Page 27

“You absolute bastard. You no-good knothead motherfucker!”

I paced up and down the kitchen, though I was fast approaching the point at which that would no longer be helpful. Ethan hung back like a coward, not wanting to get too close.

“I know you’re in pain,” he started, which was the understatement of the century.

“And whose fault is that?” I snapped.

“I mean, it takes two to—” he started, but I was not having it.

“I don’t want to hear it, Ethan. You did this to me, and I will never forgive you.”

Before he could attempt any retort, Alyssa bustled into the kitchen, looking far too cheerful. There were clean towels draped over her arm, and she moved the kettle onto the stove as if this were her home rather than mine.

“Sounds like someone’s ready to start pushing,” she said. “Come on, grumpy, let’s move you to your nest.”

Sitting down did sound amazing. My back hurt, my ankles had been swollen for weeks, and my belly jutted out in front of me like I was carrying a beach ball with me everywhere I went.

The contractions were coming faster now, too, with barely any respite between each fresh wave of pain.

I allowed Ethan to guide me through to the living room, where he and Alyssa had set up a birthing nest for me, lowering me into the pile of blankets and pillows.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, settling two large pillows behind my back to prop me up.

“I haven’t been comfortable for two months,” I grumbled, and Ethan tutted in sympathy.

He knew full well how uncomfortable I’d been, as he was the one who’d had to rub my feet, bring me food, and arrange my pillows for the past few months.

Now, he was preparing to stay by my side while I screamed, cried, and pushed our child into the world.

This was the part I had been trying not to think about.

I knew it would have to happen eventually, and I wanted it to happen.

I wanted to meet my and Ethan’s child, to hold them in my arms, to give them a name, to watch them grow up.

The problem was that my own mother had never gotten to do any of that. This process had killed her.

I didn’t have to say I was scared; as ever, the bond gave me away, and Ethan’s hand found mine, squeezing gently.

“You’re gonna do great, beautiful,” he whispered. I squeezed his hand in return. If nothing else, I knew he would be a good father, that he would have Alyssa and Caleb to help him if the worst should happen. I tried not to think about the worst happening.

When Alyssa bustled in with her towels and a large bowl of steaming water, my heart started to beat faster.

Despite how much I trusted her, how determined I was to get through this, I couldn’t help fearing the worst. The pain was growing with every second; I didn’t know how anyone survived this. Ethan pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

“You can do it,” he told me. “You’re the bravest person I know, remember?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” I said, though I didn’t quite believe him. Being brave was one thing; creating a whole new life was another. How had Alyssa done this alone? I felt like I was going to fall entirely apart, even with my mate and best friend to help keep me together.

“Open up for me,” Alyssa said, settling in front of me and tapping my knees. I spread my legs; I’d gotten over my best friend staring me straight in the vagina over the past few hours, so I did it without hesitation. Alyssa’s eyes widened.

“Yep, we’re ready to push,” she said. “Make sure you keep breathing through it, okay?”

I could only nod, and Alyssa petted the inside of my calf, soothing.

“Alright,” she continued, low and calm. “I’m gonna count to three, and then you’re gonna push, okay?”

“Okay,” I managed to reply, my voice shaking. Ethan dropped a kiss to my shoulder.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to. I’ve got you,” he said. He sounded so sure, so confident in my ability to do this. I took a deep breath. I could do this.

“One, two, three, push.”

It was a whole new kind of pain. For however many seconds, minutes, or hours I pushed, I felt like I was being split open. My world narrowed to Alyssa’s voice— one, two, three, push —and Ethan’s hand in mine, along with the unceasing work of my body to push my baby out into the world.

The delivery itself was over before I knew it.

One minute I was pushing with all my might, the next, I felt my child rush out of me, and then several things were happening at once: Alyssa’s hands were full of bloodstained baby, patting their little back until a wavering cry filled the room, and Ethan’s voice was in my ear, telling me I’d done it, that I was incredible, but I could barely hear him.

I was utterly focused on the baby in Alyssa’s hands, wriggling and crying in her grip.

Poor thing. That whole experience couldn’t have been any more fun for them than it was for me.

He was bloody and scrunched up from his journey into the world, still connected to me by the spongy cord that disappeared into his belly.

He was a little miracle, and I loved him on sight.

“Oh my god,” I breathed. “It’s a baby.”

“It’s a baby,” Ethan confirmed, beaming, as he cut the cord connecting us with the clean knife Alyssa handed him.

“Would you like to know what kind of baby it is?” Alyssa prompted. She was carefully cleaning my child in a clean bowl of water, rinsing away the blood and gunk to reveal the baby’s delicate, wrinkly pink skin. I was captivated.

“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed for us, and Alyssa smiled.

“It’s a boy.”

A boy. I held out my arms for my son, desperate to hold him, and Alyssa didn’t hesitate, handing him over so I could cradle him against my chest. Every part of him was perfect, from his screwed-up old man face to his tiny little fingernails.

He was still crying his heart out, and the sound was music to my ears.

He was healthy and whole and mine. I’d never loved anything this fiercely, and the immediate strength of it shook me.

Ethan came to sit behind me, spreading his legs to nestle me between them, letting me lean back against his chest. His arms came around mine to gently touch our son’s forehead, clearly just as enamored as I was.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alyssa said, getting to her feet, her arms full of bloodied towels. “Keep an eye on her, okay, Ethan? If she gets pale or says she feels woozy, come get me.”

“I will,” Ethan promised. They would both be monitoring me every second for at least the next twenty-four hours, but now that the delivery was done, now that my son was in my arms, there was no way I was going anywhere.

“And make sure the little guy eats,” Alyssa reminded us. “It’s hungry work, being born.”

Then she was gone, slipping through the door and leaving our new family alone.

“He’s so tiny,” said Ethan, amazed. His chin was propped on my shoulder, his arms around me, comforting and protective. I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life, my entire body was aching, and I’d never been happier.

“Yeah,” I agreed, my eyes filling with tears. “He’s got a set of lungs on him, though.”

“Just like his mom,” said Ethan, and I sniffed out a wet little giggle.

“Shut up, you.”

Ethan kissed the line of my jaw, contrite, and I snuggled closer against him.

“What are we going to call him?” Ethan said. We’d made a shortlist, of course—what expecting parents didn’t—but had left off naming him until he was born. It hadn’t felt right to give him a name before we’d ever seen his face: what if we decided on a name that didn’t suit him?

“What’s your name, little guy?” I asked him. He didn’t answer, simply looked up at me with large, dark eyes. He probably knew the answer to every question in the universe. He was just keeping the information close to his chest.

“I think he’s an Adam,” said Ethan, to my surprise. It hadn’t been his favorite name on the shortlist, but as soon as he said it, I realized he was right.

“Hey, Adam,” I whispered, and our son gave a little shriek, banging a balled fist against my chest. I could feel Ethan smile against my shoulder.

“I think he likes it.”

“I think he’s hungry,” I said, and Ethan gave a hum of agreement.

It took some careful shifting to get Adam to eat. He was so tiny and fragile that I was terrified I would somehow break him if I changed my hold even slightly. When he latched on, though, he ate with surprising ferocity. Clearly, Alyssa had been right: being born was hungry work.

“How’s it feel?” Ethan asked. He was staring at my breasts, but for once it wasn’t lust that filled his expression: it was amazement.

“Weird,” I said, truthfully. “I’m literally feeding this little person out of my body.”

“You grew him in your body, too,” Ethan pointed out.

“I know,” I said. “I’m amazing.”

“You sure are.”

There wasn’t much that needed to be said after that.

We watched Adam eat his first meal, completely enraptured, and stroked the impossibly soft hair on the top of his little head as he drifted off to sleep in my arms. I couldn’t ever imagine moving from this spot, even if I was still covered in blood and sitting on the floor: everything was perfect. Our son was perfect.

It didn’t take long before my own eyelids began to droop. It had been the longest day of my life, and my body had seen me through it like a trooper. It was time to rest.

“Can you take him for me?” I said softly. “I think I need to go to bed.”

“Sure,” said Ethan, wriggling out from behind me to embrace Adam. Our son looked comically small against Ethan’s large frame, but Ethan held him as if he were made of glass. I couldn’t fault him for it; I understood the urge.

It took a while to get me up the stairs to the bedroom, but Alyssa managed it.

Lying down in a proper bed was heaven, and I was ready to sleep for the next twelve hours—or as long as Adam would let me sleep before he needed feeding again.

Ethan laid our little boy in the bassinet next to the bed before climbing in behind me, curling his body around mine.

“Rest now, beautiful,” he said. “You did it.”

I didn’t answer him. With my mate to keep me warm and my child next to me, my eyes were already drifting shut, my breathing steady and even. Ethan and I had made it through so much together already, but as I slipped away into sleep, I couldn’t help thinking we were only just beginning.

*****

THE END