Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series)

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Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 142

by Michelle Irwin


  That wasn’t to be, though.

  Instead, Alyssa had decided it had to be the chest of drawers that moved so it could rest against a different wall. I was going to be damned if I let her be the one to shift it, though. As I dragged the heavy-as-shit furniture around, Alyssa jumped on the other end to try to help me. I opened my mouth to tell her to buzz off and just supervise from a safe distance when she went pale.

  “Oh shit,” she muttered.

  “What is it?” I raced to her side in a minute but stopped short when I saw the small puddle of water at her feet. “Oh shit!” My exclamation was far louder than hers. “Is that . . .?”

  She nodded. “I think my water just broke.”

  “Fuck, we’ve gotta get you to the hospital. Get in the car.”

  She laughed as she held up her hand. “It’s not that—” She winced and stopped talking—something she’d been doing for the better part of the morning. “It’s not that big of a rush,” she finished a moment later. With the information about her broken waters playing in my head, I had one question.

  “Fuck, Lys, have you been having contractions all morning?”

  “Maybe. I wasn’t sure. They started a few days ago, but the pain’s been getting worse.”

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I was trying to calculate the travel time into the city. I’d seen movies; it was all such a rush. “We need to get you to the hospital. Now!”

  “Relax. It’s not that—” She paused again for a moment. Her fingernails bit into her palms. “That big of a deal. I’ll call the hospital and see if they want me yet.”

  “Are you fucking crazy? We need to move. Now. You already want to try the VBAC thing. There’s no way you’re doing that here. I can’t have your uterus rupture here. I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do.” I paced the room and dragged my hands through my hair. Why wouldn’t she just get in the car? Didn’t she know precious minutes were ticking by?

  I figured maybe she’d move quicker if I got her hospital bag organised for her, so I left the room without another word and ran to the room where her bag was all packed up and ready to go. By the time I had it in my hand and was back at the door to the nursery, Alyssa was on the phone.

  “I understand,” she said. “Yep, no worries at all. We’ll see you soon.” She met my worried gaze. “Actually, wait, can you just repeat that to my husband?” She laughed. “Yeah, something like that.” She held her phone out for me.

  “Hello?”

  “Sir, I’ve just advised your wife that it’s probably a good idea for her to come to the hospital at her convenience to be examined. It sounds possible that she’s in early labour. The most important thing is to not panic and not stress. There’s likely to be a long way to go yet.”

  My mind just churned over the words early labour over and over. Fuck, I needed to get her to the hospital. If I didn’t . . . If something went wrong that could have been avoided by taking her there sooner . . .

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can!” I hung up the phone as soon as the words were out. “You heard the lady, Lys. In the car.”

  “No.”

  “What the fuck do you mean ‘no’?”

  “I’m not going anywhere right now. I want that chest of drawers in place first, and I’m not leaving at all until you’ve calmed down.”

  “Calmed down? Calmed down? You’re in labour, Lys. I can’t exactly be calm. We. Need. To. Get. To. The. Hospital.” I emphasised each word to ensure she understood. Maybe the pregnancy brain was impacting her ability to reason and think logically.

  When she still didn’t move, other than to wince again, I dropped the bag and moved to the dresser, shifting it to the wall she’d determined it would be best on. A string of curse words was on my lips as I moved.

  “There. Now can we go?”

  “At my convenience, Dec. It’s likely to be hours and hours before anything happens.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I want to clean up this mess and then we can go.”

  “Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath but dutifully grabbed some rags to clean up the fluid on the carpet. Alyssa disappeared and came back with the Bi-Carb Soda. Just like she had the night Phoebe had been sick at our old place in Sydney, she sprinkled some around.

  “We can vacuum that up later,” she said, glancing around the room in a quick once-over before giving her nod of approval. “Give me a minute and I’ll call your mum from the car to get her to pick up Phoebe and bring her home.”

  “You’re not going to have her bring her to the hospital?”

  “What part of ‘it might take hours’ don’t you understand? It’s not like the movies, Dec. There’s not some mad rush to get to the hospital because the baby is minutes away. Phoebe will be bored out of her mind.”

  Rationally, I knew that. I’d experienced it with Rose and then heard it from Morgan. But the rational part of my brain wasn’t in control. The part of me that wanted to have Alyssa hooked up to every medical device just to make sure there was nothing wrong with her, or with Brock, was in charge. And he wanted to get Alyssa to where the doctors were in the fastest possible way.

  “Besides, I’ve already called the ambulance. The hospital wanted me to travel with them, just to be on the safe side.” Her words were a reminder that her delivery was high risk because of the issues she’d had the last time and because she wanted to attempt the VBAC.

  I begrudgingly agreed to wait until they arrived.

  When the ambos came, Alyssa finally got a move on and went with them without question. She was all smiles and laughter as I tried to hurry her up before grabbing her bag and jumping in the car to follow them.

  It was nearly an hour later before we were finally at the maternity ward of the Royal Brisbane Hospital. They assessed Alyssa and then, after confirming what Blind Freddy could probably see—that she was in fact in labour—led her into the birthing suite.

  That’s when everything seemed to stop. The midwife came in from time to time to check on Alyssa’s progression, check Brock’s heart rate with the Doppler, and just generally ensure everything was okay, but that was it. There were no rushing beds sliding through the doors of the hospital corridors. No doctor sitting at the end of the bed waiting to catch the baby when he came. And no blue drapes that seemed to feature in every movie.

  Through it all, there was one constant: the helplessness that took hold in my chest. My gaze fell on Alyssa so often, and each time she looked almost serene, no matter what she was doing. Even as her contractions grew stronger—to the point where she was gritting her teeth and squeezing my hand each time—she didn’t complain that it was too much. I wondered whether part of that was because she didn’t want to be forced to have a C-section again if she made too many complaints.

  “You’re doing really well,” the midwife said on her next visit—after we’d been there for the better part of six hours. “You’re about eight centimetres dilated. Soon it’ll be time to push.”

  I stood at the side of Alyssa’s bed and brushed the hair from her face. The effort she was going through, the strain she was hiding, was clearer up close. Her skin was coated in a light sheen of sweat. Once she had the all-clear, though, she paced the room again.

  Less than half an hour later, Alyssa’s obstetrician came in to introduce herself again. Apparently, the “high-risk” nature of the birth meant Alyssa was to be closely monitored by a doctor throughout the next stage.

  As Alyssa’s labour progressed, so did her stress. The laughter, smiles, and cute little winces stopped, replaced by groans, hand grips that could have popped open a tin can, and a near permanent sheen of sweat on her brow.

  “How are you going?” I asked, for probably the eighteenth time since we’d got there. I hated being so useless. There wasn’t much I could do but rub her back whenever she stopped pacing the room and offer what comfort I could with my presence.

  She grabbed my arm. “Ask me that one more time and you’ll be the one needing to lie down.”
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  I pressed my hand over hers and bounced my leg. “I just wish I could do more for you.”

  “I think you’ve done more than enough,” she muttered after another contraction had hit her. They were almost permanent, one running into the next into the next. “Get the doctor. I need— Get the doctor now!” she roared before gritting her teeth.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I pushed the call button while she climbed back onto the bed.

  The doctor and midwife came in moments later to check on Alyssa.

  “I feel like I need to push,” Alyssa said as the doctor assessed her before announcing that Alyssa was fully dilated and the baby was crowning.

  “It won’t be long now,” the doctor added. “Everything looks good with the baby’s heart rate and he doesn’t seem to be under any stress.”

  “I need to push!” Alyssa cried again as her hand closed tightly around mine. She squeezed so hard her knuckles were white and my fingers lost all feeling.

  The doctor encouraged her to follow her instincts. When she did, her hold on my hand impossibly tightened. A feral growl ripped from between her clenched teeth and her heels dug in to the sheets. Even after she’d exhaled all her breath, she kept pushing until she fell back against the bed, panting and exhausted. More words of encouragement came from the doctor about how well Alyssa was doing.

  “You’re doing great, baby,” I murmured as I leant closer to her to brush her hair away and kiss her temple.

  I pulled away and glanced down at the doctor, buried between Alyssa’s legs. Then I saw it.

  Our son’s head.

  Holy shit.

  “Holy shit,” I repeated aloud as my smile grew. “You’re doing so great.”

  Another contraction hit. Another near torturous grip on my hands. Another feral grunt through Alyssa’s gritted teeth.

  And then sweet music: the sound of a cry, piercing and quiet all at once.

  Then our baby was placed on Alyssa’s chest and I couldn’t breathe. He was so small. So tiny and so helpless. I looked up at my perfect wife and grinned as tears rushed into my eyes. The midwife and the doctor were still busy and still talking, but I couldn’t hear any of the words.

  I was transfixed by the sight of Alyssa and Brock together. Fuck. How could I ever have not wanted this? How could I have thought my life wasn’t heading in this direction?

  “Look what we did, baby,” I muttered as I met her eye.

  “Dec,” Alyssa prompted as she reached out to pat my cheek before nodding toward the end of the bed.

  The nurse was waiting for me to say something. I gave her a little apologetic smile to tell her I wasn’t sure what I’d been asked.

  “Would you like to cut the cord?”

  I nodded even though the thought sent my pulse racing. My hands shook and my mouth was dry. As I cut the cord, my gaze found its way back to Alyssa and Brock. There was something missing, but after Alyssa was settled into the ward, I’d go home. Then I’d return first thing in the morning with Phoebe, and everything would be complete.

  It was only when I was driving home, a few minutes after midnight, that I realised it had just ticked over to my birthday. Brock had been spared sharing my birthday by just a few hours. Still, a new healthy baby and a safe delivery for Alyssa were all I’d wanted for my birthday. There was nothing more I could have asked for.

  CHAPTER NINE: FAMILY FRIENDLY

  EVEN THOUGH WE’D already been a family—I’d already been a father—nothing had prepared me for the arrival of a new baby. He screamed all night; shit almost constantly; and when he wasn’t eating, screaming, or shitting, he was sleeping. Still, I was enamoured with him.

  And Phoebe adored him. She’d often sit on the couch under Alyssa’s watchful eye holding her baby brother. Phoebe would cradle Brock’s head carefully like she’d been shown and sit with him while watching TV.

  A little over a week after he was born, I had to head off to Townsville. I’d asked Alyssa multiple times whether she wanted me to cancel and whether she’d be okay, but each time she all but shooed me out the door. Still, both of our mothers knew Alyssa was alone, so I was sure she’d have plenty of extra hands and lots of support—probably more than she really wanted.

  Of course, I left armed with photos of him, him with Phoebe, him and Alyssa, and photos Mum had taken of our whole family. The last ones were the ones we’d released to the media to keep them off our doorstep.

  I took to the track like a man possessed. I’d never been more in control or ready to win than I was during that weekend. Winning for my family was the best way I could think of to honour them. Not that they’d care if I came last, but it gave me a reason to race harder than ever.

  When I came home, the first thing I did was grab a screaming Brock off Alyssa and tell her to take some time for herself. She was a fucking trouper, and I was more than willing to do my share of the child wrangling.

  At least until Brock shit in his nappies with something akin to toxic waste. Then . . . well, then I would have been more than happy to hand him back to Alyssa, except she’d locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn’t open the door.

  Fuck.

  With my shirt pulled up over my nose in an attempt to block out the smell, I managed to get his nappy off. Almost the second the air hit his dick, he pissed all over the change table, himself, and the nappy I’d grabbed for him.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as I tried to clean up the piss while keeping one hand on Brock so he didn’t somehow wiggle himself off the change table.

  “Phoebe!” I cried. “Can you come here please?”

  She was at my side in a moment. “Yes, Daddy?”

  “Can you please get me towels? And a nappy for Brockie?” I could have asked her to watch Brock while I got everything else, but it seemed more responsible to put the five-year-old in charge of the inanimate objects.

  While I waited for Phoebe to get back, I wrestled my shirt off and wrapped it around Brock so he wouldn’t get too cold.

  “Here you go, Daddy,” Phoebe said, handing me a tea towel. Rather than telling her to try again, I just dealt with it. God, I didn’t know how Alyssa did this so many times a day.

  Then again, even though I was covered in piss, in a room filled with the lingering scent of toxic-waste-dump-style shit, and half naked after sacrificing my shirt to the greater good, I was still happier than I had been drugged up and balls-deep in any stranger.

  THE REST of the race season passed in a blur until Bathurst was on me again. The last few times I’d raced at the mountain had all been vastly different. One had almost seen my career decimated. At the time, I would have thought my life was over, but that event brought Alyssa back into my life.

  The next had restored not only my career but had cemented my place at my family’s side and had seen the conception of our son.

  And the third time, well, despite coming sixth in the 1000, I was so fucking happy. It was a respectable finish considering it was me and a super-rookie driver tackling the race. Just getting through the race cleanly was an accomplishment. It cemented Emmanuel Racing as the team to watch.

  Alyssa, Phoebe, and Brock had even come with me. Flynn had accompanied us, ostensibly as our babysitter but he spent just as much time rubbing shoulders in the pits and with the celebrities on track. Something told me he could get used to hanging out with some of the talent. At least he took Brock and Phoebe off our hands for the night before the race so Alyssa and I could relive the life we’d had the previous year. It was a good chance to reconnect with her as a fucking gorgeous woman and not just a domestic goddess.

  After that weekend, the rest of the year slipped away until Christmas approached again. Things had been crazy, and more than a little hectic, but I wouldn’t have changed a single day of it.

  When I came home from the staff break-up party at Emmanuel Racing before the Christmas holidays, I was more than ready to relax and spend some time with my family. Although I would have liked Alyssa to go to the party too�
�she was as important a member of the team as I was—she ended up staying at home because she’d been too sick to go. Between the vomiting bug she had and running around after two kids, she was exhausted. I would have avoided the party, but being the team owner and lead driver, it was one of those times I had to suck it up and do whatever was needed of me.

  When I walked in Brock was fast asleep in Alyssa’s arms, stretched out with his arms above his head. His little pout sucked on air as he slept. Already six months old, and he was getting so big. Taking in the bags under Alyssa’s eyes, the slight frizz in her hair, and the fact she looked more than ready to nod off, I went to grab him off her to let her get some rest, but she shook her head.

  “He’s only just drifted off,” she whispered. “I don’t want to risk waking him.”

  I brushed my hand over her hair before kissing her forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded and gave me a watery smile. The joy in her eyes was there, just buried a little under her sleep-deprived weariness. “There’s something on the bed for you, though.”

  I frowned as I wondered what it could be.

  “Just try to keep it down when you open it, okay?” she added as I turned away. “However you feel about it.”

  My frown deepened as I headed down toward the bedrooms. Before I went to our bedroom, I looked in on Phoebe in hers. She was fast asleep, curled around her pillow with a smile on her lips. I moved to her bed and kissed her temple. Time went by too fast. It was hard to believe we were only a few days away from our third Christmas together.

  The four of us had made it through what was sure to be the craziest year of our life. After all, we knew what to expect from team ownership now, and Alyssa kept telling me that babies got easier as they got older. As much as I’d loved the last year, I was ready for life to settle into something a little calmer.

  Leaving Phoebe’s room, I found my way to the master bedroom. On the bed was one of Phoebe’s shoeboxes with a note stuck to the top that read, Are you ready for this?

 

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