Working For It

by BJ Harvey

  “Is it almost time to meet my nephew then?” Ronnie asks.

  “God yes,” I breathe. “Just give me some water first, otherwise I’m gonna lose my voice.”

  “Anything you want, baby mama. You’re doing so well,” Ezra says, bringing the bottle of water to my mouth again for a drink.

  Skye looks up at me and nods with a determined look in her eye. “Then let’s get ready to push so you can meet your son.”

  “So… much… to… tell… you,” I pant to Ronnie.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Gilly-Bear, whatever it is, it can wait till after you’ve given birth, yeah?”

  “Oh… kay… ’cause I really need to push now.”

  Skye flexes her hand on my stomach as if to say the same thing, but the contraction barreling into me is waiting for no one. It’s like a tidal wave with a mind of its own, and it’s moving in one direction.

  “Good, because I really need to push,” I grind out, squeezing Ronnie and Ezra’s hands so tight I swear I might break them.

  “Fuck, she’s got a good grip,” my sister whines.

  “That’s what he said,” Cohen stupidly mutters, and I’d laugh if I weren’t in so much pain.

  “Not the time, Cass,” Skye growls before she locks eyes with me. “This time, Gilly.”

  I lean forward and grab hold of my knees, pushing back against Ezra and focusing all my attention on pushing this giant baby out of me. “Okay, Gilly. Get ready. And pusssshhhh,” she says, counting down from ten, her eyes focused on whatever is happening between my legs—which better damn well be a baby. “Okay, take a breath. Rest for a minute and let Ezra take your weight because this next one is all we need to get this little boy out into the world. We just need his head out, and then we can help him, alright? Ready?”

  I nod, quickly locking eyes with Ez, knowing this is the last moment it’ll just be the two of us in this family. Soon, we’ll be three. “You ready, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah. Let’s meet our boy,” I breathe. My stomach muscles clench tighter than ever before, and I’m pushing and panting, groaning and growling as Skye counts down from ten. There’s a huge release of pressure as she hits one. “Okay, stop pushing,” she rushes out, then there’s one last stinging pull before a loud, high-pitched—and unhappy—cry fills the air. Tears stream down my face as Skye grins up at me, and Cohen and Ronnie cheer, jostling the bed beneath me.

  I only have eyes for Ezra though as he leans around and kisses me hard on the lips, no tongue, all feeling, and emotion, his cheeks as wet as mine, which sets me off crying all over again.

  Then together, with me pressing my cheek against his, we look down and watch Skye stand up and place our goo-covered baby on my blanket-covered chest. “Say hello to your son.”

  I burst into tears, loud, relieved, exhausted, and overwhelmed sobs, encased in the arms of the man I love, with our son cradled in front of me. Ezra’s hand reaches out to stroke the cheek of the baby we made together, the two of us staring at our son in wonder as I nurse him for the first time.

  “We made that,” Ezra whispers.

  “He’s perfect,” I murmur back.

  Ezra nuzzles my cheek. “You both are.”

  We sit like that for a while until Skye tells us she needs to check me out and see whether the placenta is coming. “Ez, come here and cut the cord,” she adds, holding out a pair of medical scissors. Ezra eases out from behind me and does as instructed.

  Once I deliver the placenta, I’m dazed and wrung out, but that still doesn’t stop me ogling a now shirtless Ez as he cradles our newborn son against his bare chest, Ronnie and Cohen watching from across the room, giving us space.

  “Stop looking at me like that, baby mama. We’re not making another one just yet,” Ez says with a smirk.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a half-grin, albeit a tired one.

  “Yeah, she was totally checking you out,” Ronnie says.

  “Thanks, Aunty Ronnie. You don’t get first cuddles anymore.”

  Ezra walks over to Skye—who has thankfully finished checking out my lady bits—and places our son in her arms. “Besides, Aunty Skye helped deliver him; it’s only fair she gets the first hold.”

  Skye looks over at Cohen and Ronnie and shrugs. “Perks of the job.”

  “So not fair,” Ronnie grumbles, but it’s all for show.

  “By the way, Ron, Dad will be calling you soon to apologize for being an asshole. Oh, and he’s leaving Mom.”

  “Whaaaaat?”

  “Yep. Wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it for myself,” Ezra says, lying down in the bed and gently pulling me into his side.

  “Oh, and my waters broke all over his shoes, so there is that too, I suppose,” I murmur, smiling as laughter fills the air.

  “You’re telling me he wicked bitch of the mid-west is out on her ass?” Ronnie asks.

  “Seems that way.”

  “And he actually said sorry?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well,” she says, walking across the room and stealing the baby away from Skye. “I guess today is a very good day then, isn’t it?”

  I tilt my head and meet Ezra’s piercing gaze. “Best day of my life,” I whisper for his ears only. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he shows me he agrees with a slow, languid kiss that means the world to me.

  After a super-quick labor and impromptu home birth, that’s all I have left in me to do.

  Eight hours later, we’ve gone to the hospital, both myself and the baby have been checked over—no stitches for me, yay—and Cohen and Skye have brought us home again, calling off their shift early and helping us get settled in our bedroom before leaving us to it.

  I didn’t see the point in taking up a hospital bed when we’ve got so many moms—new and old—who are chomping at the bit to come help us, as well as enough medical personnel in the family to start our own clinic.

  Besides, all I really wanted to do was be in my own space and my own bed, using my own bathroom, and with my two favorite boys.

  “We really should put him in his crib,” I murmur, looking down at our son greedily feeding at my breast. He’s got a mouth like a hoover because my nipples have never been as sore as they are today, and I’m not even nine hours into this parenting gig.

  “Leave him be,” Ez says, curled around us on the bed. “I like having him close.”

  I turn my head to look at him. “Me too.”

  “I like having you close as well,” he says sweetly.

  “Sorry, baby daddy. This shop is closed for business for a good six weeks,” I say wryly, earning a chuckle.

  “Hmm. I guess I’ll just have to be happy with seeing you wear this then.” He reaches out and gently places an open black velvet ring box on top of our swaddled baby.

  I gasp—quietly, because no one wants to be loud around a new baby—my eyes darting between the gorgeous contents in the box and my warm-eyed fiancé who I can’t ever imagine living without.

  “I promised you a big-ass ring.”

  “That’s definitely that.”

  “I wanted something that was perfect for you, but that also was flashy enough to send a message that you’re well and truly spoken for.”

  “That ring leaves little doubt about it,” I mutter. “I love it.”

  “Good,” he says, and he looks proud as punch. It’s then that I snort, biting my lip to try and hold in my own laughter.

  Ezra’s brow furrows, so I decide to put him out of his misery. “Can you open the top drawer of the nightstand for me?”

  He leans over and does as I’ve asked, pulling out a ring box of my own. Leaning over me, his brows adorably bunched together, he looks back into my eyes.

  “Open it,” I whisper.

  With one finger, he flips it open to uncover a wide platinum band. He runs the pad of his thumb over the precious metal. “What’s this?”

  “A come present.”

  Ezra’s head jerks back
. “A what?” he asks with a disbelieving laugh.

  I reach out and pull the ring from the box, running my hand down his left arm and sliding it on his ring finger. I hold it in place as I meet his eyes. “You gave me a push present. I’m giving you a come present,” I say with a soft smile. “You came into my life for a reason, you came and helped create our son, and you came back to me and wanted to give this—us—a chance, and I’ve never wanted anything more than the life we’ve made and the life we’re making together.”

  “Fuck, I love you,” he rasps, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

  “And I love you.” He lifts his hand to cradle the side of my face and brushes his lips against mine. Pulling apart, we both look down at our son who’s gently suckling at my breast. “He’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” Ez says, running a finger softly down our baby’s cheek.

  It’s then that Hudson James Baker lets out a loud, echoing fart, the sound surprising enough to probably give his father a PTSD flashback.

  Ezra’s eyes go wide, and I burst out laughing.

  And for that night, and the next, and for many years after that, love and laughter fill our lives as the three of us—well, until Olivia Faith Baker is born eighteen months later—all live happily ever after.

  The End.

  But wait…

  Skye

  Two years later

  If you were to tell when I first met Cohen Cook that I’d be marrying the man, I would’ve asked if you were feeling okay and when your last psychiatric evaluation was.

  It’s not that I didn’t like the guy—I thought he was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in a Chicago Fire Department uniform. It was that he never struck me as a man who’d settle down and live the ‘one vagina’ life.

  Boy, did I guess that one wrong!

  It’s Cohen Cook or bust, and since he pulled his head out of his ass two years ago and admitted to my brothers that he was in love with me as much as I was with him, and risked injury and/or death by their hands to prove that to me, it’s been nothing short of perfect between the two of us.

  Now, with Papa Rossi leading me down our short—and impromptu—makeshift aisle in the living room of our newly flipped three-bedroom duplex, Jamie standing at the end of the aisle having gotten ordained online at our request, I’m ready to start the ‘married’ part of our lives together, along with everything that entails.

  “You ready for this, baby girl?” my father asks as we stop in front of my soon-to-be husband.

  My eyes are locked on Cohen’s when I reply, “I’ve never been more ready in my entire life.”

  “I love you always,” my father says, and I turn to look at him.

  “Same, Papa.”

  “And if he hurts you, I’ll cut his balls off myself,” he says, making me burst out laughing because my father loves screwing with Cohen, and I know he just heard every word Papa just said.

  “Okay,” I say with a giggle.

  “You tell him that.”

  “I think he heard you loud and clear, Papa. But he will never hurt me.”

  He smiles and leans in, kissing one cheek before switching to the other. “I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun scaring him a little.”

  “Give me to my groom, Papa.”

  “Always knew my baby girl would be the leader of the pack,” he murmurs proudly before taking my hand and literally giving me to Cohen.

  “My Skye!” six-year-old Penny cries out excitedly from where she’s standing in the front row of the crowd. She’s wearing a beautiful blue poufy dress she chose when I took her on a girls’ shopping day last week. She’s holding on tight to the hand of a dashing—yet somewhat uncomfortable—eleven-year-old Axel.

  Queen P has had a rather obvious crush on the older-than-her Axel since they first met when Penny was four and a half to Axel’s nine. She has never hidden this fact from anyone, especially the object of her affection. All us adults think it’s adorable and cute; Axel finds it annoying, especially since his younger brother, Finn—who April and Jamie adopted fourteen months ago—seems to have a crush on Penelope, which makes things a little tricky. At least Finn is two years younger than Axel. Nevertheless, this puppy-love triangle has heartache written all over it, and Penny’s fathers and I all know that it will be our girl who cries all the tears.

  As well as Queen P, Dion and Vinnie are now parents to a mini-diva version number-two named Brittany. She is the spitting image of Penelope with my looks and Dion’s charming personality. Really, she has my sass, Dion’s flamboyance, and Vinnie’s no-nonsense attitude. She’s almost as formidable—if not slightly more scary—than her older sister. Watch out—those two girls will literally run the world

  “Are you sure you wanna marry this man?” Jamie asks, quirking a brow as he switches his gaze between Cohen and me.

  “Hey!” Co says, narrowing his eyes on his oldest brother. “You’re not supposed to try and talk her out of it.”

  “Well, if we’re offering up objections,” Ezra says, raising his hand, “I’m sure I can think of a couple.”

  His arm is wrapped around the shoulders of Gilly, the two of them now married after running off to Iceland to get married by themselves six months ago. Gilly was five months pregnant, and they took little Hudson with them for their first family holiday and decided to say ‘fuck it’ and get married while they were there. There was hell to pay from all sides of the family after that, but they made it up to us by letting us throw them a kickass wedding party at Jamie and April’s house shortly after they got home.

  Bry stands next. “I can object. I can’t think of any one particular reason, but it seems like the right thing to do. Cohen is like a baby Spider-Man; he still has so much to learn.”

  Cohen laughs and shakes his head. “Says the man who refers to himself as G.I. Joe.”

  “Touché, baby brother,” Bry says. Taking a seat next to Faith just in time to catch a leaping Lottie headed his way. Faith’s barely-there baby bump is the home for their new baby girl due in the winter. Bry has recently taken a research position at Lincoln Park Zoo alongside Faith, with both of them able to work from home as well as out in the field. It’s awesome to see them able to focus on their growing family and still continue to develop their careers.

  “If G.I. Joe gets to object, then so do I,” Jax says, not even bothering to get out of his seat. Jax and Ronnie are actively trying—a lot—to give Joey a sibling but have not had any luck yet. They’re happy to practice—aren’t we all—and aren’t worried. Ronnie says it’ll happen when it happens, if it happens. Besides, she’s busy with her graphic design business, and Jax is a full-time college professor now, and Joey is a whiz kid who is already running circles around her parents and uncles.

  “What’s your objection as to why Skye and Cohen should not get married today?”

  “What now?” Cohen grumbles, making me giggle.

  Jax’s lips slowly curve into a shit-eating grin. “I dunno, but I’m sure I can think of one,” he replies, earning a collective groan from the small congregation.

  “Right. I can solve this once and for all,” Abi says, standing up with her three-year-old twin girls on either hip. “Baby brother, do you love her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you imagine life without her?”

  “No.”

  “Can Papa Rossi or her three hot Hulk brothers cut off your balls if you ever hurt her?” she asks, her lips twitching as she looks down at her husband and five-year-old son, Harry, and quirks a brow.

  “I’d cut them off for them,” Cohen replies without any hesitation whatsoever.

  “Jamie, Cohen loves Skye more than his own junk. That’s all the confirmation we need because we know how much Co loves his meat and potatoes,” Abi says, blowing us a kiss and taking a seat.

  Jamie shrugs. “Honestly? She’s right.” He turns to me. “We’ll have it added to the vows so it’s noted down…for future reference, of course.”

  Thankful
ly there are no more objections, and after Cohen swears to cut off his own balls if he ever hurts his brat, and I promise to love Cass even if he does remove his junk, Jamie declares us husband and wife and before he can say the words, “You may now kiss your bride,” Cohen and I meet halfway and near-on maul each other right then and there.

  Because why change the habits of a lifetime? And also, neither one of us want to give any of our siblings—or parents—the chance to cock-block us at our own wedding ceremony.

  Knowing we were getting married in our brand-spanking-new half-house living area, we decided to combine the usual end-of-flip tradition with our wedding reception.

  “Dad, can I screw in the damn light bulb yet? This suit is uncomfortable,” Axel calls out a few hours, a lot of food, and a few drinks—for those of us adults who can drink—later.

  April, Marcy, and Bettys’ heads all snap his way. “Axel. Mouth!” they growl in unison.

  “What?” he says, holding his hands in the air. “I’m just saying.”

  “Is there even a light bulb left to screw in?” Jax asks.

  “Wait,” Ronnie asks. “How many Cooks does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

  “How many?” I ask from my husband’s side.

  “I dunno. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “I know. It’s one,” Axel says, appearing in the middle of the room with a ladder in hand. He places it on the floor and climbs the two steps needed to make him tall enough to reach the light fitting, which ironically, already has a light bulb in it. Never one to let anything stop him, he unscrews the bulb, then screws it in again. That boy has more smart-assedness than all of the Cook and Baker boys combined. “There. It’s done. Thank fuck for that.”

  “Axel!”

  “What?”

  “You owe me five dollars, Axel Rhodes Cook,” Penny says from the bottom of the ladder, hands on her hips.

  “Do not.”

  “Do too. We need it for our wedding fund. You can’t expect me to look this fabulous without lots of swear-jar money.”