Page 43

Quaid

“ I ’m an idiot,” I said as I ran toward the administration desk on the labor and delivery floor.

Aslan kept pace that time, not allowing me to outrun him. “You’re not. You’re caught up in a case.”

“I should be caught up in having a baby.” At the desk, I asked the woman behind the computer if Bryn McMillan had checked in.

She spent a second typing and squinting through a pair of readers before offering a warm smile. “Room 501B down that way.” She gestured to a hallway on the opposite side of the ward where we’d been.

I took off, but Aslan caught my arm to slow me down. “Breathe, Quaid. She’s in labor and needs us to be calm, not frantic.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re frantic. Stop for a second. Relax.”

Stilling, I tried taking Aslan’s advice but couldn’t stop my heart racing. I could barely think in a straight line. The case had broken open at the worst possible time, and I needed to call Jordyn to find out if they had located Flynn or Nixon. Was Crowley safe? Unharmed? Alive?

The horrific nature of Odelia’s revelation had yet to sink in, but the pieces were clicking.

What a horrible thing to cover up. It made me sick to think a parent would choose money over their daughter’s well-being.

Thirteen was not old enough to consent. Diane should have fought for Imogen. Protected her.

The unfolding years from then until now had likely been tainted. Did she love Nixon? Was Flynn still manipulating her? Was her silence born out of fear? Self-preservation? Love?

I still didn’t know how or why Clementine was entwined in all this, but she and Imogen were unavailable to ask. Although I didn’t have proof, I suspected Imogen was responsible for putting her ex-nanny in the hospital.

“Your head is still racing,” Aslan said, bringing me back to the present and kissing my temple.

“Absorbing.”

“Let it go. You can’t take on the world right now.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know.” He held my hand and rubbed his thumb along the surface. “Try. For our baby. For Bryn.”

He was right. I spent another second finding stability and letting the case move into the background. Once Aslan recognized I was ready, he led me to Bryn.

Some rooms on the ward were designed as labor rooms, and others were strictly for delivery. The one Bryn occupied functioned as both. She wouldn’t need to be moved when the time came to push the baby out .

The door was propped open, and inside, a smiling Bryn reclined in a padded chair, chatting cheerily with her brother and his partner. Aslan knocked lightly on the frame, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Hey. You’re here.” Bryn excitedly waved us in. She was perky and rosy-cheeked, not at all like I imagined a woman in labor might appear. It helped to bring down my stress another few notches.

“Sorry we’re late.” I kissed her cheek, and Aslan did the same.

“You’re not late. You remember my brother, Arden, and his partner, Iggy?”

I did. We had met the couple once before during one of Bryn’s late-term appointments after she’d relocated to Toronto. We exchanged hellos and handshakes.

“We’ll leave you in their capable hands,” Arden said to his sister. “We won’t be far.” Bryn’s brother kissed her forehead and promised to check in again soon.

Iggy and Aslan exchanged fist bumps.

I got a pat on the shoulder and a quiet “Congratulations” from Arden’s partner. He was a kind and caring man, and it didn’t surprise me that he worked as a paramedic. It suited what I knew about him.

I moved to the abandoned chair at Bryn’s side and took her hand, still buzzing with mild anxiety, even though she seemed whole and well. “How are you?”

“In labor.” Her smile was pure, and it indented her cheeks. The cosmic spray of freckles across her face seemed more pronounced under the harsh hospital lights. Her fiery red hair glowed like always, accentuating her bubbling personality.

“You look more nervous than me,” she said, studying my face.

“I probably am.”

Aslan drew a chair to Bryn’s opposite side. “He’s been pacing for nine months. We’ll have to replace the carpet now. ”

I sneered playfully at my husband.

Bryn handed me a scrunchie. “Can you help me put my hair up? It’s having a wild day, and I don’t have the energy to tame it. I need to save it for pushing.”

I took pride in helping and did my best to pull her mane into a high ponytail. It was not my forte, but I got it out of her eyes and off her neck, which was all she wanted.

“I won’t be winning any beauty contests today,” she said after I apologized for the lopsided effort.

“You look beautiful.”

“You’re a charmer, Quaid.”

“Nah, he’s right,” Aslan said. “You’re glowing.”

“That’s it. Call The Bump and tell them I’m ready for my cover shot.” She struck a Vogue pose, and Aslan and I laughed.

Bryn was a ball of positive energy and so full of life that I knew the second we met her that I wanted her to carry our child. Her heart was full of love, and she understood the amazingness of the gift she was giving us and how important her role was in our lives. For that, we loved her.

From stranger to surrogate to friend to family, we had formed a lifelong bond. If I lived a thousand years, it wouldn’t be enough time to express my gratitude.

“For real. You look good, Bryn. Even in this sexy muumuu getup they’ve given you to wear.” I thumbed the hospital gown.

Bryn’s laughter was like bells. “Well, thank you. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Besides, blue’s not really my color.”

“You make it work.”

She turned to Aslan. “Your husband is such a flatterer.”

“Yeah, we’re still teaching him how to flirt. He’s a work in progress and doesn’t have much experience with women. ”

I shrugged at Bryn’s smirk. “What can I say?”

“How’s your case?” she asked.

My smile disintegrated. A knot pulled tight in my belly, but I shoved away the niggling worries. “It’s… someone else’s problem now.”

Strain pulled at her eyes. “Did you find the little boy?”

“Not yet,” Aslan said, taking my hand and squeezing. “But we have good people out there right now, and they’re going to find him and bring him home.”

I tried hard never to lie to parents and make promises I couldn’t guarantee to keep, but hearing Aslan speak so confidently gave me hope, and I needed hope.

Costa and Jordyn had been gone over an hour. They had initially been going after Jude before I gave them new information. It could take a while to drive to Pickering if traffic was heavy. Had Costa called? Messaged?

I moved to check my phone, but before I could release Bryn’s hand, she tightened her grip, drawing my attention. Her face contorted into tight lines of concentration. The sunny smile she was never without vanished. Tiny, squeaky noises of pain left her throat.

I was about to panic when I registered what was happening.

“Contraction,” Aslan said, confirming my thought.

I shifted to the edge of my seat, the rest of the world vanishing. “Breathe with me, Bryn. Squeeze my hand as hard as you have to. I’m here.”

Instantly recalling everything I’d read and watched on childbirth, I coached her through it, encouraging her to breathe and mimicking her pace to keep her focused. It was the first contraction we’d experienced together, so I had no basis for judging how strong it was or how long it would last.

Aslan crouched at my side and rubbed my thigh. He watched me instead of Bryn, with a soft smile and love in his eyes. “You’ve got this,” he whispered.

And I did.

For the following hour, we sat with Bryn, chatting, laughing, and making predictions about the baby between contractions.

Will he or she have hair? How much will the baby weigh?

Will they take after me or Aslan? Since we’d used donor eggs and both of us had provided the sperm for fertilization, our baby would carry DNA from only one of us.

During the ever-worsening contractions, Aslan and I supported Bryn and coached her through each cycle. The nurse came once to check on her and said she was progressing well.

I got Bryn ice chips when she requested them and helped her find a more comfortable position when she got restless.

Aslan mopped her sweaty brow and rubbed her swollen feet.

When her discomfort made her need to move, we walked circuits of the room and up and down the hallways, Bryn supported between us.

At one point, back in the recliner, she took my hand and pressed it against her swollen belly. A distinct lump pushed back, and I grinned, calling Aslan over to feel.

“I think it’s a foot. The baby is moving lower and using me for leverage.” Bryn’s pinched expression told me it wasn’t the most comfortable thing she’d experienced. “At least it’s not my bladder this time.”

Arden and Iggy appeared, informing us that our parents had arrived. They offered to take over so we could wander to the waiting room and greet them.

Cellina Doyle’s voice traveled down the hall, boisterous and overpowering as always. She commanded the conversation, and anyone within a six-block radius must have known she was about to have another grandchild.

Aslan groaned and drew me to a stop before we got there. “Good grief. Give me a minute to mentally prepare.”

“She’s your mother.”

“You married me. She’s your mother now too.”

I chuckled. “She’s excited.”

“She’s exhausting.”

“Be nice.”

Aslan stared at me with the glossy eyes of a man overwhelmed with emotion. We’d been with Bryn for an hour, but it was an intense hour. A surreal hour. An hour that I wouldn’t forget until the day I died.

He brushed our fingers together before taking my hand and pulling me into his arms. “You’re really good with Bryn.”

“She’s putting her body through a lot for us. I want her to know how grateful I am.”

“She knows.”

“I wish I could take away some of her pain.”

“She’s a strong woman.”

“I know…”

Cellina’s honking laughter rang out from the distant waiting room, and Aslan snorted. “Good lord. I hope I’m not like that when I’m older.”

Before Aslan could decide he was ready to take on his family, I blurted, “I picked a boy’s name.”

His feet stilled, and his brows rose.

“Well, two, actually. In case you hate the first. You know me. I always have a backup plan. Overprepared. You can veto them both if you hate them, but if we have a boy, I might need another minute to come up with something else. I don’t have three options.

I’ve been kind of busy, and it turns out naming your firstborn is not easy. ”

Aslan chuckled and pecked a kiss on my rambling mouth, stopping the flow of words. “Am I allowed to hear them in advance, or do I have to wait for the baby to be born?”

“You can hear them now. You should. You’ll probably hate them.”

Aslan backed me against the wall and tipped my face to his, stroking my cheek. Stubble rasped under his thumb since I’d forgotten to shave that morning. Before I could speak, he pressed a delicate kiss to my mouth.

I sighed and closed my eyes, savoring my husband’s closeness and steadiness.

Aslan didn’t care that hospital personnel wandered about, that patients roamed the hallways, and that our families were less than fifteen feet away in the waiting room.

He was loud and proud when it came to our relationship.

At that moment, I didn’t care either and soaked him up.

“Let’s hear it, hot stuff. What have you got?”

My insides jittered. We’d spent months bouncing names back and forth, never landing on anything we both liked. I owned four baby naming books, each with ten thousand names inside, and there didn’t seem to be one decent name among them worthy enough for my firstborn.

“Okay. Don’t judge too harshly. You’ll hurt my feelings.

Name number one, if we have a boy.” I pressed my lips together for a second, then dove in.

“Hudson. It’s gentle. It rolls off the tongue.

It’s not abrasive, nor can it be reduced to unsavory nicknames.

It rings well as a child’s name but also presents itself as a mature adult name. It—”

Aslan pressed a finger to my lips. “Hudson, huh?”

I nodded .

He repeated it in a way that gave away none of his feelings.

It was as though he needed to taste it on his tongue and roll it around his head before commenting.

If he was anything like me, he used it in imaginary scenarios.

Hudson, pick up your toys. Good morning, Hudson.

Daddy loves you, Hudson. Are you ready for school, Hudson?

Good god, Hudson, your music taste is worse than your father’s.

“What’s the other one?”

My face fell. “You don’t like it.”

“I didn’t say that. You told me you’d picked two, so what’s the other one?”

“Quinn.”

He waited, probably for me to ramble again, but I didn’t.

“That could be unisex,” he said.

“I suppose. I never considered that. If you persist in choosing stripper names for our girl, it will be bumped to the top of the list.”

Aslan laughed, bringing out the beautiful creases beside his eyes. Crow’s feet. Laugh lines. I preferred the latter. Aslan wore his age well, getting more attractive as the years passed. Even the smattering of silver at his temples held appeal.

“Well? Do you hate them?”

He tipped his head to the side, taking an excruciating and annoyingly long time to voice his opinion. “I don’t. I think I’d be happy with either one. Or we can use Hudson for a boy and Quinn for a girl.”

I frowned. “Are you giving up on the girl’s name?”

“No. I have one on reserve, but I’m not sure you’ll want to use it.”

“It’s not Moonbeam, is it?”

He grinned. “No.”

“What is it?”

“Hudson and Quinn. Yes, those are nice names. ”

I studied his face, but he gave nothing away. The love in his eyes was pure, and I couldn’t tell if he was being honest or not. “Are you agreeing because we’re hours from holding our baby and haven’t decided on anything?”

“No. I like the names.”

“But you’ve hated everything so far.”

“No, hot stuff, you’ve hated everything so far.” Aslan moved in to kiss me again, but a snappy voice down the hall interrupted before our mouths connected.

“You motherfuckers.”

Without looking to confirm who owned the voice, Aslan dropped his forehead against mine and closed his eyes, chuckling. “Shit. I knew I forgot to call someone.”