. I read about it. Then I looked up pictures. It’s big and clunky and ugly.”

“Then it’s not at all the right comparison for you.” He turns my face toward him so he can kiss my lips. “You’ve always been beautiful. And you still are.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe you, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

We’re both smiling as we relax together again.

We stay that way until I’m hit by an unexpected wave of discomfort. I suck in a breath but don’t say anything. I’ve had a lot of weird, stray sensations since I became pregnant. This one might not mean anything.

But it does. Because it eventually comes again. A little bit stronger.

I know what it is now.

My contractions have started.

* * *

Several hours later, I’m alone in the office of the clinic, strapped down on a table with my feet in stirrups.

Will and I waited as long as possible to go to the clinic because I hate this place so much.

As the contractions got worse and worse, more and more frequent, Will helped me pace around our quarters, take a shower, go to the bathroom several times, and finally lie on my bed in exhaustion while he rubbed my back and shoulders.

But the pain was finally so intense that I started to panic, so Will took me to the clinic.

We were chastised by Dr. Cameron for not coming sooner, and then I was taken into this room while the door was shut in Will’s face.

I asked if he could stay. I begged them to let him stay.

But he’s irrelevant to this procedure. Those were Dr. Cameron’s words exactly. He will only get in the way.

So I’m all by myself in excruciating pain that comes in waves that get closer and closer together.

I’ve always considered myself relatively strong and resilient. I’ve never made a fuss when I was sick or hurt, even as a little girl. But this is different. This is torture. Pain keeps bombarding me, and because of the restraints, I can’t even move my body in ways I instinctively feel might help.

Nothing can help. And it never ends.

I’ve been crying for more than an hour now, and my sobs get louder as another contraction hits less than a minute after the last one.

“You’re doing fine,” Glenda says. I’m relieved that she’s the nicer nurse and not the one who makes me want to scratch her face off. “It’s going to be over soon.”

“You still have a while to go,” Dr. Cameron says in his singsongy murmur. “But everything looks healthy so far.” He’s peering between my legs, and if my ankles weren’t bound in the stirrups, I might actually slam one of my feet right into his nose.

Glenda has been trying to get me to breathe in a certain way, but there’s no possible way for me to focus on it. I writhe as much I can in these restraints. “Please,” I gasp when the contraction momentarily eases. “Please, can Will come in?”

“We don’t need him, do we? We’re not a little girl who needs someone to hold her hand through something so natural. Are we?”

Something about the gentle condescension of his tone snaps the final thread inside me.

I can’t control myself any more than I can control the pain of the next contraction that’s slamming into me right now.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I don’t want you here.

I want Will. Will! Will! Will!” I scream his name at the top of my voice.

Even as I do it, a small part of me knows I’m making a mistake. I’m doing exactly what we agreed we’d never do. I’m making a scene. Making a fuss. Making people question.

Showing the world what Will means to me.

It’s wrong. It’s dangerous. But if I don’t see him soon, I’m convinced I’m going to die.

Literally die.

There’s a sudden pounding on the door to the room. “I’m here, Cadence.” It’s Will’s voice. Loud and slightly muffled. “I’m right here.”

I burst into loud, helpless tears at the familiar sound of his voice. At the angry frustration I hear there. At the deep care and concern.

He’s so close. There’s only a door between us.

Why won’t they let him in?

“She’s out of control.” Dr. Cameron is clearly not talking to me, although he’s still right there between my knees. “We’re going have to have anesthetize her.”

I choke on the surge of panic. “No! No, please don’t! Will! Help me, Will!”

He pounds on the door some more. “Fuck it all, let me in right now!”

“There’s a better chance of a healthy baby if we don’t,” Glenda says.

She sounds matter-of-fact. It’s oddly comforting in the midst of my breakdown.

“I know it’s not usually done, but we almost have a healthy birth here.

Why not let the spouse in? She’ll settle, and everything will go smoother. This uproar isn’t good for the baby.”

Dr. Cameron doesn’t like the suggestion. I can see it in his expression as my sobs quiet in rising hope. But he finally makes a face. “Fine. Let him in. But if he gets in the way, I’m calling Brody.”

I’m crying again as Glenda goes to unlock the door—but it’s with an overload of relief. Because Will is in the room now. Coming to the bed in fast strides.

He’s rumpled and sweating—he looks almost as drenched as I am—and his expression is almost wild as he grabs for one of my restrained hands and strokes my face with the other. “I’m here, love. Right here.”

I sniff and whimper and manage to finally stop crying. I have to act better now, or Dr. Cameron will have Will hauled away by guards.

“Stay right there,” the doctor tells him. “If you interfere or get in the way, I’m calling Brody.”

I see angry resentment twist on Will’s face for a moment, but he gets it under control. He nods tersely and turns back to me. “I’m here now.”

Another contraction hits then, but I find the strength to not scream this time. I can’t let them send Will away.

I can’t do this without him.

* * *

Bun is a boy.

The council will give him his official name, but they don’t name babies until they survive the first three months. The last hour of labor is agony physically, but it’s still better than the hours before when I didn’t have Will with me.

And when it’s over—when they’ve cleaned him up and examined him and done all their normal tests—I get to hold him. It’s supposed to be so I can start nursing him, but I don’t care if there are practical reasons.

I get to hold him.

He’s healthy. And he’s mine. Mine and Will’s.

Will is still here. He’s managed to control himself enough to remain silent, no matter what Dr. Cameron said, so he’s hasn’t been banished or dragged away.

He’s smiling as he leans close to us. He shouldn’t do it because Glenda is still in the room, but he presses his lips against mine in a kiss. Then he kisses Bun’s head.

It’s not smart. At all. But I understand.

I feel the same way.

* * *

Two weeks later, I come to fuzzy awareness when I hear the main door to our quarters slide open.

My head is full of stuffing, and I can barely pry my eyes open. But I lift my head from my pillow and reach out my arms as someone moves toward my bed. “Come here, Bun,” I mumble, anticipating the soft, warm little body and the now-familiar infant scent of him.

“It’s just me.” Will. Unusually gentle. “It’s not feeding time yet.”

“Okay.” I drop my arms and head onto the bed again and close my eyes, urging my brain to work enough to clear my thinking.

I haven’t had more than three hours of real sleep in a row for two weeks.

I’ve never been so tired in my entire life.

A few days ago, they started bringing Bun to our quarters when it was time to nurse him because I was having trouble getting myself to the nursery so many times a day.

It’s not Bun’s fault. He’s a remarkably healthy, good-natured baby. But he wants to eat all the time. I’ve spent my entire life on a rigidly regimented schedule, and this is not that.

I’m so out of it that I can’t figure out what’s happening when my mattress shifts. It’s not until Will stretches out beside me and pulls me halfway on top of him that I realize he climbed into bed with me.

“What time is it?” I rub my cheek against him, feeling the slight texture of his chest hair through his shirt. “Why aren’t you working?”

“I’m on break. It’s just after ten.”

I frown as I fight through the thick smoke in my mind. “Isn’t it your exercise time?”

“I skipped it today.”

“Why did you—”

“Shhh.” He strokes my head, my messy hair.

“I don’t need to be shushed.” But I’m not annoyed at all. Oddly, I feel soft and fond beneath my grogginess. “We’re supposed to be good and follow the rules.”

“I am being good.”

“You need to be very good. They’re already suspicious of us. If they decide we’re more trouble than we’re worth, we’ll be in danger.”

“They won’t do anything to you.”

I’m a successful breeder now. My status in the Refuge couldn’t be higher. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m being good,” he murmurs. “I promise.” One of his hands has settled on the curve of my bottom, and he keeps it there, resting it with an intimate entitlement that makes my heart throb despite the heaviness in my head.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to me because that would mean you and Bun are left unprotected. I’ll never do that.”

“Okay.” I kiss his chest. Then his shoulder. Then I nuzzle at his coarse beard. “Thank you. Please don’t.” I close my eyes, feeling sleep wafting over my consciousness again. “I don’t know how I ever lived in this place without you.”

* * *

I have no idea how many minutes pass before I wake up again. It can’t be very long because we’re still in the same position. Will has his arms around me, holding me against him.

Some sort of noise wakes me up, so I lift my head and roll over automatically, reaching my arms out even before I manage to get my eyes open. “Hi, Bun.”

“Here,” Will says, moving me gently so he can adjust us closer to a sitting position. “Get more comfortable before you take him.”

I do as he says because he says it, trying to heft my body so I’m not flat on my back. He draws me toward him, letting me recline against him, secured by the curve of his arm. Then the nursery worker hands Bun over to me.

It’s the nursery worker named Vera. I’ve never liked her.

She’s only in her mid-twenties, but she has a hard, sharp, disapproving aura that’s always grated on me.

She’s got light-brown hair that’s pulled back tightly into an icy-smooth french braid.

“You’ll do better if you get out of the bed and sit in a chair. ”

Resentment bubbles up from my chest to my throat, but I bite it back before I say anything. I start to climb out, but Will stops me. “You do fine feeding him in bed. There’s no reason to make yourself uncomfortable.” He sounds as annoyed as I feel, although he’s obviously trying to hide it.

I stay in bed and reach for Bun again, and this time Vera hands him over. I exhale in relief as I cuddle him against me, smiling down at him when he babbles fussily. He’s hungry. He’s always in a good mood unless he needs to eat.

Only two buttons on my shirt are fastened, so I undo them quickly to free one breast. I get him into position so he can latch onto the nipple and start sucking. He does it so greedily that a little milk sprays out from his mouth.

I wish Vera would go away. Holly, the other daytime nursery worker, always leaves while I feed him. But Vera never does. She sits on the edge of Will’s bed and watches as I nurse Bun.

I want to talk to him. Stroke his smooth head and soft face. But I can’t show him that much affection in front of Vera.

She’ll report it. And the brewing suspicions over my and Will’s behavior will deepen.

Bun likes to eat a lot, so I switch him to my other breast after a while.

I don’t rush the process. No matter how tired I am, these are the best parts of my days.

It would be different if they’d let him sleep in here with us, but they won’t.

Will asked the very first day and then again last week, and the answer both times was a firm no.

Babies stay in the nursery. Always. Asking to move Bun at all was a huge risk, and asking any more would put Will in real danger.

It’s not right. Everything inside me rebels against the way they keep taking him away.

Finally, when Bun gives a little cough and spits up some milk, I wipe his face with my shirttail and reposition him so I can pat his back.

Vera is suddenly there. Right next to the bed. Leaning over and reaching for him.

“No, he’s not done yet.” I’m immediately upset. Too upset to guard my words.

“He’s had plenty.”

“But he needs to burp.”

“I can burp him.” She’s got her hands on him now, pulling him out of my arms.

I whimper and struggle against the instinct to resist. “But he’s better with me.”

“He’s better in the nursery where he belongs. Your job is to feed him. My job is to take care of him.”

I’m almost in tears despite my attempts to force them down. It’s an affront against my very nature. That this terrible person keeps taking my baby away from me. I make a gurgling sound and reach out for him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Will growls. He’s been silent and stewing—at Vera’s presence, I know—but something now snaps inside him. “You have no right to—”

“Will, don’t.” In a sudden panic, I grab for his arm before he can stand. I know exactly what he’s about to do. He’ll get to his feet. Use his size to intimidate Vera and take Bun back. It’s exactly what I want to happen, but it can’t.

It can’t happen.

The tenuous stability we’ve been maintaining for the past few months would completely topple, and both of us—particularly Will—would pay the price.

“Don’t,” I mumble brokenly, clinging to him so he can’t stand. “You promised. Please don’t.”

To someone else, his expression would probably appear as stoic as normal, but I can see the tense battle being fought inside him as his eyes shoot between me and Vera.

“Please,” I whisper.

He relaxes. Slumps back onto the bed.

Vera glares at both of us and carries Bun out of the room and then out of our quarters.

I burst into tears. Will pulls me into his arms again.