by S. E. Hall
“Let’s eat,” Emmett suggests, so I rapidly rip off my TP and rush to help her up.
She thinks she’s huge, I know this because she mentions it at least twice a day, every day, but I think she’s adorable, not a third of the size I’ve seen some women get. But I learned quickly—don’t argue, say nothing, and nod empathically.
“So, I hear you got kicked out of Lamaze?” Dane laughs and I cut a look to Emmett—I can’t believe she ratted me out.
“I wasn’t kicked out. I was asked not to come back. There’s a big difference,” I grumble, helping my woman up on the stool at the bar. “What’d you tell them?” I ask her.
“The truth,” she simpers, covering her mouth quickly to hide it.
“Why don’t you set me straight with the real story?” Dane quirks that fucking brow of his, challenging me as he takes a bite of a stork-shaped cookie.
Total setup—all six pairs of eyes dart to me, the girls leaning in closer to soak up my every word. “Clear cut case of Hag Rag was all it was.” I shrug. “The teacher wanted me, got mad she couldn’t have me, starting pickin’ on me.”
“Uh huh.” Dane nods, motioning with his hand for me to continue.
“It’s a class about your baby coming out, right? Why wouldn’t I need to be down between Emmett’s legs?”
Whitley sprays me with her mouthful of punch, choking and sputtering. Bennett slaps her on the back, but shushes her, not wanting the story interrupted, I guess.
“Ain’t shit gonna be happening up by her head. I went where I was needed.”
“And?” Emmett coughs.
“And what? Babe, she obviously didn’t know what she was doing. I wasn’t ‘staging a coup’ as she so dramatically accused. I was simply getting the other dads in gear.”
Everyone’s laughing, but Whitley raises her hand amongst the noise. “Yes, Whitley?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t plan to actually deliver the baby, do you?” She grasps her chest, voice trembling with the last couple words.
“No.”
“Then why do you need to be down there? That’s where the doctor goes.”
Here we go again. I shake my head. Does nobody have an original argument?
Emmett grabs Laney’s arm, slinging her thumb my way. “This, you gotta hear.”
“There’s gonna be a lot happening in one central location—fluids gushing and flying out. I’ve read a lot about this, you know. I want to make sure my child doesn’t slip through her hands like a greased pig and wind up on the floor. I’m the pinch catcher, just in case. I know these babies never miss,” I give ‘em all my snazzy fingers, “not to mention,” I shush their gasps and giggles, “women screaming, mass chaos—I need to make sure nobody gets scissor happy and snips the wrong thing.”
Dane's face is classic—stone-shocked silence...he's just mad I think of everything first, ‘cause you know his ass is taking notes. “If I could just figure out how to harness and bottle all that into something useful,” he swipes his hands crazily in my general area, “we'd all own private islands.”
I was expressly forbidden to buy any food, chocolate or otherwise, as well as any “I won't be this size forever” articles of clothing and/or flowers, which all of a sudden give her a headache, for Valentine's Day.
Exactly what the fuck does that leave?
No puppy, to hell with that, we’ve got a peeing, pooping machine on the way. Jewelry? Too cliché. Definitely not baby stuff—between Christmas and the shower, we're all set for like, ten babies. New journal? Not enough.
I’m screwed. Time to call in reinforcements.
“She's busy,” Dane answers Laney's phone with a chuckle, but I can hear her grappling with him in the background.
“Hand her the phone, it's important.”
“You okay?” His tone goes deadly serious.
“No! What the hell do I get Emmett for Valentine's Day? And before you start naming basic bullshit, let me tell you the forbidden list she gave me.”
“Give me the phone,” Laney bosses. “Hello?”
“Hey, Gidge, so I—”
“I heard you,” she cuts me off. “She wants one of those Kindle reader things, with a light.”
She does love to read. Me thinks Gidge may be onto something. “Where do I get one of those?”
“Any electronics place, Best Buy, wherever. Oh, and have them load it up with credit or whatever they do so she can buy books!”
“Ah, Gidge, you know how much I love you, right?”
“Yes, she knows!” Dane yells.
“Bye,” I chuckle, tempted to jack with him and keep talking to her. “Thank you.”
I handed her the gift at approximately six pm. That's the last time I saw her. The time is now nearing 10:30 pm.
I am a brave, brave man...I'm going in.
“Hey, baby, whatcha doin?”
“Shhh,” she hisses, curled up in bed, mesmerized by the screen. “It's at a crucial part.”
Yeah, I got a crucial part and he knows it’s Valentine’s Day and that she bought us new cologne and sunglasses, not a pocket pussy. Stealthily, I turn off the lights and walk around the bed, stripping down to nothing before I pull up the covers and slip in behind her. I brush her long hair off her shoulder, teasing her skin with my nose, kissing softly. I get a backwards hand swat, like a fly's bugging her.
I am not a fan of the Kindle. I flop on my back, huffing loudly, and when she doesn't even flinch, I huff again, punching and rearranging my pillow. “Whatcha reading, on Valentine’s Day, baby?”
“Mirage,” she sighs wistfully. “It's so good.”
I roll over, naked chest against her back, and grab one her hands, shoving it on my hard, lonely dick. “That feel like a mirage to you, Em?”
“No,” she sets the Kindle down and rolls over to face me, “no, it certainly does not. It feels very real.” She presses her hand down harder, using her whole palm to glide up and down my poor achiness.
I wind my hand behind her neck and roughly pull her mouth to mine, biting her bottom lip and tugging before sneaking my tongue in to caress hers. “I need some lovin', Emmy,” I murmur against our tangled mouths. “You got some for me?”
Her thin white nightgown leaves nothing to my imagination, her nipples peaked and hard, and she's not wearing any panties. Fuckkk me. I run my finger under one strap and let it fall down her arm, then the same on the other side. Now her chest is bared to me, showcasing her visible, fluttering heartbeat and two gorgeous breasts. I prop myself on my right elbow to hold my weight and use my left hand to delve down and hike up the bottom of her sleepwear. No barrier, my index finger tests her readiness. She’s warm and wet, like she was waiting for me.
By now she's latched on manically to both sides of my head, feasting at my mouth then steering me down to suck on her tits, one of her favorite things. Every day they grow and I'm often tempted to suffocate myself in them. What a way to go.
“Tell me, Em, you want me? You want me inside that pretty wet pussy, don’t cha?”
“Yes,” she groans, letting her lips fall open.
“Put me where you want me, Em, show me.”
She rolls over on her side away from me and hitches one leg back over my hips. Fumbling, her hand comes behind and between us, tiny fingers grabbing my cock. I scoot closer and she lines me up with her soaking center, backing up until the tip pops inside her.
And for the next few hours, ‘cause yeah, I got it like that, we consummate our first Valentine's Day together.
CHAPTER 35
Miracle on Fair Road
—Emmett—
A second-time mom told a funny story at Lamaze one night before we got kicked out. Her water broke in the middle of the grocery store aisle, so she reached over and grabbed a jar of pickles, smashing it on top of her puddle to cover it up. Great story, we all died laughing, but totally non-applicable now, here.
I'm sitting in the lobby of Quickie Lube, waiting for my oil change and tire ro
tation, when I suddenly feel like I just peed on myself. It doesn't occur to me that it's my water breaking right off the bat because I've got 17 days left. Babies don't come that early, maybe a week, but not over two. This can't be right. What if something's wrong? And SHIT, are jackknife pains supposed to immediately follow?
Okay, I can do this, no need to panic. I pull up Sawyer on my phone, anxious, somewhat frightened tears already dripping down my cheeks.
“Hey baby, you get your car done?” he answers cheerfully.
“Not done yet.” I huff out a breath. “Sawyer, my water just broke, in the Quickie Lube on University. And the pain, ahh,” I yelp, hunching over, holding my stomach, “has already started.”
“Ma'am, are you all right?” a pimple faced kid about twelve asks me.
“Nooo,” I growl, “I'm not all right. Unless you deliver babies or have a morphine drip handy. I. AM. NOT. ALL RIGHT.”
“Emmy, babe,” Sawyer frantically screams in my ear, “hand that guy the phone. I'm on my way right now, just hold on, Shorty, Daddy's coming.”
I thrust the phone at the poor kid, slumping down in my chair, trying to reposition some of the pressure off my breaking spine. “OH MY GOD,” I sob, screaming, “SEROUSLY?”
“Dude,” the phone shakes in his hand, “she's definitely in labor, coming pretty fast I think.”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“All right, yep, I got it.” He ends the call and hands me back my phone which I rip from his hand.
Sorry kid, wrong place, wrong time. You'll live. “Ahhh!” I may not.
“Your husband said to time your contractions. If they get five or less minutes apart, I have to call an ambulance. He's about fifteen minutes away.”
“Thank you.”
“Brian.”
“Thank you, Brian. I'm sorry I was hateful, but this hurts like a bitch.” I lay my head back and try to concentrate on my breathing, what techniques I got time to learn before Sawyer got us unceremoniously removed from Lamaze. “I’m sitting in a puddle of pain, so just ignore everything I say.”
“Can I get you a drink or anything?”
A towel would be nice. “No, thank you I'm fine, I, Ohhh my God! Oh my God, owww.” I bellow, bent over at the waist. The pain, excruciating pain.
“That wasn’t even three minutes, I'm calling.” He turns and runs to the desk.
How is this happening? I thought you had time to grab your bag, drive your car and park, walk in and get a wheelchair....this is like a pop and sprint!
Not but a couple minutes pass and I hear blaring sirens getting closer and closer. I try to stand to meet them and instantly drop back down. Not happening. Another contraction hits as the EMTs come barreling through the door and this one lasts what seems like forever. I felt that one in my hair roots.
“What's your name, ma'am?” one of the rescue guys asks, strapping something on my arm that he pulled from some box.
“Emmett Young.” In through the nose, out through the mouth.
“How far apart your contractions?”
“Barely three minutes,” Quickie Lube Brian chimes in from the sidelines.
“And how many weeks are you?”
“37. Almost 38. Is that too early?” I bite my trembling lip, worried and scared. Where is Sawyer?
“Gonna be fine, let's get you loaded up.” He grabs under one shoulder, another man hooking under my arm from the other side. Mid-stride we have to stop as a 47 on the Richter scale rips through me, causing my legs to go weak, and I'm going down if they don't catch me.
“Emmett!”
There he is.
“Sawyer!” comes out a gargled sob.
He's there instantly, hand on my back.
“Sir, step back, please, let's get her loaded. You're more than welcome to ride in the ambulance with her.”
“We're going to Regional. 1499 Fair Rd. I called her doctor so they know we're coming.” He’s so calm, collected, spouting off facts like the man in charge. He picks up my purse off the ground and looks around, spotting Brian. “Someone will be by to pay you and get her car, a guy named Tate or Dane Kendrick. Give it to them.”
Brian nods speechlessly, probably traumatized for the rest of his life.
Once we're rolling, Sawyer stretches and grabs my hand, not letting go until they load me. I scream out in pain and clutch my stomach, every breath an effort. Sawyer and one guy jump in, the doors slam, and next thing I know, we're moving, sirens blaring. Sawyer's once again holding my hand, leaned over me with the other stroking my hair, kissing my forehead incessantly.
“Just breath, baby, everything's gonna be fine. I'm right here. I got you, Emmy.”
I give him a tearful nod, tightening my grip on his hand.
“I love you,” he mouths, blowing me an air kiss and actually getting me to smile.
The ride lasts no time at all and then the doors are flying open and I'm rolling all speedy like into the hospital. A nurse meets us and starts directing traffic, having me taken straight to the maternity ward.
Three contractions later, so ten minutes, and I'm in a robe and bed with a fetal monitor on my stomach and Nurse Nasty elbow deep in my vag.
“Four.” She snaps off her gloves and rolls her stool to the trash, then back. “You've been working. Dr. Greer's been paged. Do you plan to have an epidural?”
Is that supposed to be a joke?
“Yes, please, ASAP, please,” I pant, another wave of pain building.
“Ok, I’ll go page the anesthesiologist. That’ll keep you out of pain while you dilate to go time! Who will be in the room with you? Hospital allows two.”
“That would be only me,” Sawyer stands and shakes her hand, “Sawyer Beckett, Daddy.”
—SAWYER—
I'd take the pain from her if I could. It’s unbearable to watch beads of sweat line her forehead and lip with each bout of pain. She's so brave, puffing her lips and breathing through it like a little blowfish, giving me a weak but victorious smile when each one ends.
Chapter Three: Labor. Touch her, support her, but not too much. Mama gets irritable and swat happy and may spit out “don't touch me” in a demonic growl, but she doesn't mean it.
An hour, sixty minutes and nineteen contractions later, the man with the plan walks in, all casual, to administer the epidural. “Bet you're glad to see me,” he says with a haughty laugh.
Beggin' for an ass kickin', this guy.
“Very,” Emmett moans, shifting uncomfortably.
Chapter Four: Epidurals. Write this down! Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT watch this part. Dr. Evil is gonna shove a huge, I mean grotesquely long, fucking needle in your woman's spine while she's hunched over crying. They will not let you hold her during this. A nurse holds onto her and you get to sit there like a useless asshole. It will gut you and make you want to beat the ever lovin' shit out of him! But then, an eerie solace will move over the room like a warm, just out of the dryer, blanket and baby mama will suddenly resemble a human being again.
And the rest is smooth sailing...not really, but compared to the perfect storm just endured? Tiny ripples in a shallow creek.
“You're doing so damn good, Emmy.” I kiss her forehead, then pop down for a looksee, back and forth, entranced. “Squeeze my hand, Shorty,” and damn does she, “almost there!”
“Bear down, Emmett, push like your tailbone needs to hit my hand,” Dr. Greet directs her. “There ya go, couple more like that.”
“My strong, beautiful girl, you got it, baby.” I prop my other hand behind her back and help sit her up. “I love you, Emmett. You're doing great.” I glance over her leg and see it, a furry black head. “Is that—is that the head?”
“That's the head. I need the clamps,” Doc barks at the nurse, and she hands her some big ass salad tongs, scarier looking than the breast pump I hid.
Oh, hell no.
“What is that? What are you doing?” Yup—I'm down where the action is now.
&nbs
p; “I've got to turn the head, Mr. Beckett.”
“You are not putting that on my kid’s head. No, no, no.” I shake my head, reaching to grab her weapon.
“Perfectly safe.” She makes a move but so do I.
“No way, let me in there, I'll do it!” I butt in front of the nurse.
“Sawyer,” oh Doc’s first naming me now, “back up or and let me do my—”
“Pushing!” Emmett wails out, demanding both our attention.
‘Atta girl, Em—one big, hard push and the baby's head comes out a few more inches. I can't help it, I smirk and stick out my hand and get the tongs slapped into my palm.
From that moment, I don't move, speak, or blink, and I'm not even sure I breathe. The most beautiful little person I've ever seen in my life emerges.
Chapter Five: You'll never be the same.
Dr. Greer catches like a champ, scrubbing, rubbing, patting and sucking in a blurred frenzy and a piercing, glorious cry raises the roof. “You have a daughter.” She looks at me. “Would you like to cut the cord?”
This is it. I use one hand to steady the other and separate her from only her mother. She's a part of “our” world now.
“A daughter,” I whisper, following Little Miss' transfer from the doctor's hands to the nurse’s. “Emmy, did you hear?” I choke out, turning to look at Mama once my baby's safely laid in some tray there, only an arm's length away. (I may have reached out and measured.) “We have a daughter.”
Exhausted, sweaty, radiant Emmett holds her arms out to me and puckers her sweet lips. “I heard,” she answers, tears streaming down her face. “Is she okay?”
As gently as my heart will allow, I wrap my arms around her, kissing every inch of her beautiful face. “Yes, she's perfect. Thank you, Emmett.” I turn my head and kiss her hand as she wipes my own tears for me. “God, I love you. Thank you so much, babe.” I laugh, happy as I've ever been, crying like my baby with no shame. “I gotta go make sure they're doing everything right over there and count all her fingers and toes. Be back in a minute.”
“You do that, Daddy,” she smiles at me, cupping my cheeks, with warmth and happiness filling her vibrant green eyes, “go get our girl.”