by Laurel Greer
“We, uh, haven’t found a time to get together that worked for both of us.” Oof, that was stretching the truth. Lachlan had tried, but she hadn’t agreed to meet up. Not until today, when she’d known he had training. Okay, fine, she was being a bit of a pill. But she didn’t owe him a conversation.
Her brother arched a brow. “He and Maggie convinced Stella to cough up the money he needed. He paid his dad back. He won’t be indebted to that jerk, so don’t worry about that interfering in your relationship.”
A metallic tang hit the tip of her tongue, and she released her teeth from where she’d dug into her lip. Oh, wow. He did that for me. She stroked her bump. And for you.
Zach and Cadie exchanged another knowing look, then turned their gazes on her. Marisol glanced at Ben instead. Her nephew was making some solid dinner-plate art, but his parents didn’t seem to notice.
“Love’s a big step. We both know that,” Cadie said. She smiled at Zach, blue eyes crinkling. “But don’t you think it’s worth it?”
“I—” Telling her brother’s fiancée that love hurt too damn much seemed like preaching to the choir. Cadie had been widowed, for God’s sake. She knew. It was written in the tilt of her dark head, the sad creases that marked the corners of her eyes despite the happiness curving her lips. So how was she sitting there, looking at Zach as if he hung the moon—and Marisol had lived through way too many brotherly antics to believe that entirely true—risking the pain again?
“I don’t know,” Marisol admitted. She growled to herself. Her emotional tank was sputtering, had been hovering above E for days. Did this seriously have to be happening now? She really needed a clear head for tomorrow’s presentation. “I let a relationship interfere with my education before, and if you think I’m going to let that happen again—”
“Is Lachlan not supporting you getting your degree?” Zach asked.
“No, but...” But spending so much time thinking about him, about how she’d rather have him by her side, was sure as hell getting in the way of her focus.
It’s only getting in the way because it’s wrong to be apart.
She stabbed a carrot with her fork. The tines screeched across the plate. Damn it. Being without him was wrong.
And he was trying to make things right. He’d screwed up, but his heart had been in the right place, wanting to mesh both her needs and his dreams...and now, persevering to fix the trust he’d broken.
Glenn had never done that.
He’d blamed her for getting in the way of his ambition and then hit the road at her lowest point, left her to grieve alone and to scramble to pay their bills. She hated the thought of being so naive, so open again. Could she trust Lachlan to be different?
No definitive answers came from the rest of the evening with her overly in-love brother and his fiancée.
Snuggled in bed a few hours later, feeling the lack of Lachlan’s company as if an abyss had formed on his side of the mattress, she picked up her phone.
Can we meet up tomorrow? Maybe before I head in to school?
He didn’t reply right away. Maybe he was already asleep...
She was about to drift off when a reply chimed.
Focus on polishing your presentation. Maybe we’ll talk after.
The command walloped into her, and her hope dissipated. Why had Zach been so certain Lachlan wanted to fix things? If that was correct, Lach would have been as eager to meet up as earlier in the week. Had he changed his mind? The question kept her tossing and turning, long past when she should have fallen asleep.
* * *
Lachlan trudged along the university sidewalk, gripping an overlarge bouquet of flowers. He’d agonized over these suckers. Sunflowers and gerberas, greenery the same color as Marisol’s eyes.
I’m a freaking sap.
And he wasn’t going to pursue her anymore. Didn’t deserve to. So after today, no more flowers. Not ones that carried symbolic meaning, anyway.
He switched hands. The cellophane wrapper crinkled, competing with the chatter and guitar chords drifting from a group of students hanging out on one of the university’s grassy ovals. His stomach was jittering too hard to let him enjoy the late August sun on his skin or the clever fretwork of the musician. He hadn’t seen Marisol since she’d walked out on him. Hopefully after today, with her presentation behind her, she’d be willing to spend time with him in addition to the big events of their life. He’d gotten way too attached to the idea of trying out her new jogging stroller together on the trails in the area. Would “friends” allow for that? Or were they destined to become casual acquaintances who happened to share a kid?
Frustration layered on top of his nerves. Wouldn’t she miss—
No. This wasn’t on Marisol. She had major trust issues thanks to her scumbag of an ex-husband, and Lachlan had lied anyway. Of anyone, he should have known the inevitable outcome of that. So add inconsiderate to his list of wrongdoings. Aside from congratulating her today, he needed to assure her that he understood her decision.
He’d always regret it. Would never get over the yearning.
But he wasn’t going to barge through life like his father, oblivious to the pain caused by his mistakes.
The three-story building loomed large in front of him, the reddish brick a sharp contrast to the green of the oval’s foliage. Next summer, he’d have to pick Marisol up from school now and again, bring Fudge to chase her Kong on the lawn while the baby toddled...
She might not want that.
His chest tightened and he took a deep breath as he entered the building.
After climbing the stairs and ascertaining from the department’s receptionist that Marisol was in a conference room down the hall, he registered how unsuited the building was for waiting and stopped short at a T junction. What was he going to do, hang out like a heartsick creeper next to a doorway?
I’m not too far off heartsick.
No, more like smack in the middle of it.
Rubbing his chest, he glanced down each wing of the hall. He could go back to the receptionist and ask about waiting in the office Marisol shared with another PhD candidate, but if she was feeling at all protective over her space—
A door flung open about ten feet to his left. He jumped and looked in the other direction, pretending to be studying door numbers lest one of Marisol’s coworkers catch him lurking.
“Lachlan?” Strain rent Marisol’s voice, and he turned. That tone of voice had alarm bells clanging in his head.
Damn, she must be so stressed—
But the tension around her mouth spoke to pain, not worry. He narrowed his eyes and did a visual scan, checking her color and for sweat or pallor. Other than her tight jaw, she appeared okay.
Instinct pricked at his neck. He’d been on too many SAR rescues to ignore even the most minor signs of distress. “Is your back still bothering you?”
She sloughed off the question with a careless wave, but her jaw clenched again. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to congratulate you on being finished.” He lifted the flowers in a feeble motion and stepped closer.
“I’m not done yet. Hit the halfway point and asked for ten minutes to stretch my legs,” she said, teeth gritted. Her mouth flattened even more.
“Marisol, are you in pain?”
“Sort of.” Her hands splayed against the underside of her belly and she sucked in a breath.
Her bump looked even lower than it had last week, and he wanted to stand behind her, hold up some of the weight for her like he had a few times.
“Is she sitting on your sciatic nerve again?”
Her jaw clenched, and she shifted her weight from side to side a couple of times. “Something like that.”
She bent over, putting her hands on her thighs and doing a modified cat stretch from one of the yoga videos he’d watched her work out to. H
elplessness washed over him. Goddamn it. Respecting her boundaries was one thing, but standing idle while she was hurting because their baby was head down and two weeks from—
Wait. He strode to her side and gently laid the flowers to the side of the hallway. He rubbed her lower back with one hand and bent down a little, cupping the other hand under her stomach. Her stomach competed with her back for the more rock-hard designation.
“Marisol...”
She dropped the side of her head against his chest and let out a strained, “Yeah?”
“You in labor, sunshine?”
“No!” She backed up the denial with a vigorous head shake. “I can’t be. I’m in the middle of my presentation.”
Somehow her stomach tensed even more under his palm, and she whimpered and turned into him, burying her face against his T-shirt. Her nails dug into his arm.
Ow. That was going to leave a mark.
But it was nothing compared to what she was about to go through, so he kept his mouth shut.
He tightened his hold on her, bracing one arm across her back and continuing to rub the base of her spine with the other, taking a quick glance at his watch. If this was what he thought it was, one of the only things he could do was keep track of the time. “How often are you having contractions?”
“Do we have to call them contractions?”
“I can’t answer that for you. But this seems like more than Braxton-Hicks. Has your water broken?”
“No.”
“Good, good.” He took a relieved breath. “Okay, then. Let’s come up with a plan.”
“I had a plan! And I failed at it. I was stupid to think I could do it all,” she cried. “God, I didn’t manage to do any of it. I was crazy to think I could be a good parent and get my degree. And then...then I lost you...”
“Hey.” Man, they had two different opinions on why a relationship hadn’t worked between them. “That’s just pain talking. I was the one who screwed up our chances. And you are going to be just as good of a mom as you are a student. As long as you’re okay with a few detours and unplanned stops, you’ll definitely get everything done.” He wasn’t going to add another failed attempt at a relationship to that list. She deserved better than what he could give. “Take a breath for me, okay?”
She did, and a little of the tension around her spine loosened.
“I suck at detours,” she griped.
“I dunno, they bring some pretty awesome things.” Would bring them a baby over the next day or so. His heart swelled, clamored to get her into the car and to the hospital. Slow down. His SAR training had his senses on alert, but it wasn’t panic time yet. “You have about six minutes left in your break. Let’s just stand here, see how you’re feeling once that’s up.”
He braced himself against the wall and took more of her weight. His pulse raced, but not as fast as his thoughts. Depending on how far apart her contractions were, it might make more sense to stay in Bozeman to go to the hospital—did Caleb have privileges there? Pretty sure he did... It’d avoid the forty-minute drive to Sutter Creek, though none of Marisol’s stuff was here. Unless she had her bag in the car? Maybe they would drive back, and Zach or Cadie could meet them at the hospital with whatever she didn’t have with her. She’d mentioned packing one the other day... Which would have stuff in it for the baby, who was about to arrive.
Panic exploded in his brain, and he bit his lip to suppress the shivers that raced down his limbs.
“You’re thinking too hard,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“Sure, but we’re about to meet our daughter, here. And I want—” He stopped himself before he blurted out the lengths he’d go to keep Marisol in his embrace for the rest of his life.
“I’m not in labor,” she insisted in the most unconvincing tone he’d ever heard. “You won’t need to play doctor.”
“Not intending to.” He’d have her at the hospital far before the baby made her entrance.
She sucked in a breath and peeled herself from his chest. Her determined gaze met his. “I only need another hour. I’m going to walk in there and—” Her eyes slammed shut and she bit her lip hard enough to turn the skin near her teeth white. Supporting her belly with her hands again, she breathed deeply through her nose.
He checked his watch again. “That was about five minutes, Mari.”
Her nod was tiny, but was enough of an admission for him. “Want me to come in with you, be with you when you talk to the panel?”
“Just need a minute,” she said around her sucked-in lip. “I can do it.”
“I know you can. But do you want support?”
She released her lip and a low click of a breath. “I do.”
Relief flooded his limbs. At least there was something she’d let him do for her.
Small potatoes next to how badly he’d failed at loving her. And if I do that with our daughter...
He swallowed. Okay, so she wasn’t the only one going through a crisis of confidence.
For Christ’s sake, today is not about me.
He refocused on her body language, waiting for the contraction to pass. After a few seconds, her shoulders relaxed and a serene expression crossed her face.
“That one all done?”
She nodded.
His heart swelled with admiration and he brushed his thumb down her cheek. “You are so strong.”
“I hope so.”
Another doubt slammed into him. “Do you still want me as your labor coach? Or do you want me to get Cadie?”
She barked out a laugh. “You did this, buddy. You get to suffer through it, too.”
Straightening, he sent her an encouraging look and motioned for her to lead the way. He had the rest of his life to use his paranoia over treating people like his father did as motivation to be different, to be a good parent to their child and have a healthy coparenting relationship with Marisol. And his doubts could piss right off for the rest of the day—they had a baby to welcome into the world.
Chapter Sixteen
You are so strong.
You are so strong.
In the throes of another contraction, every muscle in her body consumed by the rhythmic, racking tension, Marisol mentally recited Lachlan’s words like she had been for the last six hours. The mantra had kept her going for a while, but the longer it took to get to ten centimeters, the harder it was to believe it.
“Painful isn’t enough,” she said, panting as the contraction passed. The way they’d been going, she had all of forty-eight seconds before the next one would arrive.
“Huh?” Lach gripped her hand, confusion written on his face. His hair stuck up in about eight directions, and he was wearing a doctor’s surgical shirt because she’d thrown up on him an hour or so ago.
“Painful isn’t a big enough word.”
His brows drew together and his mouth went loose. “Sunshine...”
She let her head drop to the pillow. She’d had all these big ideas about laboring in the tub or walking around, but the minute she’d arrived at the hospital after forty agonizing minutes in the car—why again had she insisted the hospital in Bozeman wasn’t good enough?—all that had worked for her was lying on her back on the inclined hospital bed, contradicting every bit of labor advice she’d read. Whoever had convinced her that doing this without an epidural was a good idea could go suck a sewer pipe, too. “I can’t do this.”
His grip tightened. “You’re so close. You know what Caleb said. Transition’s super intense, but it’ll lessen off once you can start pushing.”
“I’ll show you pushing,” she snarked, lightly shoving his chest.
“I’d do this for you if I could,” he whispered. “I wish it didn’t have to all be you. But this is the only time it will be, Marisol. I don’t blame you for not trusting me, but know that when it comes to the baby, I will fully take on my
share—”
She squeezed his hand and caught him wincing. He couldn’t take on her pain, though. If only. How much longer—
A wave swelled. There were no words for it, for the consuming intensity. Agony didn’t cut it, because it wasn’t suffering, but she sure as hell wasn’t able to ride on top of it. The doula she’d worked with in Vancouver had been so full of—
“Marisol, are you pushing?” A nurse—Fiona?—materialized at her side, all encouraging smiles and perfect lipstick and decidedly not dripping with sweat.
Marisol squeezed her eyes shut. Right. Don’t push. Don’t. “Trying not to. Can’t...help it.”
“Let me check you.” Fiona did a quick internal exam. “No wonder you’re pushing. You’re fully dilated.” Pressing the call button, she smiled at Marisol. “Someone’s ready to be born.”
Gulping air, Marisol clung to her few seconds between contractions. “Pretty sure she’s been ready since she forced me to leave my prospectus presentation.”
“Babies are notorious for not cooperating.”
“Mmm.” The committee would have a good story to toss around the department staff meeting tomorrow.
And she didn’t care one iota.
The baby was what mattered. Getting her out, specifically, but more than that. She’d come first. Every time. As would the man crouching by her side, letting her squeeze the stuffing out of his hand. She flopped her head to the side. “I love you.”
An impossible amount of hope blossomed on his face. He kissed the back of her hand. “I love you, too. Focus on pushing, okay?”
As if she could do anything but.
Her stomach started to tighten, tighten, tighten, an unforgiving vise that tunneled her vision. She yelped, then flattened her feet against the bed and bore down. Yes. Relief. Intense, still, but purposeful—
“Whoa there, Marisol.” Caleb’s voice soothed and warned simultaneously. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you try to push that way.”
One day, she might care that the man who she ran into at SAR events had seen every part of her that mattered exposed, with a baby stretching her body into shapes it would probably never recover from, but today was not that day. “Ca-leb,” she panted. “Get her out. Please.”