Her Best Friend's Lover

by Shiloh Walker

  Dimly, she heard Jenny snap, “It’s about damn time. Where in the…”

  Time lost all meaning again as another contraction seized her. A hand closed around hers, but she didn’t marvel at how Jennifer could hold both hands at the same time from one side of the bed. She rose into a half seated position, panting, grasping at the hands that held hers as though it was all that kept her from being ripped in two. When it finally eased, she closed her eyes and escaped temporarily into oblivion.

  Impersonal efficient hands were pressing, poking and prodding, taking measurements and making notes. Her eyes opened blearily and she looked around, confused. First, she saw the nurse who was between her upraised legs. “Nine inches, Lauren. Full effacement. It’s just about time.” Then her head rolled to the side as Dr. Flynn entered the room. Something like disapproval flashed in her normally placid eyes before she became all beaming smiles. “Everything will be fine, Lauren. You’re young and healthy…” the platitudes rolled off the doctor’s tongue without Lauren hearing them.

  Jennifer sat at her left hand, smiling shakily and gripping her hand tightly. Her mouth moved but what she said, Lauren didn’t know. Finally, she rolled her head the other way. Cheek resting on the pillow, her eyes met deep pools of blue, full of sorrow and panic. The last time she had seen them, they had held only anger. “Dale,” she whispered, reaching out. “You’re here…”

  Dale entered the room, afraid of what he might find, schooling his features as best he could.

  What he saw was something from a man’s worst nightmare. Lauren was on a table with her legs propped up, feet in stirrups. She was naked from the waist down, a hospital gown rucked up around her waist. Her eyes were closed and her face was pale, deathly pale. Her mouth was open as she breathed rapidly, shallowly. Her belly, that tight hard little mound that was nowhere near the size it should be, was much lower than it had been when he had left only two days earlier.

  There was blood. He jerked his eyes from below her waist, away from that red fluid that smeared her thighs as he rushed to her side, taking her hand. He met Jennifer’s stony glare without flinching, knowing damn well he deserved every hideous thing she was thinking. He’d much rather face that than look at the blood that streaked Lauren’s flesh.

  Birthing was a messy business, a painful one. He’d known that technically, but it hadn’t really hit home. And he thought he’d have some time to prepare for it.

  She was so pale, Dale thought, jaw clenched. All around him, everybody scurried about, doing this, checking that. After examining Lauren, Dr. Flynn donned gloves, and spoke tersely to Dale. “Dr. Norland, a very fine neonatal specialist, is in the facility and will examine the baby as soon as we deliver it. He comes highly recommended by your chosen pediatrician, Dr. Young. I’m most concerned about the lungs. But I am thinking things will be fine. Lauren’s young and healthy. We got the baby to turn and now we just have to deliver the little tyke. She’s taken good care of herself and this baby.”

  She didn’t look so fine now.

  Her cheeks had a spot of high color on each cheekbone, but the rest of her face was parchment white. Her lips were dry and cracked and as he watched, as her hand closed painfully around his, she sank her teeth into her lip, arching her back. In horrified fascination, he watched as her stomach tightened. “Don’t push yet, Lauren,” Dr. Flynn ordered briskly. “Not yet. Keep breathing.”

  Tendrils of hair had escaped the messy braid to cling to her cheeks. She panted shallowly at the doctor’s request, but her eyes were wild with pain. Finally, the muscles in her abdomen eased and her grip on his hand loosened.

  He watched, astonished moments later, as Dr. Flynn once again left the room. “Not time yet,” she said. Not time yet? Dale thought as he watched Lauren slip into sleep swiftly.

  How could she sleep? Dale wondered frantically. He’d never sleep again. He raised his eyes and met Jennifer’s accusing glare over the bed. In a flat calm voice, she said, “You really are a bastard, you know that?”

  He said nothing, just turned his eyes back to Lauren’s pale face, raising her limp hand to his lips. After a minute, her eyes fluttered open and she looked up, meeting his worried gaze. As he watched, the distress, the fear, the exhaustion in her eyes disappeared and she said in a calm, if hoarse, voice, “Stop worrying, Dale. I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are,” he murmured, clinging tightly to her hand when she would have pulled it away. “But I’m not.”

  Her mouth quirked into a slight smile as she turned her head to Jennifer. “Ice?” she asked. Dale watched as his wife’s friend held a cup of ice to her mouth, watched as she sighed in relief. “How much time?”

  “A minute or so,” Jennifer replied, glancing at her watch. “Are you ready?”

  Bitterly, he closed his eyes and lowered his head. It should have been him she turned to; he should have been there for her. His mouth spasmed once and his throat ached with grief.

  Time and again, it happened, the four minutes between contractions dwindling to three, to two. Finally, there were only seconds between contractions and the serenity had faded from her eyes, even the echo of it gone. “Shit,” she cursed weakly as the final spasm faded. “How do women survive this?” she gasped, trying desperately to catch her breath.

  “No choice.” Jennifer quipped, “You don’t really think men could do it, do you?”

  Before she could answer, a moan slid past her lips and she arched up again. Dale sat there, helplessly, while she panted and breathed. No words of comfort or encouragement could he find as he sat, frozen, watching as she bit back a cry. Harsh, shallow breaths came from her mouth and her face paled even more, a grimace twisting her features.

  When it finally ended, she again tried to tug her hand from Dale’s. Quietly, he said, “No, Lauren.” Meeting his eyes, she sighed, weakly, unable to fight with him. She had barely caught her breath before another contraction was on her.

  The pain twisted through her again, obscene in its intensity. Her chest felt tight, as though an iron band was clamped around her. “Don’t push,” she heard a nurse shout out. Another said, “I’ll get Dr. Flynn.”

  Before she could even blink, another pain shot through her and she screamed, unable to hold it back any longer. No more, she thought wildly. No more. Then Dr. Flynn was there, again, between her upraised legs. “Don’t push, Lauren, not yet,” she said, her voice soothing, calming, and irritating as hell. She had a brief moment to reflect on how undignified this was before another contraction started.

  As it eased, she waited, hopelessly, for the doctor to order, yet again, not to push. But this time, when the pain came, the doctor said, “Okay, Lauren. Bear down…Now!”

  The pain built until she thought it would rip her in two, then, with a suddenness that left her floundering, it eased.

  Dale’s hand was holding hers and his other arm was under her shoulders, supporting her. In her ear, he whispered, “I love you, Lauren. I’m sorry…”

  “Breathe again, Lauren. Don’t push any more until I tell you to,” Dr. Flynn said from between her legs.

  Dale raised his head, to ask something, but the words died in his throat as he saw what the doctor held in her hands. A tiny little head. She worked quickly, suctioning out the tiny mouth. he ordered Lauren not to push as another contraction gripped her, but with the next one, she ordered, “Now, Lauren. One more time.”

  As his wife arose to her elbows, pushing down, Dale held his breath and prayed. And then it was over. Dr. Flynn held a tiny little girl in her capable hands. He started to ask if the baby was well but then, to his amazement, she opened her mouth and squeaked out, indignantly, hoarsely, voicing her protests of the treatment she had just received. “My God,” he whispered reverently.

  “Is it okay?” Lauren asked weakly, trying to raise her head.

  “I think she’s going to be just fine,” Dr. Flynn said, smiling broadly as the baby gave another squeaky little cry. “Just fine.”

  Several hours later, Dale
finally held his daughter. Lauren was sleeping soundly in the bed next to him. After Dr. Flynn had reassured her, she had dropped into sleep as though she had just been waiting for permission. The neonatologist had examined the baby and pronounced her fit as a fiddle, if somewhat tiny. At each vigorous cry, he had laughed, assuring Dale that her little lungs were functioning exactly as they should.

  His daughter. He’d watched as this tiny infant pushed her way into the world, and screamed her protest at being taken from her snug little nest.

  He was scared to death of this tiny thing. She didn’t even weigh five pounds and one of his hands was almost as big as her whole body. A knitted pink and blue stocking cap was on her head and she was swaddled in blankets as she slept soundly on his chest. “How in God’s name did you do that Lauren?” he asked in wonder. Tiny little lashes fluttered but the baby slept on, oblivious to her father’s fascination. For the first time, he didn’t even feel bitter toward the unknown biological father. He would raise this child, he and Lauren together.

  More than a half an hour passed with him just staring at the little bundle in his arms. He was startled to hear his name, more startled to look up and see Lauren watching him with gray eyes that revealed nothing. Her eyes dropped to the baby and a slow smile bloomed on her face. Dale rose and gingerly held the baby out.

  “Oh,” Lauren whispered. Tiny lashes fluttered at the sound of her voice. “Oh, my.” The little eyes flew open and locked on her mother’s face. Watching the face above hers intently, the baby didn’t even squeak as Lauren gently unwrapped the snug blankets. “She’s so little, so tiny.” She traced a finger over the perfect cupid’s bow of the tiny little mouth.

  “Dr. Norland, the specialist, said she’s fine. Just a little small,” Dale said softly, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Her lungs…the specialist said they’re working just fine.”

  “I know,” Lauren said softly, examining tiny fingers, palms no bigger than a nickel, wrinkled red skin and a wizened face. “I heard her cry and I knew she was fine.”

  He had heard the cry, too, but it hadn’t sounded too fine to him. Dr. Norland had assured him that a newborn cry didn’t sound like much.

  Nothing else was said until nearly an hour later when a nursery nurse entered the room to assist Lauren with the first feeding.

  “What’s to assist?” Dale asked curiously, watching as the nurse, Brigit, showed her how to hold the baby, “Isn’t it instinct, or something?”

  “Of course, it is. But, sometimes, we all need a little help. Even with instinct.”

  It humbled and awed him to watch that tiny little mouth fasten and feed avidly at her mother’s breast. Krista Dawn Stoner. Lauren had whispered it over the baby’s head as little Krista latched on the first time and Dale had agreed. They hadn’t discussed any names, but it seemed to fit.

  Not that she’d care much for his opinion right now any way. He realized, much too late, of course, how badly he had bungled the situation. And he was deathly afraid he knew what had caused the premature labor.

  Just then, Dr. Flynn entered the room and that was the first question out of his mouth after she cooed over the baby and examined Lauren. “There isn’t always a reason,” Dr. Flynn replied, briskly watching her hands. “There was no sign-”

  “I think there might have been,” Lauren said softly. “I wasn’t paying too much attention. I thought it was too early and that it was just symptoms of late pregnancy.”

  “What symptoms?” Dale asked, frowning, eyes narrowed. And why in the hell hadn’t she said anything?

  Lauren shrugged, stroking Krista’s stocking covered head. “Backaches. The backaches were pretty bad for a couple of weeks. And I was more tired than before. It’s been like that for almost a week. And more irritable, more emotional than usual. Sleeping a lot more. I had the hardest time getting out of bed yesterday morning. I didn’t even think of calling about it. Too tired to care. Nothing specific, just a few little things. I didn’t think anything of it, but maybe I should have.”

  Dr. Flynn listened, nodding, frowning a bit. “Before you went to bed, was there anything odd?”

  “Just the backache. The past few days it’s been almost nonstop. But I figured it was because I was lying around so much all of the sudden.”

  “I should have been there,” Dale said, quietly, looking intently at his wife and daughter, ignoring the doctor. “Damn it, Lauren. I’m sorry.” He turned his back to stare out the window. “I should have been there.”

  “It’s unlikely anything you did caused this, Dale,” Dr. Flynn said, sighing. It was hard to be mad at the guy when he was so clearly kicking his own butt over it. No fun in kicking a guy who was already down. “Sometimes, there is no reason, no why, no answer. It just happens.”

  His neck flushed red but he forced himself to ask anyway. “Sex?”

  The doctor laughed. “Not likely.”

  “Rough sex?”

  Her laughter faded and she felt a stir of sympathy. “Not very likely, Dale. The majority of women can have as much sex as they like, in just about any form, as long as it isn’t painful,” Dr. Flynn said, sliding Lauren a questioning look.

  “It’s never hurt,” Lauren said softly. “If it had hurt, I wouldn’t have kept it up.”

  “Could we have stopped it if we’d known earlier?”

  “Honestly,” Dr. Flynn said, “I doubt it. This little girl was in a hurry to meet her parents. I doubt I could have changed her mind, no matter what I did.” She patted Lauren’s shoulder and said, “I’ve got to be heading out, but call if you need me. I’ll be by tomorrow.”

  Dale said nothing else for a long time. And when he did, it was in a rough, hoarse voice that he asked, “Will you forgive me?”

  Her eyes teared up at the humility she heard in his voice. And the guilt, once again, reared its ugly head. “Do you love me?” she asked quietly. “Tell me the truth. Do you love me?”

  He turned and met her eyes across the space that separated them. Intently, he whispered, “I didn’t know it was possible to love anybody the way I love you. I need you more than I need air. You’re my life.”

  Krista had fallen asleep, cuddled against her, tiny mouth damp and slack from exhaustion. Gently, her hands still awkward, Lauren shifted her, covering her naked breast, before she raised her head. “I know you think I’m a strong woman, Dale. But I’m not, not as strong as people think I am. It hurt to realize that you were dreaming of somebody else, that you could want somebody else that much.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said roughly, moving to her side slowly. When her eyes didn’t ice over, he sank down and shifted her until he was behind her, supporting her tired body. Resting his chin on her hair, he said it again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was dreaming of her.” He didn’t correct her assumption that he had been dreaming of Nikki, knowing she was too fragile just yet. “I’d undo it if I could, because I don’t love her.”

  “Don’t you?” she asked, her voice quivering.

  How had he thought her so calm and in control? Dale wondered. Had it been an act all these years? Had she hidden her vulnerable heart away, like she’d hidden how she felt about him? Gently, he turned her head, angling her face until he could press a soothing kiss to her mouth. “I think about you day and night. I feel your body against mine even when you’re not there. The way you laugh, the way your skin smells, the way you sigh in your sleep and gasp when I touch you, all of it, it’s there inside me all the time.

  “You’re in my blood, in my heart. Anything I felt for her pales in comparison to what I feel for you.”

  Sometime during the endless flight home, he had acknowledged how foolish it was to dream of a woman whose face he didn’t know, whose name he never knew. And he had sworn it would end, even if he had to end up on a shrink’s chair to do it.

  He had a beautiful wife who loved him with everything she had in her, and now they had a daughter together. They were what mattered, nothing and nobody else.

  He wo
uld never put that pain in her eyes again.

  * * * * *

  Krista was able to go home with them after five days in the hospital. Lauren, on the doctor’s orders, stayed the five days for observation. The bleeding had been difficult to stop and she required a blood transfusion the day after Krista was born. It wasn’t until the third day that bleeding slowed enough to suit Dr. Flynn.

  Dale carried the tiny baby as Lauren came inside, moving slowly, tiredly. It’s no wonder they called it ‘labor,’ she thought as she carefully lowered herself onto the couch. She said nothing to Dale as he handed Krista to her. He said nothing to her. The awkwardness between them saddened her.

  Dale stood there helplessly while she cuddled the baby to her chest, her sexy mouth a sad straight solemn line in a somber face. He was turning to go to his study and sulk when Krista opened her eyes, gazing up at her mother before opening her mouth and yawning hugely.

  “How can you be tired, huh?” he asked, squatting in front of Lauren and stroking his daughter’s cheek. She turned her head, looking at him with the unfocused gaze of the newborn, watching him while he spoke. “You’ve done nothing but sleep the past five days.”

  “Being born is tough business, I guess,”Lauren said, smiling as Krista closed her tiny hand around Dale’s index finger.

  “I’d say you had the hardest part. It wore me out just watching.” And completely humbled him. Terrified him. “For a minute there, I decided I wasn’t ever going to lay a hand on you again. I hated seeing you hurt like that.”

  “Well, you can do it next time,” she offered, reaching up for the buttons of her shirt as Krista started rooting around with her mouth. Tears burned her eyes when Dale took over the task for her, flicking open her bra and helping her shift the baby. Her throat ached when he jogged into the bedroom and returned with a pillow to prop under the baby.