Page 132 of The Omega Exchange: Omnibus (The Exchange)

Chapter Forty-One

Oliver

Miller notices Mel is in labor before she does. It’s probably due to the fact he’s always feeling all over her damn stomach. Not that I have room to talk, but he’s next to her on the couch, and he very covertly begins timing the tightening of her stomach.

Her due date is still five days away, but they taught us in the classes that it’s rare for a baby to be born on the exact day.

Melody is in denial for several more hours. “It’s Braxton Hicks. It’s like eleven p.m. I just need a glass of water and a good night’s sleep.”

She does try to get some rest, but she’s up and down constantly going to the bathroom.

By four in the morning, it’s clear she’s in labor. Her contractions are coming every three to four minutes and have been for close to two hours. We’ve all started feeling them quite strongly over the last hour.

We call the doctor, and he’s surprised we aren’t at the hospital yet.

There’s pure pandemonium as we pack up the hospital bags and get settled in the SUV.

“Ohmigod, I already feel like I have to pee again,” Mel says as soon as she moves to grab her seat belt. She had to go immediately before we came out to the garage too.

“I brought a towel,” I say, grabbing one out of the bag at my feet.

“I don’t think that was the right answer,” Nik mutters, staring down at where Mel is squeezing the fuck out of his hand.

“Did someone grab my phone?” Mel asks, frowning. “I didn’t think to pick it up.”

“I’ve got it,” Carver assures her as Miller backs us out of the garage.

I’m pretty sure he texted Ben to let him know what’s going on. Not that he cares. He’s had the better part of five months to come to terms with things, and he still hasn’t done the adult thing or at least told us where his head is at.

I shove up my glasses, facing toward the front of the car. I don’t like thinking about what happens if he changes his mind.

Our family is about to expand. The baby is coming, and life is about to completely change. Nervousness wars with excitement, but I know we’ll be fine.

Well, as long as Ben doesn’t come out of nowhere and ruin everything.

We make it to the hospital and check in.

They determine Mel is in active labor. She’s already almost four centimeters dilated.

They taught us in her birthing class that labor is easier and tends to progress quicker if the mom stays active.

Melody never stopped hitting the gym during her entire pregnancy.

Although she did significantly cut down the amount of time she spent there, especially the last few weeks.

Hopefully it means labor won’t last forever, and maybe it’ll be easier on her. I have no idea. I’ve read so much contradictory information over the last few months.

Melody is hobbling from the triage room to the room where she’ll deliver when she stops dead in her tracks.

“Uh-oh,” she whispers, holding onto Miller for dear life.

“Your water just broke,” the nurse says, sighing. “It’s fine, keep moving. On the plus side it’s clear and that’s a great sign.”

I frown, it feels like she’s annoyed that someone will have to clean that up.

How much could a hospital cost? I wonder if I could buy this one before Mel gives birth. She definitely doesn’t need to feel bad about leaking on the floor. It’s not something that’s controllable. I read that too. It also means the baby is moving down.

Another contraction hits and this one seems to be worse than the last few. Damn, it takes my breath away.

I think maybe I’ll quietly encourage her to take the epidural once we’re settled into a room.

Mel does eventually decide to go for the epidural without any of us even suggesting it.

“Oh, God,” Carver groans, glancing around like he’s looking for somewhere to puke. The nurse pulls her hand from under the sheet and measures her fingers against a weird set of beads.

“They’re dilation beads,” the nurse says, smiling when she catches sight of us staring. “You’re at almost ten centimeters.”

Melody groans. She’s been sick as hell since she got the epidural, but at least she’s no longer in agony. Unfortunately, she has been pretty consistently vomiting, which the nurse says happens sometimes.

“You’re doing great,” Nik says, kissing her forehead. “She’ll be here before you know it, and this will be nothing but a memory.”

“More like a nightmare,” Carver mutters. His anxiety and worry bleeds through the bond. We’re all doing our best to block crossover, but it’s hard considering we’re all anxious. Feeling helpless doesn’t help.

“It won’t be too much longer,” the nurse says, patting Mel’s calf. “If you feel the urge to push, let me know. I’m going to quickly update the doctor.”

Things move pretty fast after that. It isn’t long before another nurse joins the first. They completely change the bottom of the table and offer Mel leg holder thingies. Miller ends up with one foot and Carver takes the other.

“Where the fuck is Dr. Jamison?” Nik growls as Mel pushes through another contraction.

“Another patient from the same practice just delivered. He’ll be in as soon as he can,” the newer nurse says.

My heart pounds erratically. This seems dangerous. If she’s pushing then shouldn’t the doctor be here?

“Are there any other on-call physicians?” I ask, glancing between them. “If he’s occupied then . . .” I swipe a hand over my face and breathe through the panic.

“Pushing can take hours for a first-time mom,” the original nurse says.

“If the baby starts crowning or is in any distress, we’ll get someone in here immediately.

I know it’s stressful, but we do this every day.

” She looks at Mel. “You’re doing great, Mom.

And it seems like you’re going to have an amazing support system. ”

“Yeah,” Mel whimpers.

I make my way up to her head and grab the wet rag from Nik.

“I love you,” I say, kissing her cheek.

Since she got the epidural, the contractions feel like a rolling wave of pressure clamping down on my lower stomach and sometimes my balls. Another comes. They’re right on top of each other now.

“Breathe with me,” I remind Mel.

Mel does a lovely impression of a feral alpha. Seriously, her snarl is impressive. And kind of fucking terrifying.

“Get the doctor. That can’t be normal. Is that supposed to happen?” Carver asks, his face as white as a sheet.

“For the love of God,” Miller growls. “Shut up or get out!”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Melody snaps. “I let him have sex with me. That means he’s going to get his ass up here and hold my damn hand. Not that any of you are ever touching me again. No way, not after this.”

“Shit, I’ve never heard an omega growl louder than an alpha,” Carver whispers. Looking at Mel, he says, “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. So damn pretty and kind of scary, but I still love you.”

“Get up here,” Nik grumbles. “You can switch places with me.”

“But is that normal?” Carver asks, glancing between us.

“Where the hell do you think the baby comes out?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with him for life—” I groan, clutching at my stomach. I’m surprised the smack came from my omega.

“Don’t even joke right now,” Melody hisses. “Ohmigod, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.” She looks at Miller and bursts into tears. “I hit him.”

“It’s okay, it really didn’t hurt . . . that bad,” I assure her, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

Dr. Jamison picks that very moment to finally make his entrance. He glances at Mel already in the stirrups and does a double take. “Okay, things are really moving. Let’s see what’s going on.” He heads over to wash his hands.

“Just a reminder,” the nurse says, glancing between us. “Growling and snarling is fine to a point, we’re used to it. But if you get physically aggressive, you will be removed.”

We all mumble some form of agreement.

“Another one is coming,” I warn because for whatever reason, I seem to pick up the feeling first.

I suck in a sharp breath, leaning over the head of the table by Mel’s head. This one is worse than any of the rest.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Carver groans. “Remember that you like what I can do with my hands. Sweetheart, you’re about to break my fingers.”

“It hurts,” Mel whimpers.

“You’re doing great,” Miller says. That asshole barely seems to notice the contractions.

“Okay,” Dr. Jamison says, wheeling his chair over. The nurses start prepping a table and bring it over too. “Let’s see if we can get your daughter in your arms.”

“Okay,” Mel sobs. God, it’s hard seeing her so beat. She’s had a night and morning of hell that’s for sure. I run my hand over the top of her head and give her all the comfort and reassurance that I can.

The next thirty or forty minutes are a lot of grunting and misery. Mel is physically wiped out.

“Come on, Mel,” Dr. Jamison says. “On this next one, she’s coming out.”

“I can’t,” Mel says, her head rolling around. “I don’t have any energy left.”

“You’d be surprised,” the nurse says. “It seems to be a superpower of moms. Finding strength when you swear there’s none left. One more good push and you can hold your daughter.”

It’s pure agony for all of us when the next contraction rips through Mel’s system. I swear that fucking epidural wore off somewhere along the way.

“Push, push, push,” Dr. Jamison chants. “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

Mel groans. She hasn’t really screamed or yelled. It feels like she’s kept most of it internal.

I’m breathing through the pain with Mel when the tiny wail breaks my focus.

“You have a daughter,” the nurse says.

“Would one of you like to cut the cord?” the doctor asks.

“You should do it,” Carver says to Miller. The big guy is red faced and looking a little like he might keel over.

It’s a quick process as he handles the cord and they bring the baby up to be placed on Melody’s chest.

“You did it,” I whisper.

Melody is still frozen, staring at the baby. She really needs a name. She’s got medium blondish-brown hair and there’s a lot of it. She’s still kind of gooey and her skin is bright pink.

I’ve watched a lot of birthing videos. That’s the only thing keeping me calm right now. I tried to get the guys to watch them with me, but only Miller made it through the first one. After that, he said he got the idea and passed on checking out anymore.

“She’s perfect,” Nik says. His voice quavers with emotion.

“I’m so proud of you,” Miller adds, pushing his way up to kiss Mel’s forehead.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Carver adds.

And because it’s all my brain can focus on, I simply say, “You’re still going to have to deliver the placenta.”

Melody snorts, giving me a tired smile. “I love you, Oli.”

I say a silent thank you to the universe for sending me a woman that understands that was my way of saying I love you.

“Have you decided on a name?” I ask once we’re settled into a private room.

I’m snuggled on the bed at Mel’s side, and I can’t stop myself from running my fingers over the baby’s soft hair as she . . . I don’t think she’s actually nursing since she’s conked out. I think she’s using Mel as a human pacifier at the moment.

The chunky little lady weighed in at eight pounds nine ounces, and she really needs a name.

“Should we open the baby name book that my mom sent and each pick a page randomly?” Carver asks, chuckling. “Then we can do it lottery style from there.”

“One of these days, I swear we’re going to see you on one of those television shows featuring the dumbest ways to die.” Nik laughs, gesturing to Mel. “Damn, gorgeous. That look is intimidating.”

“You really need to stop,” Miller says. He’s on Melody’s other side in one of the chairs, but he’s leaning mostly on the bed.

“They love tormenting me,” Mel says, stretching back. “I’m fond of Kendall, Linley, and Mallory.”

“Shall we vote?” Carver asks, winking at Mel.

“She just pushed out an almost nine-pound baby. I think that means she gets full naming rights,” Nik says.

Someone knocks on the door. All of our gazes fly to it. The nurses and several different doctors have been in and out. The pediatrician Mel picked checked in less than an hour ago though.

My jaw falls when Ben Hall pokes his head in the door.