Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
twenty-four
ELAINA
I always imagined going into labor would be dramatic—contractions wrenching through my guts, maybe some screaming, definitely an abundance of panic and trying not to freak out as I navigated the “heading to the hospital” process.
Instead, I basically just…peed myself.
It’s both surreal and weirdly mundane, like my body didn’t get the memo that this is supposed to be the Big Moment. Life will never be the same after this. Never. There are now officially zero sleeps left before I become a mom.
But instead of chaos and upheaval, I’m weirdly calm as I emerge from the bathroom in fresh underpants and waddle toward where Hunter has the pair of sweats I requested waiting.
“Here, careful. Hold onto me,” he says, fussing like a designer-clad mother hen as I step into the clean bottoms. “I don’t want you to fall.”
“I won’t,” I say, smiling as I hold onto his shoulder and let him pull my pants up.
This isn’t even close to how I imagined this moment would go, either, but damn it’s good to have him with me. I’m not alone anymore. He’s here, hovering and fussing and looking at me like I’m a precious treasure he’s vowed to protect at all costs.
An irreplaceable treasure…
It was the perfect word. Just perfect.
“Okay, what else?” he asks as he smooths my shirt down over the top of the sweats. “Should I pack fresh clothes for after the birth? Toiletries? Maybe some—”
“I already have all that packed in the little gray suitcase by the door,” I assure him. “The yellow suitcase next to it is for the babies. So, we just need to get those both down to the car and grab the car seats from the storage area near my parking spot and—”
I break off as the first real contraction hits, making me suck in a surprised breath as my stomach balls into a knot.
“Oh. Wow. Okay,” I say as pain enters the picture, steady and throbbing. I frown and my shoulders instinctively creep closer to my ears, but I try to stay as relaxed as I can, remembering my birth class training.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter asks, wrapping an arm around me.
I lean against him for support. “That was a contraction,” I say, pulling in a deeper breath as it gradually begins to fade. I nod, pulse picking up as this “about to give birth” thing starts to get really real, really fast. “Yeah, that was definitely a contraction. Not fun. They weren’t kidding about the hurting part.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What can I do?’
“You can take the bags to the car,” I say, smiling up at him as I shift my hand to brace myself against the bureau instead of his chest. “And then come get my fat ass because I’m not sure I trust myself to go down the stairs alone right now.”
“You’re not fat, you’re pregnant and perfect, and I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a swift kiss to my forehead before hurrying toward the door.
I watch him go, gratitude swelling in my chest.
An hour ago, I thought I’d be doing this alone. Now he’s here, solid and steady and worried and reassuring, ready to help however he can.
Tears prick my eyes. After eight months of missing him, of wondering if I’d ever feel anything like what I felt with him, he’s here. Not just physically present, but here for all of it. All of me, all of the mess, all the chaos, and most importantly, here for these two little girls. They won’t have to grow up without a father, the way I did. They’ll know their dad cares about them and their mom.
I believe Hunter will keep the promise he made with his hand over my belly. That wasn’t just a promise, it was a vow. I felt that truth with everything in me. Even if therapy and loving each other isn’t enough to make our happily ever after a reality, he’s never going to let our girls down.
But I really hope we can make happily ever after a reality…
I love this man so damned much.
He appears at the top of the stairs barely two minutes later, breathing hard as he says, “Your car is a piece of shit. I’m buying you a new one before we drive back from the hospital. If I’d known you were going to go into labor, I wouldn’t have let Mom take my car. We’ll be lucky to make it fifteen miles in that thing, let alone all the way to the hospital.”
My lips twitch. “Oh, it’ll be fine. Chum Bucket is a great little car. You’ll see.”
“Chum Bucket,” he mutters as he slides an arm around me, helping me across the room. “Named for that hideous gray and pink paint job, I assume?”
“I thought I could paint her myself with spray paint,” I say, stepping into my unlaced boots by the door. That’s where they were! Congratulating past me on her cleverness, I add, “But turns out that leaves your car looking like shit. Though in my defense, I was only nineteen at the time and—”