Page 39 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

Two vehicles screeched into the emergency bay at the same time—Tutu’s clunky car groaning around the corner like it had just escaped a demolition derby, and a bright yellow taxi fishtailing beside it like it was auditioning for Fast & the Furious: Honolulu Drift.

Both skidded to a halt, side by side, before all the doors flew open.

From Tutu’s car floundered Kimo, Nakoa, Tutu, Cal, and me, all trying to exit at once, which went exactly as you’d expect.

Cal’s door got stuck, Nakoa’s foot was on the seatbelt, Kimo fell flat on his face in his haste to get out and I may have elbowed Tutu directly in the boob while trying to climb over her.

From the taxi tumbled Mrs. Mulroney, Mr. Banks, Rashida, Angus, and Tilly, all shouting over one another like the baby was already halfway out.

Mrs. Mulroney flung the door open with such force it nearly hit a nurse, Mr. Banks emerged holding a stethoscope and a name badge that read “Doctor Waffle Von Sauerkraut,” Rashida spilled an entire folder of hospital paperwork across the curb, Angus slipped on absolutely nothing and somehow took out a traffic cone, and Tilly climbed out last carrying Leilani’s overnight bag and shouting, “Female octopuses lay up to a hundred thousand eggs. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that today! ”

As we all scrambled frantically for the door, a nurse rushed toward us looking like she was deeply rethinking her career choices.

“Who’s the patient?” she asked, eyes darting between all ten of us.

From the back seat of Tutu’s car, Leilani raised her hand. “Hi. That would be me. I’m the one in labor.”

“She’s having contractions,” I added, trying not to hyperventilate. “And she’s already broken her water. Also, if anyone asks, Dr. Waffle isn’t a real doctor.”

“Wheelchair!” the nurse shouted, completely ignoring my panic attack.

“Already on it!” Kimo declared, suddenly appearing with not one but two wheelchairs which he was steering like a pair of rally cars.

He shoved one in Angus’s direction. “Bro, you take Mr. Banks in case he tries to drop dead on us again. I’ll take big mama here.”

“Who are you calling ‘big?’” Leilani screamed in pain.

“Not you, cuz! No way I was talking about you,” he said as he bundled her into the wheelchair.

“Oh God!” she begged the rest of us. “Please don’t let Kimo drive me. The baby doesn’t have a seatbelt.”

“Too late,” he grinned. “Racers, start your engines.”

Leilani gripped the arms of the wheelchair, grunting and sweating, as the entire group swarmed the entrance like we were storming a castle.

A second nurse appeared, eyes widening as we surged past.

“Are you all family members?” she called.

“YES!” we all shouted in unison.

“Immediate family only! ”

“Great,” I said. “That’s all of us.”

Together we charged behind Leilani as Kimo raced her through the corridors, following the nurses to the maternity ward.

“Where’s a pillow for her back?” asked Nakoa.

“Where’s the snack vending machine?” cried Angus.

“Where’s the whiskey!?” shrieked Mrs. Mulroney. “And make it top shelf. It’s not every day I become a grandmother!”

Elderly patients and a man with an oxygen tank moved swiftly out of our way as we careened through the corridors like a runaway train, with Kimo and Leilani in front, while Angus and Mr. Banks fishtailed behind, bringing up the rear.

A nurse jogged ahead of us, waving for us to follow. “Maternity’s this way! On the right!”

We all turned left.

“No, your other right!” the nurse shouted.

We slammed into each other mid-pivot like human shopping carts.

“I thought you meant stage left!” I shouted, trying to justify the maneuver while Angus stepped straight into a mop bucket.

“This hospital is a maze!” Rashida gasped, almost dry-retching as she dodged a nurse with a splashing bedpan.

“Why is everything beige?!” Mrs. Mulroney howled. “Am I dead?! Is this purgatory?!”

“I think I lost a slipper,” Mr. Banks muttered somewhere behind me. “Someone call the dog squad. They’ll sniff out my toe jam from a mile away.”

Leilani groaned through a contraction. “Oh God, it’s coming! Please don’t let me give birth on wheels!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” grinned Kimo, gripping the wheelchair like a Formula One driver. “That would be awesome!”

“No, Kimo, it would not be awesome! I do not feel the need for speed right now. I feel the need for an epidural! ”

“That’s what I meant,” Kimo quickly corrected himself. “One bad-ass epidural, coming right up!”

We rounded one last corner, nearly took out a water dispenser, and saw the glowing sign at last: MATERNITY WARD.

We all skidded to a halt outside the double doors of the maternity ward like we were about to bust open a secret lair.

Another nurse stepped forward with a clipboard in hand and a face that said she had very little time for dramatics.

“If you think you’re all getting into this delivery room, you’ve got another thing coming.

” She looked at Leilani with a softer look in her eyes.

“Honey, who do you want in there with you?”

Leilani didn’t hesitate.

She just pointed at me and Cal and said—“The fathers.”

The nurse blinked at Leilani’s answer.

“The fathers,” Leilani repeated softly, as though the words had surprised her with how real and right this felt.

The nurse nodded once, her voice gentle. “Okay. Let’s get the three of you inside.”

The double doors swung open, and the hallway disappeared behind us. The noise, the chaos, the mad tangle of family—all of it fell away.

Inside, the delivery room was bright yet calm. The walls hummed faintly with the sound of machines. The overhead lights shone like halos. And suddenly, eased onto the delivery bed in the middle of it all, was Leilani.

Strong.

Terrified.

Glorious.

She settled into place with the help of the nurses in the room, each exercising the kind of care that made me want to hug every nurse in the building.

They spoke to her with quiet reverence, as if this wasn’t just medicine—it was ceremony.

Like it wasn’t just their job. Like they knew something truly sacred was about to happen .

I stood on her right. Cal on her left. We each took a hand. Her fingers squeezed hard—stronger than I expected—but I held on like my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, eyes darting from one of us to the other.

“So are we,” I said truthfully. “But we’re here. We’re gonna get through this. All four of us.”

Cal leaned close, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us. You’ve got the whole damn universe in your corner.”

One of the nurses leaned in and murmured something to Leilani. She nodded, biting her lip, tears welling in her eyes.

“I think it’s really happening now,” she whispered.

“It is,” said the nurse kindly. “And you’re ready. Don’t worry, your body knows what to do. We know what to do. You’re gonna be just fine.”

The doctor entered then, calm and focused. She was flanked by a second nurse and someone adjusting machines in the corner. The air shifted. Everything felt tighter, more fragile, more real.

The monitor beeped steadily. The IV drip ticked. Time became strange.

And then—

“Okay, Leilani,” the doctor said gently. “It’s time to start pushing.”

Leilani’s face twisted—not just in pain, not just in fear—but in something deeper. Something ancient. She closed her eyes and gripped our hands even tighter.

“You’re doing so well,” Cal whispered. “You’ve got this.”

“Don’t you know that’s the last thing a woman wants to hear when she’s giving birth?” Leilani puffed. “It’s the ultimate condescending cliché, especially coming from a man.”

Quickly I tried to compensate. “We believe in you.”

She laughed. “You guys so suck at this. ”

“Just remember,” I kept going. “You’re not just carrying our baby. You’re carrying every hope we’ve ever had.”

She gave a broken little laugh. “No pressure, then.”

Another contraction hit. Leilani gasped, her whole body curling into the pain. She cried out, and I felt something in me break. Her strength. Her courage. It was all bigger than I could comprehend.

“Breathe,” the nurse said. “That’s it. Let it come.”

Time collapsed into a blur as she pushed.

Panted.

Cried.

Screamed.

I don’t know when it happened exactly, but at some point, Leilani started sobbing. Not from the physical hurt. But from some unseen power within her. From something enormous crashing through her.

And just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more—couldn’t hold any more emotion in my body without exploding—the doctor said, “I see the head. One more push.”

Leilani cried out, every part of her straining.

Then suddenly—silence.

And then—

A cry.

One loud, perfect, powerful cry.

The baby.

Our baby.

I caught my breath but not the tears that streaked down my cheeks.

For month I’d pictured the room erupting at this point, exploding with joy and laughter and relief.

But it didn’t.

Instead, the whole world seemed to soften.

It seemed to let out a breath.

And then, so did I, as I saw our newborn child being lifted gently into the world, slick and confused and impossibly small. The nurse laid the baby against Leilani’s chest and the doctor smiled. “Congratulations. It’s a beautiful baby girl.”

My knees nearly gave out.

Cal gripped the back of my head and pressed his forehead to mine, his eyes blinking, his cheeks wet.

“She’s here,” I whispered. “We’re parents.”

“She’s perfect,” he said. “Just perfect.”

Leilani sobbed quietly, her body spent, her face radiant. She held the baby against her, cradling her gently before looking up at me and Cal. “Are you ready to hold your daughter?” she asked.

We nodded.

And when I took her in my arms—our daughter, pink and wrinkled and still a little squished from the journey—I forgot how to breathe again.

Her face was full of bewilderment and wonder and promise. “Hi,” I murmured softly. “Hi you. We’re your daddies.”

She was warm.

She was real.

She was beautiful.

I looked at Cal.

And then at Leilani.

And then I whispered the one thing that mattered most in that moment—

“Thank you.”