by Trent Evans
Rubbing his eyes, Keihl reached over and looked at his phone. “1:34. Christ, that late? We’ll time just in case.”
“It’s not it.”
“You don’t know that. Tom said you could come any day now.”
Kirsten sighed. “That just means if the baby comes now, she’s considered full term. The due date’s not for another week.”
“Oh.” Keihl held the back of his hand to her lips and she kissed it. It comforted the both of them, and he still couldn’t figure out why. “Guess that explains why Linda and William decided a cruise made sense two weeks from your due date?”
He swore he could hear the eye-rolling in Kirsten’s voice.
“She swears that all the women in our family are late. Every time. God knows, Mom’s always right.”
Keihl remembered William suggesting they nix the trip, but his strong-willed wife would have none of it. Said it would be bad luck if they canceled it. At the time, Keihl couldn’t tell if that news had exasperated Kirsten or hurt her. He suspected it might be a little of both, but he knew Kirsten would rather die than let on to that fact. It was such an unusual dynamic — both women loved each other to death, that was obvious, yet both seemed to go to inordinate lengths to downplay that fact.
He’d always thought that was something only men did.
With each passing minute though, the tension in their bodies lessened, until finally she craned her head, looking back at him. “You still awake?”
“Long as you are. Nothing?”
“Nope.” She leaned her head against his chest once more, slowly stroking her belly. “False alarm again. Now, what were you going to say?”
“About what?”
“Joely’s sister.”
He paused, then smiled. “Oh, I was gonna say — guess that means she just needs to have another kid. Boobs will be back to normal, right?”
Kirsten giggled. “You don’t get pregnant to get your breasts back, Keihl.”
“I wonder if her husband would agree with that.”
“Puh-lease.”
He took both of Kirsten’s heavy breasts in his hands, loving the way her breath caught as he lifted the weight of both soft globes.
“You’re not going to have to worry about that though.”
“You… how do you know that?”
“You just won’t stop nursing.”
She froze. “Um, how would… you’re serious?”
Keihl grinned, nuzzling her hair, giving her breasts a gentle squeeze that drew a soft sigh from her lips.
“Of course, I’m serious. I’m not one of those idiot guys who thinks lactation is gross.”
Keihl wasn’t sure he’d really be comfortable telling her just how much the subject fascinated him — and aroused him.
“Keihl, there’s a big difference between not thinking it’s gross… and that.”
“That? Whatever do you mean, light of my life?”
He was enjoying this.
“You’d really make me… keep going?”
“Hell yes. I’m seriously considering it, anyway.”
The idea of commanding it of her spoke to him on a primal, male level, the appeal of it something he felt deep in his core, something he couldn’t — and didn’t need to — fully understand. All he needed to know was that it felt right. She was his, all of her, and it would reinforce that fact to her like nothing else.
“My God, I’ve created a monster,” she said, her voice soft.
“You have no idea, Kirsten.” He leaned close, whispering at her ear. “I think I’ll like you like this. Whether the baby still needs it or not, I think I’m going to make you keep them going.”
“Keihl.”
“Is that a no?”
“God…”
Her body gave lie to the embarrassment in her voice, her mischievous hips grinding against him again. He was hard and throbbing within seconds, the shaft of his cock nestling between the coolness of her lush buttocks.
Some part of her wasn’t repulsed by the idea at all, embarrassment or not.
“Keep that up and you’re gonna get another fucking, woman.”
She made a soft sound deep in her throat, reaching back to stroke his cheek. “Promise, or a threat?”
“You’re about to find out, unless you knock it off. You’re too tired for this.”
“That’s not what he thinks.” She squeezed her bottom around his penis. “Oh no, he’s not tired at all.”
He turned her in his arms, bringing his lips to hers.
“Evil woman.”
* * *
Thankfully she was still asleep when he woke up, slipping from the sheets, cursing softly under his breath at the chill in the room. Icy rain poured against the windows, the sky an angry gray.
Breakfast.
He loved cooking for her now, especially since she’d decided she didn’t have to really worry too much about what she ate — or how much of it. Eggs, bacon and toast would do the trick nicely.
The mouthwatering aroma of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen as he worked. Finally, he heard the floor creak upstairs.
She’s up!
Bacon never failed.
“Ohmygod, that smells soo good,” she said sleepily as she walked past the kitchen on the way to the bathroom. The toilet flushed, then came the squeal of the hinge on the bathroom door. He kept forgetting to oil the damned thing.
Keihl threw the bacon back into the microwave, and gave it another minute. He knew she liked it extra crispy. He stood and watched the numbers count down, listening for her.
The chime on the microwave went off… but he didn’t open the door.
No Kirsten.
Oh shit.
Keihl bolted from the kitchen, turning and dashing down the hall, his heart jackhammering in his chest.
He found her standing, just outside the bathroom door, her legs shoulder-width apart, a dark wet patch on the carpet between her feet. The hem of the long, threadbare t-shirt she liked to sleep in was bunched in her fists. Her eyes were wide, her face pale as her gaze met his.
“Jesus Christ, tell me that’s not blood, Kirsten.”
He didn’t like the reedy sound of his voice.
Strong for her, Keihl.
Her voice was a frightened murmur. “I… think my water just broke.”
Taking her hand, he gave her a grin he hoped would reassure her.
“Looks like it’s time to go to the hospital.”
Chapter Forty Two
Keihl made the call as he snatched up the delivery bag they’d prepacked for the trip to the hospital. His mouth was dry, the pulse pounding in his neck as he got everything together. Incredibly, Kirsten had wanted to help him — but he’d had none of that. Instead, he’d laid a thick towel down on the couch and told her to sit.
“No contractions yet?”
She looked up at him, confused. “No… nothing.”
Tom had warned them about that too — about new mothers sometimes having a pause in labor and the dreaded Pitocin drip that might be required to give it a little help moving along.
“Well, at least I won’t be playing catch-the-baby on the side of the highway.”
He got her in the car, double-checking the house to make sure he’d remembered everything, the panic he’d felt for that first thirty seconds now completely receded.
He was doing this.
For her. Just as she’d said she needed.
Every red light seemed to conspire against them on the way to the hospital, but at least Tom had texted, saying he was already there, waiting for their arrival.
Then he’d seen the texted response to his first, hurried call — and looked at it again, making sure he wasn’t seeing things.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Keihl muttered under his breath, tapping the steering wheel as they came to a stop at yet another goddamned red light.
Kirsten groaned, doubling over in her seat, and Keihl reached out for her shoulder, rubbing her back as she breathed thr
ough it.
“Hard one?”
“That was the real thing,” Kirsten said, her cheeks paling. “Now I know the difference between Braxton-Hicks and labor. Jesus.”
Ten minutes later — every minute an eon — they finally arrived, a nurse in multicolored patterned scrubs wheeling out a wheelchair to meet them at the curb, Tom just inside the threshold of the sliding doors that lead to the maternity ward. As they helped Kirsten into the chair, a brilliant ray of sunshine broke through the overcast, warming Keihl’s neck, the light making the glass of the doors shimmer for just a moment.
Keihl followed them inside, his wife’s hand clasped firmly in his own, only letting Kirsten go when she looked up and him and mouthed the words: “It’s okay.”
And for the first time since that chilly November morning all those years ago when he’d offered to buy that stunning dark-haired woman some coffee, Keihl felt utterly and completely helpless.
Contractions came with regularity almost as soon as they hooked up the heart monitor, Kirsten braving them with a strength that awed him. He’d known that steel was within her before, but compared to this, the concept was abstract, facile. This? This was real strength, and it filled him with a pride and humbleness and a gratitude he’d never expected.
Soon enough Joely arrived, and Keihl tried not to think about the bittersweet twinge he felt at the expression of relief he saw in his wife’s eyes when her best friend swept into the room, taking her place at Kirsten’s side, seeming to know instantly what the pregnant woman needed, what might buoy her.
Tom took over then, giving Keihl a wink and a knowing smile. The man had been there before, of course — as both doctor and nervous father — and somehow, that helped.
Time seemed to slow as he and Joely helped Kirsten through the first wave of painful, hard contractions, the timing dropping from ten minutes, to eight… and then back to ten.
Soon, they’d gone back to fifteen minutes, the realization that it wasn’t happening, at least not yet, filling him with both a selfish sense of relief and a pure, primal frustration that his wife would be put through yet more misery that he had absolutely no way of shielding her from.
Two hours passed, and then three and still no change. Finally, it was time for the dreaded Pitocin.
Kirsten cursed bitterly under her breath when Tom suggested they give it a try, but Keihl agreed to it, despite the reluctance that fair dripped from his increasingly tired — and ticked off— wife.
It worked fiendishly well, and before they knew it, Kirsten was in full labor once more. Hour after hour went by, the labor harder and harder.
Then, Kirsten looked up at something behind Keihl, her eyes going wide, tears welling.
“Momma?”
I can’t believe it.
Keihl turned. Linda’s blonde, willowy form stood in the doorway, twin points of color high in her cheeks.
“Has she?”
Keihl took her hand. “Not even close. Glad you could make it.”
“Oh, thank God.” She dashed to Kirsten, hugging her, the kisses frantic, all three women crying.
Kirsten looked up at Keihl. “How could…? The cruise?”
“I got a strange phone call from an expectant father.” Giving Keihl a wink, Blaine stepped into the room then, the coat of his charcoal suit open, the silver tie loose at his throat. “So I thought I’d pull a few strings.”
Linda smoothed strands of dark hair away from her daughter’s sweaty face.
“Damned helicopter showed up at the ship, and they took your father and I right off… had a private jet waiting for us in San Diego. I thought it was the government.”
Blaine’s lips pursed. “Not quite.”
“Where’s Dad?” Kirsten craned her head around, looking toward the door.
“He’s in the lobby — I think he’d drop dead if he had to witness this.” Linda rolled her eyes. “Men.”
Kirsten reached for Blaine then, and he took her hand for a moment, a mere touch — but it was enough for her.
‘Thank you, Blaine.”
“Don’t thank me.” He crooked a thumb at Keihl. “I think his words were: ‘I don’t care who you have to kill to make it happen, she needs her Mom here.’ How’s a guy supposed to say no to that?”
Keihl knelt down next to the chair Kirsten had been sitting in for the past hour as the hard contractions rolled over her. He took her hand, and brought it to his lips.
“I wasn’t sure… so I took a shot.” He gave Linda a nod, then smiled at his wife. “I did good, huh?”
“You did more than good.” Kirsten’s eyes flashed, and she leaned closer, her voice a murmur only the two of them could make out. “Sir.”
“Better lucky than good,” Joely said with a wry grin, giving Keihl’s shoulder a playful shove.
Kirsten threw her head back, groaning as another contraction hit her.
Tom squeezed Keihl’s shoulder. “She’s doing just fine, my friend. Remember this.”
And Keihl knew he would, for the rest of his days.
Then the two women took over, and it really was out of Keihl’s hands.
Humbled and touched at the way all three women seemed to come together as a team, at the way Joely and Linda supported, exhorted, and drove Kirsten, Keihl witnessed first-hand just how strong women really were.
Then, finally, it was over and a pure joy he didn’t know was possible washed over him like a flood tide, elation, and an overwhelming gratitude making him grin like a little boy.
In his embrace once more, returned to him, he held Kirsten tight, looking into her beautiful eyes, her tears welling.
“We did it,” she whispered, her brow furrowed, but the relief plain in her gaze. “I love you, Keihl.”
“You did it, Kirsten.” He leaned in close, pressing a soft, slow kiss to her warm forehead. “I love you so much.”
Then, finally, he stared down at the bundle of love held in his wife’s arms. A baby girl. Those pure blue eyes peered up at him for the very first time, and in that beautiful little face he found the forever he’d waited so long to meet.
The tiny hand squeezed around his finger, and a tear cascaded down Keihl’s face.
“Hello, Grace.”
Epilogue
He found her in the living room at the front window, her finger holding aside the diaphanous curtain.
“She’s gonna be fine.”
“Easy for you to say.” Kirsten turned her head, frowning at him. “You didn’t carry her for nine months.”
Keihl slipped behind his wife, wrapping her in his arms, resting his chin atop her head. The black Escalade backed out of the driveway. With two short honks of the horn and a flash of taillights, the truck drove away, carrying the priceless cargo named Grace Warren.
“Linda knows what she’s doing,” Keihl murmured “She raised you, didn’t she?”
Kirsten sighed, leaning back against him. “I know it’s crazy, but it’s… so hard to let her go with someone else. Even my own, you know?”
He turned her until she faced him, lifting her chin on his finger. “I do know. It’s not easy for any new mother, but you’ve made your mom so happy. It’s a big deal for her too.”
Keihl took both of her hands, noting the slight tremble of her fingers. She was keyed up.
Time to get her mind elsewhere.
“You just want to have me all to yourself,” Kirsten said, peeking up at him through those dark eyelashes.
“Can you blame me?” Her slender fingers fluttered like leaves in the wind, and he kissed the knuckles of both her hands.
“I don’t blame you at all,” she said, looking down. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been… busy a lot, I guess.”
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Gracie comes first.”
Kirsten looked up, beaming. “You both come first.” She rose up onto her toes and planted a soft kiss on his lips.
“Speaking of me coming first… are you ready for this?”
Kirsten
swallowed, hard. “Yes — it’s been seven months. You’ve been patient with me. Do you want to talk about it? I mean, we haven’t… since we became part of all of this.”
He remembered it well. He’d seen Blaine and Tom talking out in the hallway, while he sat in the nursery with Gracie. Several times, both men had glanced at him through the glass as their conversation continued, became more animated.
Then Blaine had come back to visit them later that night. It had seemed almost like an afterthought, at the time. Keihl had already felt a part of it, but Blaine had given them the formal declaration as they’d rested in their room following delivery. He’d never forget the fierce light he saw in Kirsten’s tired eyes as Blaine took both of their hands in his.
‘You’ve been granted the status of Provisional Members of the Dominion Trust. Upon approval — and a successful Term of Service — you’ll be granted full membership at the next annual Quorum. Welcome.’
Blaine hadn’t been able to keep a straight face for the whole thing, but he’d admitted that tradition had to be followed — even for friends. Then the young man had laid out for the both of them exactly what would be required of them in the coming days. Kirsten’s face had paled at some of the details, but she’d never once objected, never once refused.
His strong, brave woman.
Now as Keihl stood in their living room, his gorgeous wife in his arms, the animal within him stirred to life once more. It was time for the next step.
“We’re gonna do a lot more than talk, girl.”
Her eyes flashed, her lips curving into a shy smile. “Yes, Sir. Should I… go to the bedroom?”
Kirsten fingered the top button of the white sleeveless blouse, the pretty lace fringe at the neckline hinting at cleavage. She favored that style of blouse as they were easy to open and close for nursing, something she’d complained more than once seemed to have become the center of her life.
But he’d seen past that, seen how much she enjoyed it too, how much it meant to her that Keihl supported her, encouraged it. He’d made it clear too that her milk wasn’t solely for the baby — and that she’d continue nursing until he ordered her to stop. As long as both her health and comfort weren’t threatened — he’d never make her continue if either were at stake — he’d told her she’d better get used to it. She’d reveled in it, of course, even as it made her cheeks burn scarlet each time he’d demanded she present her breasts to him for his enjoyment.