Page 17 of Jacked-up Mate (Alphas of Whisper Grove #1)

Jack

I came home to find my mate pacing in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, I tried to go quickly.” I held up the small paper bag in my hands. I’d gone into town to grab some of his favorite muffins from the bakery. He was nearing the end of his pregnancy, and his cravings had turned to all baked goods all the time.

“Oh, I’m not in here looking for food,” he said, leaning against the counter. “My back was just bugging me, so I thought maybe stretching it out would help.”

It had been bothering him for a couple of days now, and I’d been massaging him, encouraging him to take extra showers so the warm water could loosen his muscles, and propping a pillow behind him when he sat.

I’d even curled around him at night so he didn’t have to hold himself up while he slept on his side.

Anything and everything I could do to help. Nothing was helping.

We’d called the midwife, and they’d said, “Yep, that’s pregnancy for you,” and didn’t seem too worried.

They offered to come out if we asked, but my mate was very much wanting to have as much of an unassisted birth as he could.

He assured me the midwife felt fine about that, and as with everything else in this pregnancy, I took his lead.

It was his body, and he was the one who needed to make those decisions, not me.

“Well,” I said softly, holding up the bag, “I brought muffins.”

He burst out laughing and snatched them from my hands. “I forgot I sent you for muffins.”

It must have been really uncomfortable for him if he forgot that quickly.

“I got one of each kind they had, but it was pretty low this time of day.” At midafternoon, the bakery had been mostly picked over, which was normal and a sign of just how good they were.

He grabbed one of the carrot muffins, tore off a hunk, and popped it in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he chewed slowly. “These have no right to be this good. It’s like health food. It’s a vegetable, and yet so delicious.”

I didn’t burst his bubble by telling him they were basically little cakes. But I supposed there was truth in the fact that there was some vegetable matter in them.

He took one more bite and then straightened. “I think I need a shower.” He walked right out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.

This was more than just aches and pains. I could feel it. I followed him in to find him leaning against the towel bar, hunched over, his eyes squeezed closed.

“I might be out of line here, omega mine,” I said carefully, “but could you maybe be in labor?”

He growled then looked up at me. “I just figured that out.”

We did end up getting him a shower, and I dried his hair afterward the way I always did, at his insistence.

“Where do you want to be?” I asked.

We’d talked about it before. We discussed a water birth with a pool in the house.

He’d turned that down, which was probably for the best, since we really didn’t have room for it.

We’d talked about the bouncy ball, the bed, even going to the hospital, but he hadn’t been able to decide and we left it open.

Then, two days ago—come to think of it, when the back pain started—he’d declared he wanted to have our pup outside. I was all for that, but I wanted to make sure it was still a go before I hauled everything out.

“Out back, please,” he said, his breathing heavy,

“I got you.”

I wrapped one arm around his waist, grabbed one of the baskets we had prepped for the birth with the other, and helped him outside.

I laid the blanket from the basket down on the ground along with some pillows that were in the second basket I ran back in to grab.

Everything else in baskets was for the baby.

“Should I call the midwife?”

“No. Our pup is almost here. I can feel it.”

I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt about him turning down the midwife tonight, being a full moon. Within the next hour or so, I was going to be donning my pumpkin head again. Part of me feared Foster was trying to protect me by keeping the midwife away.

“Are you sure? I can stay inside if you think it’s an issue—”

“This has nothing to do with that,” he snapped, and before I could double-check or ask for clarification, he bent over and cried out in pain.

His wolf was so close, I could scent it—and I was human.

“Looks like they’re not waiting,” he said, and got on his hands and knees.

Then it hit. Full-on contractions, one after another.

I knew about human pregnancies. I didn’t know about wolf ones.

It felt like it was coming too hard, too fast. Later, when we talked to the midwife, I learned it was because his wolf had been trying to protect him from the pain.

That’s why only his back had hurt. He’d already been in labor for over twenty-four hours.

My poor mate. At least he hadn’t felt it, not fully.

The crying and contractions came harder and faster as the clock ticked on. He switched from hands and knees to his back, to his side, and back again. As the sun went down, he screamed that it burned and it was time to push.

I’d taken the lessons from the midwife. I knew what to do, the steps, anyway, but being there, seeing him in so much pain, knowing that I was responsible for helping deliver our baby…I was so not ready.

Our pup didn’t care.

Just as the sun was setting, I helped guide our son into the world. I was holding him, wrapping him in a blanket, when my body took on the curse, and I was wearing my jack-o’-lantern head again.

“He got to meet you both,” my mate said breathlessly, rolling off the blanket. “I’ll be right back.”

He shifted into his wolf form and padded over to our baby, licking the bottom of his foot before returning to the blanket and shifting back.

“Sorry,” he panted. “I needed to heal, and my wolf needed out.”

I handed our son to him. Foster brought the baby to his chest for his first meal while I swapped out the blankets and grabbed my mate some pajama pants.

We lay outside for a long time, just the three of us.

“What do you think we should name him?” I asked, looking down at his sweet face.

“I was thinking maybe Grayson,” I said after a moment. “Because he’s our son of the gray wolf.”

Foster blinked up at me, trying to decide if that was cheesy or genius.

“We could call him Gray,” I offered.

“Fine,” he said with a tired smile. “Not fine. I like it. A lot.”

“Welcome, Gray. Welcome to Whisper Grove.” I smiled down at him, my heart bursting. “This is your dad.”

My mate looked up, teary-eyed, voice full of pride. “Yeah, I’m your dad and this is your father. We’re so glad to meet you.”