Page 51

Aslan

B ryn’s perpetual good humor and sunny smiles had vanished. The contractions were happening so rapidly that she barely had a chance to rest. Her sweat-damp hair fell from her ponytail and stuck to her face. Not once in the past hour had she released my hand.

During a short lull, she opened her eyes to slits and watched me.

“Ice chips?” I rattled the cup.

Her lips were cracked from heavy breathing, but she shook her head and squeezed my hand. “He’ll make it.”

I wasn’t so sure anymore. The last time the nurse had done an examination, Bryn was seven centimeters along, and the nurse said it wouldn’t be long.

“Did you choose names?” Bryn asked in her half-asleep state.

I smiled. “I think so. Quaid has a few options for boys’ names. One is unisex, so if he doesn’t want to use the girl’s name I chose, we can go with his pick instead.”

“What are his boys’ names?”

“Hudson and Quinn. ”

She hummed. “I like them.”

“Me too.”

“What did you choose for a girl?”

I shook my head, unwilling to reveal it to anyone until the baby proved to be female. “It’s a secret.”

She smiled, but the smile turned into a long moan as another contraction began. She rolled toward me, smothering her cries into the pillow as I braced her and rubbed her back, telling her she was doing great.

When it ended, she whimpered. “Oh, Mylanta, it hurts. I forgot how bad it can get.” She stayed curled against my arm, clutching my hand as she dozed.

On a few occasions, I’d asked if she wanted her brother beside her, but she’d told me no. This was our experience. We deserved to be present when our baby was born.

Ours. Us. Quaid and me. But I was without my other half.

I checked my phone, but there were no messages from Torin, Jordyn, Costa, or Quaid.

Frustrated, I slipped the device back into my pocket as a hurricane in the form of Quaid Valor blew through the door and came to a screeching halt.

He frantically scanned the room, I assumed looking for a baby that had yet to be born, when his gaze fell on Bryn, curled up in the bed. Still pregnant. Still in labor.

Relief washed over him, mirroring what I felt on his arrival.

He came to me, and with my free hand, I dragged him into my arms and kissed him. “I’m mad at you,” I mumbled against his mouth.

“I know. I deserve it. I’m so sorry.” Another frantic kiss followed, and I could taste his desperation and tension, yet unsure of its root cause.

He came up for air a moment later and peered down at Bryn, who remained oblivious as she slept and moaned. “How’s she doing? ”

“We’re getting close.”

Another long whine of imminent pain left her throat, and she rolled toward me again, grasping blindly for my arm. I dislodged Quaid and supported her through another heavy contraction.

My husband moved to the other side of the bed and rubbed her back, offering words of comfort and praise.

When it ended, Bryn glanced over her shoulder, a weak smile filling her face. “You made it.”

“I made it.”

“Did you find the boy?”

“I did.” Quaid met my gaze. “He’s safe.”

I was glad but didn’t miss the haunted expression and shadow behind Quaid’s eyes. Whatever happened didn’t go as planned, but now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

Bryn maneuvered onto her back and released my hand for the first time since I’d arrived, taking Quaid’s instead. “I knew you’d get him back.”

Quaid kissed her forehead. “I won’t leave you again. I promise. Can I do anything for you?”

“Can you fix my stupid hair or find a buzzer and shave it off.”

He chuckled and did what he could to pin it back. When she closed her eyes, I glanced at Quaid and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

He nodded but cut his gaze at Bryn too quickly as though not wanting me to read the truth behind his eyes.

“Quaid?”

“Flynn’s dead. We’ll talk about it later.”

A coil of sickness churned my belly as I imagined how the scenario had played out, resulting in a death. For an instant, Columbus’s face flashed through my mind. I shoved it away and refocused on the present. We’d talk later. I didn’t want anything or anyone to spoil this moment.

I reached for Quaid’s hand and turned it to admire the faint blue lines on his wrist, stroking my thumb over their length. He stilled, watching, knowing where my thoughts strayed.

He turned his hand and linked our fingers. “I’m fine, Az.”

“I know.” I glanced at Bryn. “Anytime, Quaid. This baby is almost here.”

This was it. Our life-changing moment.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Warmed by his words, I kissed his fingers and released his hands to tap my chest over my heart. “I love you, too.”

Tears brimmed his eyes.

“I can tell you guys are being cute over top of me, but I’m too tired to open my eyes and witness it.”

I chuckled. “Rest. You need it.”

“I am.” But in less time than I expected, she whined, “Oh no… Another one.”

And it was rough.

And it went on for what felt like ages.

And they came one on top of another on top of another.

We worked as a team to support her.

A nurse came in while Bryn gritted her teeth and fought to copy Quaid’s instructions for proper breathing so she wouldn’t hold her breath.

When it ended, the nurse explained she would do another pelvic exam. While she did, Quaid found a wet cloth and wiped Bryn’s face.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything for the pain?” I asked. Until then, she’d turned it down. “This is your rodeo, and there’s no shame.”

Bryn shook her head. “No. I can do it. I did it last time. ”

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” the nurse announced. “We’re pretty much at ten centimeters. A tiny lip left, but one or two more contractions should do it, and we can start pushing. I’m going to get the doctor.”

The nurse vanished, and Bryn glowered. “Who does she think is pushing this baby out? ‘We’ can start pushing, she says. Ha! Bullpuckie to that. It’s gonna be all me… Oh, Mylanta. Another one already. I didn’t get a break.”

Bryn looked like she wanted to cry and dropped her head on Quaid’s shoulder, twisting to one side as she vibrated and clenched and screamed through another long contraction. Quaid braced her in his arms while I took a turn rubbing her back.

With a sudden, frantic cry, Bryn yelled, “I have to push. It’s coming. Tell them I have to push now. I can’t stop it.”

Since Quaid had Bryn in his arms, I raced for the door, shouting for help. The nurse and doctor were already on their way and picked up their pace, blasting into the room and setting up with a studious calmness that contradicted the panicked energy.

Bryn screamed that the baby was coming.

The doctor patiently told her to breathe and not push yet.

Mild-tempered Bryn, who I’d never heard use even a mild curse word, told him to fuck off and get the fucking baby out of her.

The nurse maneuvered Bryn onto her back, instructing Quaid what to do as she got Bryn’s legs in position and scooted her closer to the end of the bed.

The contraction stopped, but Bryn did not calm down. Quaid fed her ice chips as the doctor snapped on gloves and prepared the instrument tray, wheeling it beside the bed.

“When she has another contraction, you can each help hold her legs back and prop her up. Bryn, you’re going to bear down. You know what to do, sweetie. ”

Delivery was a process I wasn’t prepared for. It didn’t happen quickly. It didn’t happen quietly. It didn’t happen neatly or cleanly. The strain and energy required were immense. Videos didn’t do it justice, and I had a newfound respect for every woman who had endured childbirth.

Quaid was a trooper, but I had never doubted his ability to cope. When a situation called for it, he was there. He gave everything he had and more. Dedicated. Loyal. Persistent. That was my husband. That was why I could never stay mad at him for racing after Crowley.

The moment became surreal and dreamlike. I processed it in simple snapshots, moments of sensory input my brain could handle.

I saw the strained tendons in Bryn’s neck as she worked to push our baby into the world.

I heard her grunts and shouts of effort.

I felt the heat of her sweaty palm in my hand.

I smelled antiseptics, anticipation, fear, and joy.

The cold of the paper cup of ice transferred hands as we took turns spoon-feeding Bryn during short moments of respite.

Quaid’s unwavering concentration amazed me as he spoke words of encouragement, never faltering, never breaking a sweat.

I admired the gentle way he moved the hair from Bryn’s eyes, told her she was beautiful, and thanked her for doing this for us.

The doctor’s low tenor announced the baby was crowning. “We’ve got a head full of hair.”

My heart stuttered, and for an instant, Quaid and I locked gazes to absorb that tiny detail.

The nurse’s calm tone encouraged Bryn to stop pushing so they could check to be sure the umbilical cord wasn’t around the baby’s neck.

A held breath .

A deep thrum of anticipation.

Then… a piercing wail from new lungs, expanding for the first time.

When the doctor announced, “We have a baby girl,” my vision blurred, and the world tipped on its axis.

I couldn’t stop shaking. I saw her. Squirming and flailing limbs. Purple and pink and covered in blood and discharge, but she was whole and alive and filling the room with her cries.

She was beautiful and ours.

It took Bryn to shake my hand before I snapped out of the shock and tumbled back to earth.

Quaid was on his feet, his baby blue eyes glassy but focused as the doctor explained how to cut the cord. When the nurse handed Quaid the instrument, my husband caught my eye. “Cut it with me.”

Together, hand over hand, we set our baby girl free into the world. The nurse glanced between us, then to Bryn as though unsure if she should put the baby on Bryn’s chest or take her to be cleaned up and weighed.

“They’re her dads,” Bryn explained, tears filling her smiling eyes. “She needs to be with them first and always.”