by Erin Noelle
“One of each,” I replied, trying my best to relax and catch my breath between contractions.
“Twins?!” they both exclaimed at the same time.
Tara quickly recovered as Nurse Nancy shot her a strange look. “Oh yes, we’re so excited about the twins. Scarlett and I have always been so close; people used to joke we were like twins, not just . . . ya know . . . sisters,” she explained, biting her lip to hide a giggle.
Nancy shrugged her shoulders and returned her focus to the machines. “Okay, Miss Scarlett, your doctor has been notified and will be here in a little while, but I’m going to check you now to see where you’re at. Do you want your sister to stay in the room or leave for this?”
“I don’t care; she can stay,” I answered. I mean, shit, she’d already stripped me.
Nodding, she takes her place at the foot of the bed and warns me that it may be a bit uncomfortable. Funny, ‘uncomfortable’ would not have been the word I used to describe what she did to me—excruciating torture was more like it. My hips flew off the bed as I screamed out at her touch, and thankfully, she hastily withdrew her hand.
“You’re progressing nicely. I’d say you’re close to an eight and fully effaced—”
Her voice muffled as another contraction hit, and all I could focus on for the next sixty seconds was breathing my way through it while grabbing hold of the rails on the side of the bed.
“Do you know if she has a birthing plan?” I heard Nancy asking Tara as I came down from the pain, my eyes still closed.
“Yes, the plan is to push the babies out as pain-free as possible,” my newly-adopted sister replied.
“So she does want an epidural?”
“Yes, our family is a huge proponent of drugs.”
“I see. Well, let me put a call in to the anesthesiologist; she may be too far along already for it though. I’m honestly not sure her doctor’s even going to make it in time.”
I heard footsteps and the door closing, and I opened my eyes to stare at the textured ceiling, wondering what in the fuck was happening.
“I texted Mason; that’s you’re fiancé, right?” Tara said as she approached the bed.
Twisting my head to look at her, I nodded. “Yeah, thanks. How did you know?”
“I hope you don’t mind; I went through your messages on your phone, but I figured you’d want him to know as soon as possible. You said something about it back at the signing,” she explained. “He hasn’t texted back yet.”
“He’s playing a show right now. He’s gonna freak when he sees his phone.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I came then, girlie, ‘cause according to the nurse lady, you’re gonna be pushing these kiddos out pretty soon.” She paused to sweep a few errant strands of hair away from my face. “And don’t you worry—if you shit on the table while pushing, I won’t tell a soul. Oh, and I’ll make sure the doctor sews that shit up tight. Your boy, Mason, will think he’s died and gone to virgin heaven once he can tap your cute ass again.”
Speechless. Maybe I’d started to hallucinate and she really hadn’t said that.
And as if the moment couldn’t get any more ridiculous, the door flew open, and in walked the two other authors I completely humiliated myself in front earlier—Madeline and Ashley—both of them carrying boxes.
“We got here as soon as we could. It took us a while to get books signed from all of the authors for you, but here they are,” one of them said. I didn’t know who it was; I’d closed my eyes to pray I would disappear into the sheets. It was confirmed—I was starring in an episode of The Twilight Zone: Maternity Ward.
The three of them moved off to a corner and whispered between themselves for a few minutes until Nancy re-entered the room. “I see we have a couple new visitors. Hi, ladies, you must be more ‘sisters’,” she greeted them warmly, despite the hint of sarcasm lingering heavily on her last word.
After a murmur of hellos, Nancy then turned her attention to me. “Scarlett, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to do this without an epidural. Since you’re having a vaginal delivery of twins, the on-call doctor doesn’t want to impede the process in any way. He’s going to be here in just a minute to check you himself, and most likely start setting everything up.”
On cue, the door opened yet again, and in walked an older man dressed in baby blue scrubs, who reminded me of my grandpa. He introduced himself, and without even asking if I wanted anyone to leave the room, he began to check me. Thankfully, my “sisters” scurried up to the head of the bed so they weren’t just standing there staring at my snatch.
Pulling the latex glove off his hand after the exam, he looked up at me and smiled. “It’s time, sweetheart. We’re gonna get everything ready, get our delivery team in here, and then we should be singing Happy Birthday to your little ones in just a bit. Everyone who isn’t staying for the delivery should go ahead and move to the waiting room.”
The following fifteen minutes were a whirlwind of motion, the room filling with hospital staff as they prepared for the twins’ arrival. The contractions grew closer and closer together; I was having problems catching my breath in-between them. I thought the girls had left the room, and a part of me was a little sad; even though they were strangers, it’d meant a lot to me they had come to the hospital so I wouldn’t be alone. However, as Nurse Nancy put the oxygen mask on my face, Tara appeared at the right side of the bed, picking my hand up to hold in hers.
“We’re all here, sweetie. Let us know if we can do anything. Your man texted back and I’ve updated him; he’s on his way,” she comforted me.
And then it started.
Push . . . One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten. And rest.
Push . . . One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten. And rest.
Push . . . One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten. And rest.
Over and over and over.
I pushed so fucking hard I was afraid I was going to burst a blood vessel in my head.
Finally—and I mean holy-shitballs-fucking-FINALLY—the doctor told me one last push and the first baby would be out. Bearing down with every ounce of oomph left in me, Everett Matthew entered the world on February seventh at six-thirty-two in the evening. Three minutes later, his partner-in-crime, Ashlynn Marley, followed, and the room of strangers erupted into cheers. Both babies were whisked away to be cleaned, measured, and examined, and once I was told they were both breathing on their own and screaming loudly, I passed out cold.
The sund of the toilet flushing startles me, and I leap to my feet, snatching my water bottle and leaving the barrage of pictures scattered about. Scurrying to the bedroom, I bound into the room just as Mason exits the bathroom.
“Where were you, Angel?” he asks groggily, walking back to the bed, still stark naked. I clench my thighs together at the sight of him; he truly is a specimen.
“I went to get some water and got sidetracked unpacking a box.” Crawling onto the mattress simultaneously, I meet him in the middle with a quick kiss.
Growling, he grabs the bottom hem of my t-shirt and yanks it over my head. “And you put clothes on. I want you naked. It’s not time for unpacking.”
I promptly slide the panties down my legs and toss them to the floor before he rips them off. Clutching my hips, he rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him in one swift motion. “Better,” he mumbles, reaching up to cup my breasts, both thumbs playfully brushing back and forth over my nipples. “Don’t make me handcuff you to the bed,” he teases.
Looking at all of the old pictures and remembering what it was like when I was pregnant and delivered the twins ignited a desire inside of me. It’s something the two of us discussed several times, but the timing was never right; however, now that we’re married and in our own home, I’m ready.
Wiggling on top of his cock pressing into the cleft of my ass, I lift my arms and gather my hair in a m
essy pile on top of my head, doing the best sexy-seductress-Scarlett I can. “Mase, I’m ready,” I rasp.
“Fuck right, you’re ready, baby.” He grinds his hips against me, provoking a guttural moan from the back of my throat.
I splay my hands across his sinfully-sexy chest, staring deeply into his lustful eyes. “I want another baby.”
OUR KIND OF CRAZY
HOME ~ PHILLIP PHILLIPS
SCARLETT
The scorching, bright rays of the morning sun cut through the bedroom window way too early, shining directly into my sleep-deprived eyes only a couple of hours after Mason and I had way too much fun ‘trying’ to make another baby. Hiding my head under the pillow, I silently curse myself for not making him hang the damn curtains last night.
“Morning, beautiful,” he says in his sleepy voice from the other side of the bed.
I grunt my displeasure at him without moving. Lifting the fluffy shield from my head, he rolls me onto my back and kisses the top of my forehead. His head is propped up by his elbow, and he’s smiling down at me adoringly. “Someone’s grumpy this morning,” he teases, tickling my bare belly with his free hand. “You can’t be pregnant already, right?”
Chuckling, I roll my eyes and shake my head. “No, silly, I’m still on birth control; I can’t be pregnant yet. I’m grouchy because I’m still sleepy and the sun is blinding me.”
He repositions himself to block the light from my face. “But you did mean what you said? You want to have another baby?”
I can’t tell if he’s hoping I did or didn’t mean it—or maybe a little of both. Nervously, I nibble on my bottom lip and nod my head. “Yeah, I know we’ve talked about having more, but I didn’t want to until we were off the bus permanently and settled. As many great memories we made with the kids traveling all over the world the last few years, I don’t want to do it again.”
“We were pretty crazy, weren’t we?” His warm laugh intoxicates me, and I’m thankful we can joke about our not-so-conventional way of raising a family.
“Yes, we were—and sometimes still are,” I reply softly, reaching up to tenderly trace my finger over his morning stubble. “We’re always a good crazy though.”
Grasping my hand, he kisses my palm then abruptly sits up, the gray sheet pooling around his waist. “Speaking of kids and crazy, we need to get up and get busy. They’ll be home tomorrow night and this place is a wreck.”
“Okay, I promise I’ll get busy, but I want to show you something first. Let’s get dressed and make some coffee.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mason and I—each holding a piping hot mug—are sitting on the living room floor surrounded by the photos I’ve been reminiscing over for the past day. I show him all the ones I’ve been through thus far, and we laugh over most of the memories. I notice his eyes get a little glossy when he sees the pictures with the authors holding the babies. He’d been extremely upset he wasn’t there when they were born.
Reaching into the storage bin, I pull out another set—ones of him and the twins—and a huge grin stretches across his face. It was the day he introduced the world to Everett and Ashlynn.
No amount of reading, searching websites, or listening to other parents could’ve prepared me for what life with newborn twins would be like. Holy fucking shit—and I mean that exactly how it sounds.
The babies and I were both released from the hospital three days after their birth. They both weighed-in at just over five pounds and had no health issues whatsoever, so they sent us all on our merry way—no instructions, no handbook, just a stack of papers explaining what we owed. Mason brought us to our makeshift home of a hotel suite, and we literally looked at each other and said, “What next?”
Sophie pretty much moved in with us for the first few weeks until we figured everything out and developed somewhat of a schedule. It took us nearly a month, but eventually, I became proactive instead of reactive; I began to anticipate their needs and was prepared. Mason was amazing with the babies, always asking what he could do to help or watching them while I rested. He often felt bad because he’d be gone ten or more hours during the day as they recorded their third album with the new producer, but I understood they had a specific timeframe to get it all done before leaving for the third tour. Thankfully, Sophie continued to come over daily to help me out.
The third tour—that’s when things got really interesting.
Owen arranged for Mason, the twins, and me to have our own smaller bus that followed the larger one while we traveled throughout the states. I offered time and time again to stay in California or move back to the apartment in Houston until the tour was over, but Mason wouldn’t hear of it. He refused to be apart from me and the babies for any length of time, so when the twins were five months old, we packed up our family and moved onto our little bus for a six-month stint on the road. Crazy as shit.
The night of their opening performance in San Francisco, I was completely caught off-guard when Mason asked me to bring the twins on stage, and the band then closed the show with a cover of “A Father’s First Spring” by The Avett Brothers. Pride soared through me with such intensity I was afraid my heart would explode. I couldn’t have asked for a better father for my children, or a better caretaker of my heart.
Over the next several months, we learned how to live as a family on the road. Some days were harder than others, but as long as we were all together, we were home. Before Ashlynn and Everett turned one, they’d crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, seen the Grand Canyon, stood under the Gateway Arch, and had even been to the top of the Empire State Building. Our family had been interviewed by TV shows such as Ellen and The Talk—everyone always wondering how in the world we managed two infants in the confines of a bus. I’m not sure we even knew; we just made it work.
The US portion of the tour wrapped up in mid-January, giving us ten days off before we travelled overseas. It was the first time the twins actually stayed in our true home in Houston. While we were gone, Andi and Mina had transformed the spare bedroom into a nursery for them, which was absolutely breathtaking. Walking into the room, I felt as if I’d been transported into a serene rainforest; sage green bedding, trees painted on the walls, a sound machine playing nature sounds . . . they’d thought of everything. Unfortunately, ten days was just long enough to get used to being back before we had to leave yet again.
Our ten weeks in Europe and Asia was extremely challenging, yet exceptionally rewarding. Flying from place to place and hopping from hotel to hotel—often not speaking the native tongue—with the babies was much more difficult than being on the bus. We could only take with us what would fit in suitcases, which meant no swings, exersaucers, or anything else to keep them from crawling around and getting into everything, and most of the hotel rooms we stayed in were not infant-friendly, to say the least.
On the upside, we got to experience these foreign cities on a first-class ticket. Many of the places I’d dreamed of visiting were a part of the tour—London, Paris, Venice, Moscow, Frankurt, and the list went on. We celebrated the twins’ first birthday atop the Eiffel Tower—something they’ll never remember, but I’ll never forget. They both took their first steps in foreign countries—Everett in Germany, and Ashlynn in Spain. One off-night while we were in Italy, Sophie and Aaron kept the babies overnight to give Mase and me a much-needed break and alone time. We had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant, followed by a ride down the canal on the famous gondolas, and with big plans of a long night filled with hot sex . . . we both fell asleep before midnight. Thankfully though, we became masters of utilizing the kids’ nap times wisely to fit in our sexcapades. I had more sex in hotel room bathrooms than I ever dreamed possible. We did what we had to do in order to keep the spark alive, and through it all, our relationship grew stronger and more resilient, and our love matured and flourished.
Glancing over at Mason as we get to the end of the stack of pictures—a year of our life summed up in photographs—I see the memories affecting him the same way they h
ave me.
“Crazy. It seems like just yesterday, but so long ago at the same time,” he murmurs, still gazing at a photo of the four of us standing in front of the Sagrada Familia Cathedral.
I rest my head on his shoulder, sighing softly. “Always a good crazy.”
GIVING IT UP
YOU STILL LOVE ME ~ TYRONE WELLS
MASON
Damn Scarlett and her good distractions. I know we really need to get to work unpacking all these damn boxes, but between her tempting me with that sexy-as-fuck body, and getting me lost in the memories of the two little ones I cherish more than anything in the world, I’m not being very productive. The three of them have introduced me to a life I never knew I wanted, and now couldn’t live without. Growing up with less-than-spectacular parents, before I met Scarlett, I had no intention of ever settling down with one woman, much less having a family. I never wanted to disappoint anyone the way my parents did me. But once I fell for her, I knew I’d do whatever it took to make her happy, and as fucking pussy-whipped as that makes me sound, I don’t give a rat’s ass—full pun intended.
Our journey to this point hasn’t always been good—shit, it was downright God-awful at times in the beginning—but here we are, our love stronger than I ever could’ve imagined. It’s hard to believe it was over eight years ago when my dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty walked into my bar, exuding an innocence that first captured my attention, and later stole my heart. There’s no point in rehashing the ways we fucked up or the choices we made; it all happened the way it was supposed to in order to get us to this place. Happiness.
Looking at all the pictures from the past six years, I’m reminded of our trek here, and if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Many people don’t realize it, but Scarlett sacrificed a lot to make our relationship work. When she left to go on tour with me, she gave up the notion of going back to school and stopped playing her own music, stepping into a life of attention-starved whores and headline-hungry journalists that stripped her of her privacy. Yet she never complained. Not fucking once. She gave up everything so I could pursue my dream, always there when I needed a reassuring word, always there when I needed to fuck away my frustrations, and always there to support me unconditionally.