by Shayla Black
A shower would clear my foggy head, and I need to be at the top of my game around Bethany. “I’ll take the towel. I stashed some clean clothes in the gym bag I keep in the trunk.”
A few minutes later, she’s putting herself together in the cottage out back, which they call an ohana in Hawaii. That’s where she’s staying. I wish I could get into the place to search her personal belongings, maybe find proof of her guilt…or innocence. But there’s no time now, so I enjoy the hell out of the hot spray and the morning breeze on my skin.
When I finish putting myself together, I wait for Bethany in the kitchen. A few of the inn’s guests mill in for pastries someone left on a plate on a nearby buffet table.
When I hear the back door open, I turn to see Bethany enter. She’s wearing a lacy white tank and faded jeans that hug her sleek thighs—and make me want to be sure she knows I’m a man. She’s arranged her hair into a loose braid that tumbles over one shoulder. Platinum wisps surround her face. She’s tossed on some mascara and lip gloss, and she looks amazing.
I don’t realize I’m staring at her until she frowns. “Is this the wrong thing to wear to a birth?”
“No. You look great. Just marveling at how fast you were,” I lie to cover my reaction. “My mom used to take forever, change clothes four times, redo her hair, paint her nails… We waited a lot when I was a kid.”
She smiles and slings a small pink purse over her shoulder. “I’ve always been busy, so I learned how to make the most of the minimum. Ready?”
“Sure.”
I lead her outside and we get on the road. The drive to the birthing center takes twenty minutes, and she fills most of the time by texting Harlow and passing the updates along to me.
“Keeley is dilating quickly. They think she’ll be delivering in another hour or so.”
Bethany looks worried we may not make it in time, so I drive a little faster.
“Is your whole extended family going to be in the waiting room?” Maybe I can use some of the time to discreetly talk to them.
She shakes her head. “In the delivery room. Keeley picked a midwife who believes that families should welcome babies together. So that’s what she wants us to do.”
“Wow.” Thankfully, Bethany said family, which excludes me. I’m happy I won’t be witnessing a virtual stranger give birth today.
“It’s great that Keeley and Maxon want you there. Did you expect to be treated like family when you first arrived?”
“Hardly. I expected to be grilled at the least. Maybe even blamed and reviled. But they’ve been amazingly inclusive and understanding.”
They seemingly have. Which brings up another question… Would these people really welcome a criminal with open arms? What are the odds she conned all of them, too?
“When did you first find out about your siblings?”
“I’ve always known. Dad never tried to hide them from me.” She frowns. “Of course, he described his children by his wife as useless and ungrateful, so I never had any desire to meet them. I wish now I hadn’t taken him at face value about Maxon, Griff, and Harlow. Well, about a lot of things, really.”
“Evan, too?” I know she purposely didn’t include him, but maybe since I tossed out the question, she’ll take the bait and give me more information.
Bethany shakes her head. “Dad knew of Evan, called him ‘the weird kid,’ but they didn’t meet for the first time until last summer, at Harlow’s wedding. He always told me that Evan’s mother was a money-grabbing whore and that if he paid any attention to his son, she’d try to extort him for more. I didn’t learn until recently that Evan’s mother died when he was five and, instead of claiming him, my father allowed Evan to be a ward of the state and shoved into foster care until he turned eighteen.”
Her carefully arranged expression slips. I see glimpses of her disillusionment. She looks so much like she’s hurting…
I steel myself. I need facts, not feelings.
“Beth, did you two have a falling-out because he lied to you so much?”
She nods. “You have no idea.”
Before I can ask her to elaborate, Bethany’s phone dings again. “It’s Harlow. They’ve revised the timeline up. Keeley might be delivering in thirty minutes!”
“We’ll be there in less than ten,” I promise.
Bethany seems distracted for the rest of the car ride, so I don’t pry anymore. I make a mental note to come back to the subject of her father, try to find out whether it’s possible he lied to her about the scam, too. Now just isn’t the time.
As promised, we pull up to the birthing center in eight minutes. I drop her at the door and thankfully find a prime parking spot close by. Not long after, I run inside the pseudo-medical facility, asking a maternal woman behind a desk where to find the Reed birth. She points, and I catch up to Bethany just before she disappears behind a set of double doors with Harlow.
“Thanks for bringing Bethany here—and so quickly,” the pregnant brunette says.
“My pleasure. Where can I wait for Beth? I’m happy to take her home whenever she’s ready.”
Beside Harlow, Bethany’s expression softens. She’s surprised I’m willing to wait around? I don’t mind. Sure, I have other things to do on my day off, but Keeley and Maxon may well spend the night here. It would be out of everyone else’s way to take Bethany back to the inn. The logistics of the situation help me take every moment I can get with her.
“I hate to inconvenience you,” she murmurs.
“You’re not,” I assure her. “Go be with your family. I’ll find somewhere to wait.”
“Harlow!” Noah sticks his head out the door. “You’re here, Bethany. Good. It won’t be long now…”
“No time,” Harlow shrieks. “Come with us!”
She grips my wrist and gives me a surprisingly strong yank before she starts sprinting toward the open door, swelling belly leading the way. Bethany follows, shooting me a wide-eyed stare and a shrug. I start to sweat. Am I really about to witness a woman I’ve only met a couple of times give birth?
When we round the corner, the obvious answer is yes.
With one eye open, I wedge myself against the back wall on one side of the room. Thankfully, a discreet sheet covers everything I’d rather not see. Maxon holds Keeley’s hands. Harlow scoops ice chips into her mouth. Britta gives her last-minute advice.
Over Keeley’s rhythmic pants and the monitors she’s hooked up to, the atmospheric music overhead abruptly goes quiet. Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” takes its place seconds later, suddenly blaring from the overhead speakers.
“Who changed the music?” the redhead demands with a scowl between contractions.
“I did,” Maxon offers. “That meditative crap wasn’t working—”
“It’s supposed to help me focus.”
“Screw that. Journey will help you push like a champion. And it won’t put the rest of us to sleep while we wait.”
Keeley grips his hand tighter and leans in with a scowl, teeth bared. “So this is about you?”
“No, sunshine.” He backpedals. “Of course not. But you’re always making mixes for everyone else to encourage them. I’ve been putting this one together for a while. To show you that I’m thinking of you and our daughter. To tell you both that I love you.”
Another contraction hits. The pain seems to ramp up. Keeley groans and sobs at once. “That’s wonderful and terrible. I practiced my breathing to the other music.”
“It sounded like whales humping.”
Everyone erupts into laughter, including me. Before it dies down, Keeley bows as the contraction seizes her. She grips Maxon’s hand with all her might and screams.
The midwife, a Hawaiian woman in her fifties who looks both efficient and calm, rushes in and makes a beeline for the mother-to-be. “I’m going to check you now, Keeley. You’re probably close.”
The redhead nods. “I think so.”
Journey’s rock anthem slides into the Kelly Clarkson
tune “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You).” It was one of my mom’s favorite songs. She worked out to it while she could. She fought death to it. At the end, she told me that even though cancer was getting the last laugh, the tune had definitely helped her stay as strong as she could during her last days. For that, she was thankful.
I really wish she was still here. She would be able to read Bethany so much better than me…
“Nine centimeters,” the midwife says happily.
Suddenly, Keeley tenses and squeezes Maxon’s hand in a death grip once more as she growls out in agony. “Are you kidding me?”
“No,” the midwife assures. “You’re almost there.”
“I meant my husband. What were you thinking with this song?”
I can’t see Maxon’s face but I swear I can hear him swallow audibly. “Giving you encouragement, sunshine. From one lady to another. Kelly has had kids. Birth didn’t kill her, just made her more badass.”
Keeley rolls her eyes, and I’m thinking Maxon made a decent save of the situation—until he opens his big mouth again.
“Of course, Kelly didn’t wait until January first to go into labor and bypass a whole year’s worth of a tax break…” he grumbles.
Harlow leans across the distance and slaps her oldest brother upside the head. “You just keep digging yourself a deeper grave, fidiot. Shut up while she’s still letting you breathe.”
Griff nods. “I admit that I can sometimes be oblivious, but—”
“You mean insensitive,” Harlow cuts in.
Britta represses a smile and nods, sending her husband a fond glance.
“Whatever.” Griff waves her away. “But even I wouldn’t say something that douchy.”
“But you thought it,” Maxon contends.
When Griff doesn’t answer right away, everyone laughs again.
Keeley giggles, too—until another contraction wracks her, her entire body jolting.
Maxon leans in. “Breathe, sunshine. You got this.”
“You fucking breathe! I’m trying to—ahhhh!”
“You’re doing great,” the midwife encourages. “I see the top of the baby’s head.”
Evan pokes Maxon in the back. “Don’t lock your knees. You’ve lost the color in your face. Medically speaking—”
“Save the explanation, babe.” Nia caresses his arm, then turns to Maxon. “Breathe, buddy.”
Evan frowns. “But if he understands what he’s doing that may cause him to faint—”
“Don’t you dare faint on me!” Keeley shouts, huffing in between her words. “Do you hear me, Maxon Miles Reed? If you pass out, I’m going to—” She jolts again. “Oooh!”
“One more good push, Keeley.” The midwife nods enthusiastically. “One more, and you’ll be a mother.”
“And I’ll be a father,” Maxon mumbles. “This is really happening. Oh, shit…” He loses more color.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…” Griff parrots the song still playing overhead.
“Bite me,” Maxon growls back.
“How about you hold my hand?” Keeley demands of her husband.
“I am. Sunshine, could you let up a bit? I think you’re about to break it.”
“Giving birth is breaking my vagina!”
It’s taking everything I have not to howl with laughter. Britta doesn’t even try to stop herself. Neither does Harlow or Nia. Even Evan looks as if he’s repressing a roaring guffaw.
Noah starts to sweat, then leans over to his wife. “Is this how you’re going to be when you give birth?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Keeley is much sweeter than I am. You probably ought to wear protective gear the day I have this big boy. Especially a cup.”
Half the color leaches from his face. “You wouldn’t really kick me in the balls. Right?”
“I can’t guarantee what I’ll do if you get too close. That looks painful.”
“It is,” Britta put in. “My labor with Jamie felt so long I barely knew what day it was by the time I pushed him out.”
“Are you kidding me?” Harlow looks terrified, then turns to her husband. “If that’s the case, that’s a definite yes on the cup.”
He nods adamantly, then no one speaks again because Keeley wails out in a primal howl of pain that makes me wince and feel really damn sorry for her.
“Did anyone give her drugs?” I ask Bethany, who’s beside me, looking wide-eyed and stunned by the birth playing out live and in color in front of us.
“Keeley wants to do this naturally.” She swallows and clutches my arm like she needs help balancing. “I’m thinking she’s crazy.”
“Don’t remind me!” Keeley snaps between contractions. “If there’s a next time, I want all the drugs.”
“You’ll forget about the pain,” the midwife assures.
Maxon scowls. “Of course there will be a next time. Sunshine…”
“Now isn’t the right time to talk about having another baby…” Britta shakes her head at him.
The midwife motions Maxon to get behind Keeley and help her brace.
“Ha! I won’t forget an instant of this,” the redhead hisses out as she grits her teeth and bears down.
“That’s it!” the midwife coaxes. “Just one more push and—”
Keeley keens out an ear-piercing shriek that bounces off the walls and fills the room. It’s low and pained and seems to last for fucking ever. I tense and hold my breath. Bethany eases toward the bed, still gripping my arm. Suddenly, she gasps and squeezes my hand, too.
Personally, I can’t see much of the birth—and I’m happy with that. I get peeks of the midwife’s profile, since the Reed clan has all gathered around Keeley in front of me. I’ve got a glimpse of some sheet, the mom-to-be’s left calf and foot, along with her forearm and damp, flushed face.
Suddenly, the midwife pulls and tugs, then lifts the infant above the sheet, little by little, until her entire body is nestled in the woman’s arms.
“Oh, my god…” Maxon breathes, seemingly fixated on his daughter. “She’s…”
“Beautiful,” Keeley finishes, staring at the infant like she’s a miracle. Then the new mother bursts into tears.
“Amazing.” He bends to his wife as the baby starts to cry in protest. “Thank you. She’s perfect. God, I love you.”
The redhead looks at him with absolute worship in her eyes. “I love you, too. We did it.”
Then she buries her head in her husband’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around her and strokes her damp hair as she sobs. I have absolutely no doubt how strong their marriage is. They’re committed the way my parents were. I feel the love, thick and tangible in the room, which now includes the child they made together.
“Would you like to hold your daughter?” the midwife asks after wiping her down and briefly checking her out.
“Please.” Maxon sounds choked up.
I am, too. I never realized that witnessing a birth and being surrounded by this much joy would impact me.
Suddenly, the overhead song switches and a male vocalist croons, “Welcome to the planet. Welcome to existence…” As Switchfoot fills my ears, the love in the room swells even more, including the baby’s sniffling aunts and proud uncles. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been around a family that functioned like a family. I’m doing all I can to hold my brothers and me together, but I’m not Dad. We all miss him and Mom. But they’re both gone, and this—right in front of me—is the circle of life.
What’s in front of me is something I really want someday—real family.
Bethany turns to me. Tears run down her face. I crowd in to stand beside her and comfort her. She cries harder when Maxon and Keeley invite her closer to see the infant.
“She’s beautiful,” Beth whispers. “Congratulations.”
Then Nia and Evan step in to get an in-depth glance at the newborn, and Bethany approaches me, chin trembling, wonder and envy all over her face. It seems like the most natural thing in the world
to open my arms to her. It feels even more natural when she walks in and I enfold her against me.
Without hesitation, she lays her head on my chest. I cradle her neck and press kisses to her crown. We don’t speak words, but I know we’ve both been touched by what we’ve witnessed together this morning. She’s lowered more of her walls and shown me her softer side. I can’t unsee that. It’s impossible to unknow how caring she can be.
In the span of a few hours, for better or worse, everything between us has changed.
CHAPTER FIVE
When we reach the inn a few hours later, we’re alone. Maxon, Keeley, and baby Kailani, whose name was chosen because it’s Hawaiian for sea and sky, will be home sometime tomorrow.
Bethany has been quiet since we left the birthing center. Not sad, just contemplative. Judging by the fact she’s barely let go of me since Kailani made her way into the world, Beth is as impacted by the infant’s birth as I feel. I wish I knew what was going on in her head.
“It’s midafternoon, and you never got breakfast. I’m sure you’re starving,” she says as we enter the bright kitchen at Maxon and Keeley’s place. “At least let me cook for you before you go. I owe you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I was happy to drive you there.”
“But you stayed. That was above and beyond. I’m already cooking for myself. So unless you have someplace to be…”
“I don’t.” My mission is her.
She grabs a few things from the pantry, then opens the fridge. “Allergic to anything?”
“No.”
“Hate anything?”
“My palate is pretty open-minded.”
She turns and smiles at me. “Perfect.”
I try not to let the warmth on her face affect me. No such luck.
In a few short minutes, she’s diced an onion, sliced off some soft white cheese I can’t identify, chopped sweet cherry tomatoes, then grabbed a couple of skillets from the drawer beneath the stove. She’s proficient, methodical, and strangely fascinating to watch.
“You’re good in the kitchen. I can, um…boil water.”
“Seriously? Then what do you eat?”