Page 23 of Wrong Number, Right Grizzly (Dial M For Mates #7)

NIX

“Nix, we need to practice.”

My mate was in the living room waiting for me to help him to the floor. He was surrounded by cushions and was practicing his hee-hee-haw breathing technique that we’d been taught at birthing classes.

But as his due date was now, he insisted on us practicing more because during the classes, we’d giggled at ourselves a lot instead of hee-hee-hawing.

“I’m here.” I joined him in the breathing exercises and got him onto the quilt I’d placed over the carpet.

“Right, no laughing this time. We have to take this seriously.”

But as soon as my mate said that last word, I snorted and he chortled, and two seconds later, I was rolling on the floor laughing. My mate couldn’t do any rolling, but he was holding his belly, saying I’d made him laugh so much his tummy hurt.

I had no idea why these exercises sent us into hysterics, because giving birth was long and painful, and I needed to be a partner to my laboring mate.

I grabbed my phone and pushed play so the soothing sounds of the music Ronan had chosen filled the room. Hopefully, that would banish the giggles.

“Ugh, even with the quilt and cushion, it’s hard to get comfortable.”

I grabbed pillows from our bedroom and placed them around him. He was so cute and reminded me of the stuffed toys we’d placed on a shelf in the nursery.

“You’re adorable.”

He glared at me. “Focus, Nix. We’re going to be doing this for real in the next week or so. Maybe days.”

Okay. I made the zipping-mouth motion. “We’re going to do pant-pant-blow.”

Ronan slapped a hand to his face as laughter bubbled out of him, but he finished with not hee-hee-haw but oww-oww-owwwww!

I held up my hands in surrender. “That wasn’t me.” I arranged my features into a serious expression. “I’m the guy ready to help you breathe.”

Ronan took a deep breath in through his nose and then out from his mouth. He scrunched up his face and hugged a pillow to his belly.

“It’s not working,” he wailed.

I was about to tell him we were just pretending, but he was uncomfortable lugging around his bump and getting little sleep.

Plus, he had to pee every hour, so I clamped my mouth shut and asked if he’d like any ice chips.

He’s taken a liking to them, and during the past week, there was a constant clinking of ice hitting a crystal bowl.

“Please.” He bent forward and panted.

But while I was getting the ice, he yelled that he wanted to walk around. So we paced the living room, into the bedroom, and back. I was so impressed by my mate, not laughing or joking but being so intense.

He winced and gripped my hand hard. “Focus on your breathing, my love. Ignore everything else.”

Does he pretend you’re not talking?

Good point, grizzly. I didn’t think of that .

I told my mate I was impressed with how realistic he was with the breathing and the pretend contractions, but he didn’t reply and just gave me a withering look. He went to say something but grunted instead.

My alarm buzzed. The pizza was done, and I told Ronan we could continue the session after he’d eaten.

But he shook his head and continued to pace, leaving me to race after him.

Not since the first trimester had Ronan refused a meal.

He was really into this, wanting to make sure he’d get it right on the day.

“I need to pee.” He shuffled off to the bathroom while I put the pizza, plates, and napkins on a tray along with a salad I’d made earlier.

But when my mate returned, his face was etched with pain as he clenched his teeth and grimaced. He was doing his breathing, and I wondered if he had a urinary infection.

Something’s wrong , my beast insisted. He’s not well .

“Let’s pause this while you put your feet up and eat. The baby’s not coming today.”

Ronan put both hands on his lower back and grunted, and I grabbed the rolling pin from our hospital bag, but he wanted the exercise ball. He swayed on the ball and said after panting that it gave him some relief.

“Nix, I… owww.” My mate leaned forward and yelled, “It hurts so bad, and I need to push.” Alarm bells went off in my head. He told me to get him undressed, and oh gods, was this it? Was he really in labor?

“Please help me onto the quilt.”

“Is this it? Is it really happening?”

"Nix, this is the real deal.”

Oh gods, I’d been running around, blabbering like a fool, and Ronan was just laboring away. “Why didn't you tell me?"

He gave me another one of those looks. “Because I wanted to make sure I was in labor and didn’t want you to freak out.”

“Freak out? Who’s freaking out?”

Ummm, you .

Shoot. My grizzly was right, and maybe Ronan had done the right thing by keeping it from me because I was doing a great impression of freaking out.

“The hospital bag.” It was here a moment ago, but now I couldn’t find it. Where the heck was it?

Ronan’s calm voice was the opposite of mine. “We’re not going to the hospital—” He was cut off by another contraction.

I trawled through my memories of what I was supposed to be doing. “Be supportive,” the birthing coach had said.

I could do that. I just had to stop panicking. Maybe I should do the hee-hee-haw breathing.

“I wanna push,” my mate cried. “Our little one really wants to meet us.”

I can do this. I can . Ronan was the one bringing our baby into the world and I was the coach, the sidekick, and the support staff of one.

My mate was on hands and knees, and I got into the same position beside him as I figured he needed to see me and breathe with me. We panted and then pushed through the contractions until Ronan told me he was either about to push out the head or a watermelon.

I shuffled behind him and awwed. I glimpsed our baby’s hair. This was real, and I was going to be the first one to hold our child as they came into the world.

“You’re almost there, my darling.”

Ronan grunted and screamed as each contraction and push brought the baby closer to birth. He cried, saying he’d used all his energy, but I replied with the same two words. “Almost there.”

After one final push, the baby’s head emerged, with hair plastered to their scalp. More pushing and the shoulders appeared. My hands were on our child, and I told my mate to reach around and feel the baby’s hair.

He cried, and after more pushing, I was cradling our son.

A son who was yelling at being somewhere new.

I cleaned him up the way the midwife had taught me and then put him on Ronan’s chest and got them both settled with pillows and a blanket.

My mate’s teardrops fell onto our son’s damp head and mingled with my own as we both kissed our baby.

“Can you get the pizza and bagels with cream cheese? Maybe some grapes. I’m starving.”

My grizzly complained about having to leave my mate and son, but I told him Ronan’s needs came before his, as he’d just pushed a baby into the world.

The pizza was cold, but Ronan didn’t care and he ate half of it as I brushed the crumbs off the baby’s head.

I snapped a pic of our son and sent it to my folks who bombarded me with messages until I said both Ronan and baby were well and I’d fill them in later. This was us time, us being the newly created family.

“Do you think he looks like the name we chose?” We’d decided on Osborn, but now as we studied our newborn, the name was more fitting of an older man.

“Espen was the second boys’ name on our list.” Ronan ruffled the baby’s hair.

“I like it.”

I held Espen while Ronan showered, and then we gave our son his first bath. My mate was hungry again, so I ordered food, and we laughed, saying how having food delivered was the appropriate end to our son’s birth story.

Espen suckled while we feasted on burgers, fries, and shakes.

“You know what would put a period at the end of the sentence?” I nudged my mate as he burped Espen.

He rolled his eyes. “Let me take a wild guess. A documentary about bears?”

“Well, we can’t watch true crime.” I put my hands over the baby’s ears.

Ronan agreed, but it had to be soothing with no hunting or fighting.

Our first night as a family, and my mate and son were dozing beside me while a narrator informed his audience of how bear moms adored their cubs.