I’m not a weak man. But watching Adrienne go through labor? That gave me a whole new level of respect for the bullshit women have to deal with.
Sullivan and I did our fair share of research during Adrienne’s pregnancy. We doted on her hand and foot from the moment her pregnancy test came back positive. Bought every book we could find on how to be as supportive as possible in the hospital room, took classes, read endless articles and blog posts online. We knew Adrienne’s birth plan like the backs of our hands, and we’d put together the best damn birthing playlist around, complete with classics like “Push It” and “I Will Survive” to play for her in the delivery room.
This pregnancy might have been our first rodeo, but we made damn sure our girl was safe, comfortable, and supported. After all, we had an advantage most other new moms could only dream of—we had four hands instead of just two.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing Adrienne’s hair back from her face. “Keep squeezing my hand, you’re almost through it.”
Adrienne’s contractions were coming closer and closer together, and she was handling it like a champ. Even with beads of sweat dotting her upper lip, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead, her face all screwed up in pain and concentration, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. How she was holding herself together so well was a mystery to me.
“That’s it, babe, you’re amazing. You’re killing it,” Sully added his encouragements from the other side of the bed, his voice just as tender and soothing as mine.
Adrienne let out a low, guttural moan as the contraction finally ended. She collapsed back onto her pillow, her chest heaving with exhaustion, and closed her eyes.
“How far apart?” she asked, her words clipped.
“Just under five minutes.” I brushed the damp, stray hairs from her face, dabbing her forehead with a cool washcloth.
She sighed and licked her lips. I handed her a cup of ice chips, which she greedily accepted.
“Should I go get the nurse?” Sully’s wide eyes flitted to mine. I could tell he was nervous, but he was doing a good job hiding it. For Adrienne. We’d made a pact months ago that we would be her rocks in that room, and so far, we were doing the best that we could.
“Up to you, sweetheart.” I turned to Adrienne.
She nodded. “I’m ready.”
Her chest was still heaving, the flush in her cheeks extending to her chest. She popped another ice cube into her mouth, and suddenly her face screwed up in pain again, her hand going immediately to her lower back.
“Want me to apply pressure?”
She nodded through her grimace, and I quickly placed my hands on the spot she was just holding. I pressed firmly, watching her face as it softened slightly, happy to do my little part in relieving some of her pain.
Sullivan returned with a nurse, who quickly started asking questions about the contractions, how far apart they were, how much pain Adrienne was in. There had been a shift change since we arrived a couple hours ago, and so Sullivan found himself re-explaining the situation, and that we thought maybe it was time. Throughout the conversation, I caught the nurse giving Sullivan and me a few small, odd looks. Even though Adrienne was practically famous in this hospital for having two baby daddies, this was the first time this nurse had seen us in the flesh.
“Well, Adrienne, it sounds like it’s almost time,” the nurse said, helping Adrienne get in the proper position on the bed before she examined her. “I’ll call Dr. Johnson. He should be here soon. Get ready to meet your baby!”
The nurse hurriedly walked out of the room, leaving the three of us to stare excitedly at each other. Our baby. We’d been preparing for this moment for months. And suddenly it was here. It was real. We were about to meet our baby.
Dr. Johnson arrived within a few minutes with a couple nurses in tow. He greeted Sully and me each with a handshake—he’d gotten used to our dynamic after a couple more appointments—and told Adrienne it was almost time and that she should get ready to start pushing soon.
That was our cue.
Sully started the playlist, Salt-N-Pepa encouraging Adrienne to “Push It” right along with us. I stood to Adrienne’s right and Sullivan stood to her left, her death grip squeezing both of our hands. Her contractions started again, and Dr. Johnson told her to start pushing. Adrienne stayed quiet and concentrated and focused.
Half an hour of pushing later, the baby was out. A boy. A freaking boy. His cries were music to my ears, and the three of us watched in stunned silence as the nurse cleaned our son up, getting him ready to meet us.
The nurse returned and placed the baby in Adrienne’s arms. Tears streamed down her face as she held him to her. Our son. Our son. I can’t describe the feeling of pride and joy I felt looking at him. I knew it was too early to tell for sure, but I could have sworn he had Adrienne’s eyes. The eyes of the woman we loved. I’d recognize them anywhere.
Long after the doctor had gone, the three of us were still in awe of our new baby. Holding him in my arms for the first time was the most incredible experience of my life. And seeing him with Sullivan? I thought my heart would explode right then and there. The life we’d always wanted for ourselves, for each other, was finally here. We finally had a family of our own. A son. The perfect woman. Suddenly the future was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
And the best part?
It was ours.
Epilogue
Adrienne
“Oh, come on, ref, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Sullivan threw his hands in the air, the look on his face a familiar and amusing one.
I reached over and placed my hand on his knee as he sank back down into his lawn chair, his brows still furrowed in frustration.
“Sully, you have to relax. They’re four. This is hardly competitive soccer.”
“But that ref is really tanking this game. Those kids on the other team are mauling our boys. I don’t know why Will hasn’t said anything to him yet.”
“That’s because Will is busy coaching. At this age, it’s pretty much just herding cats. He’s got his hands full.”
My gaze strayed over to where my husband stood farther up the sidelines than we were, clipboard in one hand and pencil in the other, his eyes out on the field.
He was a great coach, and that secret soft heart of his made him perfect with the little ones. He’d been working with our son, Ryder, in the backyard since he could walk, and at this point, he was the star of the team. And for a four-year-old, star meant that he was the only one who could kick a ball in the direction he wanted it to go.
One of the little boys on the other team tripped over another kid, and he landed flat on his face, causing the game to take a five-minute break while his mom rushed onto the field to comfort him and calm him down.
I took the break to check on our baby girls, Lily and Penelope, who were sleeping in their twin stroller next to our chairs. When Ryder was two I found out I was pregnant again, a sneaky little surprise. Just when we thought we had a handle on one, two more came our way. But we loved it. Sullivan had decided to stay at home after Ryder, and while he certainly had his hands full once the girls were born, he was a natural. He was an amazing father and loved being a stay-at-home dad while I continued to run my salon and Will kept their real estate business booming.
“Mommy, Mommy, look, I have the ball!” The game had started back up, and Ryder quickly dribbled over and stopped right in front of me on the field, waving in excitement.
“I see that, buddy, good job! Now go, go, go, before the other team catches up to you!”
He nodded, a determined look on his face as he turned to start running up the field, a small mob of four-year-olds trailing behind him. I smiled and shook my head. I could see so much of both of his fathers in him. Sullivan’s sweetness and Will’s drive. We never did care to do a paternity test, even with as much as my dad pushed us to. It didn’t matter to us who Ryder’s biological father was, or Lily and Penelope�
��s. What mattered was that the three of us were raising our children together in a loving, caring home. All those traditions Will and Sullivan always wanted? We started them. Family trips? We did them. Big Christmases, we did those, too. We were crushing this whole parenting thing, and every day was an adventure.
When the game ended, Sullivan pulled the cooler out of the car and started to get ready. It was our turn to bring the post-game snacks, and we’d really gone all out. Orange slices and bottles of juice and water, of course, but Sullivan had also made a batch of his famous chocolate and pomegranate energy bites, and he couldn’t wait to see how the kids liked them. The girls were awake, so I pulled them both into my lap, balancing one on each knee as we congratulated the sweaty, red-faced boys on their win.
“I’m so proud of you, Ryder! Did you have fun?” I asked.
He nodded, orange juice trickling down his chin as he ate. “I scored a goal, Mommy, did you see me?”
“I did see you, and your sisters did, too. You were a rockstar out there, little man!”
Ryder smiled, the orange peel in his mouth covering his teeth. The girls started laughing, and I quickly snapped a picture. I didn’t want to forget any of this. He was already growing up too fast.
“Uh-oh,” Sullivan said, spotting Ryder’s silly face, “your teeth are gone! Oh no, what are you going to do?” He began chasing him around the field while Ryder shrieked and giggled, yelling back that he didn’t want to have teeth anymore. Will noticed them playing and quickly joined the chase, making Ryder shriek even louder. My heart swelled watching the three of them together. My two big men with my one little man. It was almost too amazing to handle.
When Ryder got tired, he came and joined me by the snacks, plopping down on the grass and making faces at his sisters.
Sullivan returned to passing out the snacks while Will chatted with some of the other dads who were already planning strategies for next season. The other moms hesitantly joined us, standing a little off to the side and watching their boys. When we first signed Ryder up for soccer, I was nervous that the other moms wouldn’t accept us. Me, especially. The stereotypical soccer mom wasn’t necessarily the most open-minded when it came to parenting, and I was nervous that they would look at me with anger or disapproval, thinking that I’d somehow conned two men into having my babies and paying the bills.
But after a few games, I realized that the looks on their faces weren’t angry or disapproving at all. No, the way they looked at me, watching Sullivan take care of our girls while Will coached the team, was with envy. They were jealous. What the three of us had might be unconventional, but who wouldn’t want another set of hands to help with dishes and dirty laundry? Now, whenever I saw the other moms, I felt sorry for them. They had no idea what they were missing. Never mind having four hands to help around the house instead of two. My men were the perfect complements to each other, each one filling in where the other fell short.
It might be true that the perfect man doesn’t exist. But between my two men, I think I’ve found perfection.
Smiling, I glanced at my phone to check the time. “We better get packed up. Time to go meet Grandma and Grandpa for lunch.”
Sullivan nodded, grinning conspiratorially, and lifted Penelope out of my arms, planting a kiss on her chubby cheek, before placing her into her car seat, and then doing the same with Lily.
My parents had moved closer right after Ryder was born—in a custom home built by Will and Sullivan. We’d developed a tradition of having lunch together after soccer. In fact, they rarely missed a game. Sometimes we went out for pizza, and other times for subs.
But because it was Will’s birthday next week, and Mom and Dad learned that he’d never had a surprise party growing up, they got this crazy idea in their heads that they wanted to throw him a little surprise party today after soccer.
I knew that right now Mom was probably putting the finishing touches on the cupcakes or tying up bunches of balloons, and Dad was likely firing up the grill. It made me so happy how accepting my parents had become of my two sweet husbands. It had taken a few years, but now my mom and dad both regarded Will and Sullivan as the best sons-in-law you could ever ask for. And they were in love with their new role as grandparents, too.
As I stood, Will helped me to fold up my chair. “You looked good out there, coach.” I gave his butt a playful slap.
“Hey now …” He grinned. “There are children present.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Guess you’ll have to teach me a lesson later.”
Still smiling, Will leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “You promise?”
Sullivan walked up at just that exact moment and said to Will, “Yeah, we both promise.”
My God, what these men do to me.
***
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About the Author
Lola Leighton is the pseudonym for a New York Times bestselling romance author who wanted to write steamier stories that her mother is most definitely not allowed to read.
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