“I’m doing fine by myself.”
“When did you go into labor?” he said, joining her step for step.
“Last night.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
She broke the pace. “Because you’re not my coach anymore.” Irritation oozed over each word. He knew how edgy labor could make a woman, and chose to ignore it.
“How far dilated are you?”
“None of your business.” She resumed the pace.
He took off his jacket, flung it over his shoulder and loosened the knot of his tie. “I’m not leaving.”
“Nurse?” she said, to a passing L&D employee in bright pink scrubs and with a blond ponytail halfway down her back. “I don’t want him here.”
She turned out to be a student nurse, who had no idea how to handle the situation. “I’ll get the charge nurse,” she said, looking at a loss and extremely anxious.
Ha, Jon thought, he knew one of the L&D charge nurses. He’d taken care of her father’s heart attack last year. If he was lucky it would be her and he’d convince her to let him stay regardless of what René said. In the meantime, he followed her down the corridor.
“Don’t make a scene, René. I want to help you.”
“Not going to happen.” She turned to walk in the other direction.
“Come on, let’s go back to your room,” he said, reaching for her arm.
She pulled away from his grasp. Grumpy from labor or not, her reaction surprised the hell out of him. He might need to take another approach.
“I’m supposed to keep walking to help speed things along.” She shot past him in a new direction.
He strode up behind her. “Then I’ll walk with you.”
She stopped again, and he almost ran into her. “I want you to leave.”
The charge nurse approached. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one he knew. This called for drastic action, and he’d do whatever it took. He flung his arm around René’s shoulder. “Come on, honey pie, let’s keep walking.” He’d play the patient partner to her testy labor lady.
She responded with an alien death glare.
“Is this man bothering you, Dr. Munroe?”
“I don’t want him here.”
“I’m the birth coach,” he said, fighting to keep his hand on her shoulder even as she pinched his fingers. “Her doula. I see the labor has really made her cranky.” He smiled and sidestepped when she tried to kick his foot. Fortunately she was only wearing the hospital-issued no-skid sock slippers.
The no-nonsense charge nurse glanced back and forth between them, appraising the situation.
“If you don’t believe me, check her paperwork,” he said. “My name’s Jon Becker, Dr. Jon Becker, and it should be there.” They’d filled out the forms together in the first Bradley birthing class. “And while you’re at it—” he decided to go for broke in case he got thrown out of the hospital in the next few minutes, and because he wanted to make sure René didn’t get dehydrated in his absence “—can you bring her a cup of ice chips?”
René gasped and grabbed her side, standing like a statue as the obvious contraction mounted.
Jon seized the opportunity to take over. “Okay, let me get a wheelchair and I’ll take you back to the room.” He saw one halfway down the hall and charged toward it. “Don’t worry, I’m here and I’ll take care of you,” he said, rolling it back. “I’ll even make the pillows just how you like them.”
He had the wheelchair behind her knees before René could say “ouch” and Jon assisted her to sit, then rolled her to the room.
“Don’t forget the sleep breathing. Think like an animal, go inward.” He used calming low tones to help her stay focused, the way he’d been taught.
The charge nurse must have gone to check the paperwork, because they were alone again, and Jon helped René get into the awaiting bed. She let him.
He whispered encouraging words and rubbed her arm while helping her lay on her side. He put a pillow behind her back, two under her head and one between her knees the way they’d practiced in class, and again, she didn’t protest.
He lightly stroked her hair and massaged her neck. Every lesson they’d learned together came back to him, plus a few he’d remembered from the birth of his daughters. He’d be useful to her. He owed her no less.
When her breathing returned to normal, she glanced over her shoulder and whispered a surprising, “Thanks.”
“You’re not kicking me out?” He smiled tenderly at her, wanting more than anything for her to understand he’d be there if she needed him, as long as she let him.
She shook her head, eyes half-mast. A second later her earnest gaze went directly for his pupils. “The baby’s almost four weeks premature. I had a bloody show yesterday after work, then I realized I’d been having irregular contractions most of the afternoon. It’s too early—I’m scared.”
“Hey, you’re in great hands.” He reached for her fingers and offered a reassuring squeeze. “This hospital is topnotch. The baby will get all the help she needs.”
“She?” she said, with a toss of her thick lashes. “You know something I don’t?”
“Actually, with my two-girl track record, just call it a hunch.”
The L&D nurse stepped back into the room, ice chips in one hand, monitor wires in the other. She went to work setting up the external device, then did a cervical check. Out of courtesy, Jon looked away while she did.
“You’re six centimeters dilated and fifty percent effaced. Looks like we’re getting somewhere.”
A combination apprehensive and excited smile creased René’s lips. Her raised eyebrows cried out for reassurance. He wasn’t used to seeing her look insecure, but the pyramid of lines on her forehead and the constant lip licking told him she was. She glanced toward him and he made an encouraging nod.
“Piece of cake, huh?” he said.
“That’s easy for you to say.” She huffed.
He ducked when she tried to swat him with one of the pillows.
“Things might get ugly,” she warned with a flinty look.
“I can take it,” he said, giving in to the need to smooth her hair. “Hey, I’ve got my mp3 player—you want to listen to some music?”
“Sure.” She nodded, a whole new attitude to his being there, which buoyed his spirit.
She sat up and he put the ear buds in place, and let her choose whatever she wanted to listen to from his personal list.
She settled back into the pile of pillows. He spoon-fed her a couple of ice chips, treating her like Cleopatra.
“Just do me a favor,” she said, around a mouthful of ice.
“Sure, anything.”
“Don’t ever call me ‘honey pie’ again.”
A laugh tumbled out of his mouth as she gave her warning. He took note. A gaze passed between them, communicating a book’s worth of regulations, and maybe forgiveness. For now they’d put all the confusion about where they stood with each other aside and work as a team for one goal, the birth of the baby they’d made together.
Four hours later, during a lull between contractions, René twirled her hair around her index finger. “Tell me something silly about you,” she said.
“Me, silly? Man, that’s a tough one.” After some thought, and under the time constraint of wanting to say something before the next big one came along, he remembered a long-buried factoid. “I used to, probably still do, know all the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
She bleated a laugh. “You’re kidding. Okay. Tell me.”
He’d do anything to smooth the furrow between her brows and ease this ordeal she was going through, and figured what the hell. After a moment of digging through his memory, he recited every single word to the old Queen song.
Her laughter trickled out, and he savored this sound compared to her last contraction and the injured animal echoing in his memory. Thankfully, the nurse had started titrating a mild sedative into her IV to help her relax between contractions, and the result w
as noticeable.
“Your turn,” Jon said, taking advantage of her new and relaxed state.
She looked all innocent, as if the game had changed.
“Come on, I told you mine, now you tell me yours,” he chided.
“Okay.” She sighed and glanced at the ceiling, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “I used to know all the dance steps to Thriller.”
“Ha!” He could just imagine René dancing like a zombie, and it cracked him up. “Someday I’m going to make you show me.”
The sentence had slipped out with little thought. The consequences sent them spiraling into the reality of their relationship. There would be no someday. Their eyes fused and communicated questions and answers and regrets, though no word was spoken.
“Sure,” she said.
After several more seconds of strained silence she shook her head, then grabbed her belly with both hands. “Oh, oh, oh. Tumbler wants out.”
“Come on now, breathe.” He jumped back to duty, soothing her, helping her find a tolerable position, waiting for the contraction to pass.
The L&D nurse checked in, did another cervical exam and monitored the baby. The fetal heartbeat had become a mesmerizing rhythm and a reassuring sound in between the contractions. Their little Tumbler was working hard, too, and Jon wouldn’t forget that.
“Maybe you should take a break,” the nurse said to Jon. “Go eat something. You don’t want to run out of steam when the real show starts.”
He thought he’d been watching the real show for more than four hours. He’d been holding René’s hand, and neither of them seemed to realize how natural it was. She let go and prodded him with a direct look, then a wink. “Go on. Take a break. I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t want to leave her, but the nurse had made a good point. “I’m not hungry, but maybe a quick visit to the men’s room and a bottle of water will do me some good.”
“Go, go,” she said, acting as if she didn’t need him.
Once alone, Jon dealt with his torn feelings. It felt so right to be with her, yet he had a job transfer arranged for the end of the month. And China? What about China? Was he here out of a sense of duty or because he cared for her? When he saw their baby, how would he react?
He splashed cold water on his face and washed his hands, avoiding the answers, soon rushing back to her side.
Back within five minutes, she was noticeably glad to see him. He resumed his position at her bedside, touching, massaging, and repositioning her—anything she wanted to make her relax between contractions as the afternoon dragged on into the evening.
Two hours later, drenched in sweat, writhing in midcon-traction, René rolled onto her side. Jon rubbed her lower back until he thought his arm would fall off. She clutched his other hand so tight, he’d lost feeling in his fingers.
“You can do this, René. Don’t quit.”
“I can’t. I’m dead.”
“Come on, honey. Don’t give up.”
After the contraction eased up, she got a peculiar expression on her face; a laugh vibrated and rolled out of her chest, taking him by surprise.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I’m an OB doc. You’d think I’d know how horrible labor is. Truth is, the nurses take care of my patients, and I just show up for the grand finale.”
“Humbling, eh?”
She gave a self-deprecating glance, then slid into the next contraction with a “Yeow!”
After another quick check, the nurse made the call. “Okay, it’s time to deliver this baby.” She pushed a button on the wall. Then over her shoulder and through the com line, she called the charge nurse. “Page Dr. Stevens. We’re ready for a baby to get born.”
René looked at Jon with a see-what-I’m-saying lift of her brows.
He grinned. “Are you ready?”
“I changed my mind. Can I check out now?”
He laughed. “I know you can do this, honey, and if I can help in any way I will.”
An amused look crossed her face. “I think you already did.” It only lasted a second before a grimace appeared, followed by the horrific painful expression only a woman in transition can make.
The doctor arrived and did a quick vaginal examination, determining the position and station of the fetal head. Jon winced.
“Bear down,” the doctor said, as the next tsunami contraction rolled through.
Jon was there by her side, holding her hands, prompting her just like the doctor and delivery nurse were. “Push. Push, honey. Come on, baby, you can do it.”
His eyes latched on to hers and he could have sworn her look of terror changed to trust. She put her chin to chest, and let go a guttural animal sound and pushed so hard he was afraid she’d have a brain aneurysm.
“We’re almost there,” the doctor said.
She went limp after the contraction eased off, as if too exhausted to move or breathe. He held her against his chest, wiped her sweat-wrung brow, kissed her head and cuddled her. She felt more precious to him than anything on earth. “You’re doing great. You’re almost there,” he whispered in her ear.
Soon the now-familiar fetal monitor started its earthquake detection and her moan seemed to originate from her toes.
“This is it,” the doctor said. “Bear down.”
Exhausted, Jon tensed and didn’t make a peep when her grip and nails drew blood on his palms. “Push, René. Come on, baby, push. You can do it. We’re almost there.” His voice was hoarse with fatigue, and he could only imagine how wrung out René must feel.
But she grunted and growled, and pushed and pushed like the trooper she was, and he admired the hell out of her for it. Loved her.
Soon a mewing sound came from the foot of the bed. From Jon’s angle a slick and hairless object popped out and slipped into the doctor’s awaiting hands.
René cried out in sudden relief. In awe, Jon bit his lip and held his breath. Shivers of joy coursed through him. His blurry gaze melded with her watery amber eyes. He wanted to yell, We did it! but couldn’t form the words. They smiled, clutching each other’s hands, passing volumes of thoughts and feelings between them. How could a single word express the wonder, the elation?
The nurse burst their moment by handing the baby to René, and he became the center of their existence. The reason they’d come together in the first place. The final note of a beautiful symphony.
The tiny body jerked and spasmed and imitated a griping kitten. He and René laughed together with utter joy. Joy that Jon hadn’t felt since his daughters had been born.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor declared.
Chills ran the course of Jon’s body as he looked at the baby. A son!
Overwhelmed, he needed to find somewhere to sit down as the blood receded from his head and down to his toes.
“Uh-oh, husband down,” the doctor said.
“Lean against the wall and slide down,” the nurse directed, busy with the newborn.
Jon found the nearest wall and fought the darkness overtaking his vision. He skid his back down the wall all the way to the floor, then put his head between his knees and snagged a couple of deep breaths. “Sorry, René,” he mumbled, as if this had been the only way he’d let her down. A beat later, everything else faded away.
A boy. Their baby was a boy. A small, but healthy boy.
Willing himself not to go completely out, he glanced up in time to see René cuddle new life to her chest. “Oh, God, he’s gorgeous,” she said, with a grainy, exhausted voice.
Jon closed his eyes. Yes. Yes. They’d done great work, the two of them. Feeling a bit stronger, he took his time standing, and when he was sure he was back to normal, he approached the bed.
“Don’t touch him,” the nurse said. “Your hands were on the floor.”
He pocketed his hands and leaned over René to have a look at the baby. She gazed up at him, eyes glistening, and with a joyous smile stretching her lips. “Thank you,” she said, serene and angelic. “I’ve got my baby.”
He wanted to say, No, thank you! Thank you for reminding me what living is, for pulling me out of my cave and forcing me to interact with life and to feel again. But his thoughts were flying too fast, and he couldn’t form a single syllable. Instead, he leaned over and kissed the delicate crease on her brow, savored her warm skin beneath his lips, and when he’d recovered his voice he whispered, “My pleasure. Truly.”
Their eyes connected again. Something solid and everlasting passed between them, the sense of family he remembered so well from the birth of both of his daughters. A bond that could never be altered bridged between them, an impermeable connection in the form of a fragile baby joined them heart to heart, whether he wanted it or not.
A sting of panic shot through Jon’s center, jolting him back to reality. This wasn’t part of the contract. She wanted a baby, not him. He was nothing more than a conduit to her dreams. He had to remember his place, steer clear of the dangerous lure the thought of having a son had brought.
There was no place in René’s plan for him.
And he had a life…with plans. He already knew he couldn’t work side by side with her, and be uninvolved. Now, with the birth of their son—correction, her son—the only thing left was for him to move away. Far away. It was best for all three of them.
From the beginning, she’d made it clear she wanted this baby all to herself. Hadn’t she tried to banish him from the delivery room? He’d bulldozed his way in. This cocka-mamy baby-plan stunt wasn’t how families got formed. Any fleeting thoughts about being a part of their lives were a sham. And no matter what, no matter how much his instinct contradicted his future plans, he was going to China.
He glanced at mother and baby, a near-perfect picture of bliss; still, he ached to be a part of it. Taking to heart the nurse’s advice—don’t touch him, don’t dare touch him—he backed away.
As they cleaned up both mother and baby, Jon stood dazed, an outside observer. Finally, the nurse announced she was rolling René back to the ward.
Reeling with confusion, Jon hung back. If she loved him, maybe things could be different, but she’d never hinted at anything close to that, and he’d never had the guts to tell her…
Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby Page 30