Page 97 of Omega's Fever

“Your baby’s coming now, Milo.”

Kellen crashes back into the room, arms full of towels, Penelope’s daughter still tucked against his chest. “What do you mean now?”

“I mean right now.” She starts laying out towels. He sets the baby in the cot in the corner, then drops to his knees beside me. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

I grab his hand, probably crushing his fingers. “I’m scared.”

“I know. Me too.” He presses his lips to my temple. “But we’ve got this. You’ve got this.”

Another contraction and I can’t help but push. The pressure is overwhelming, consuming everything.

“That’s it,” Penelope coaches. “With the contraction. You’re doing great.”

“It hurts,” I sob.

“I know, honey. But you’re almost there. Next contraction, big push.”

I feel it building, that unstoppable wave. When it hits, I bear down with everything I have. There’s a moment of impossible pressure, a burning stretch that makes me scream.

“Head’s out!” Penelope’s voice is triumphant. “One more push for the shoulders.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” Kellen’s voice in my ear, steady and sure. “You’re the strongest person I know. One more push.”

The next contraction comes fast and I push, feeling something give, feeling—

A cry. Thin and angry and the most beautiful sound I’ve everheard.

“It’s a boy!” Penelope’s laughing and crying at the same time, wrapping our son in a clean towel. “He’s perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes.”

She places him on my chest and the world stops.

He’s tiny. Wrinkled. Covered in blood. His face is scrunched in displeasure at being evicted from his warm home.

He’s perfect.

“Oliver,” I whisper. “Hi, Oliver.”

Kellen makes a broken sound beside me, one huge hand coming to rest on our son’s back. “He’s so small.”

“Six pounds, maybe seven,” Penelope estimates. “Good size for being two weeks early. The cord’s still pulsing. We’ll wait for the paramedics to cut it.”

I can’t look away from Oliver’s face. His eyes are dark blue, unfocused. A shock of dark hair like his father’s.

“You did it,” Kellen whispers. “God, Milo, you did it.”

“We did it,” I correct, then laugh, high and slightly hysterical. “I just had a baby on the nursery floor.”

“At least it’s clean,” Penelope says. “And the towels are new.”

“The carpet—” I start.

“Fuck the carpet,” Kellen says firmly. “We’ll get a new one.”

The paramedics arrive then. They check Oliver, check me, praise Penelope for her assistance. But it all washes over me in a blur. All I can focus on is the weight of our son on my chest, the way he’s already rooting around, instinct driving him to nurse.

“We need to transport you both to the hospital,” one of the paramedics says. “Just to be safe. Make sure there’s no tearing, deliver the placenta properly.”