43. Paxton
“ That’s enough,” I say, my voice low, as I look down at my pregnant omega. She’s running on fumes—dark circles cling to her eyes, her skin pale from exhaustion—and yet, stubbornly, she’s trying to power through.
It’s dark out, already hours past when most employees have left, and yet my pregnant omega has not stopped working.
“I just need a few more minutes,” she murmurs distractedly, barely stifling her yawn. Her tired eyes well with tears, but she brushes them away with the back of her hand, still typing as if the world would end if she didn’t finish.
A low growl rumbles in my throat. Involuntary, but angry.
She’s pushing herself too hard. I can see it—the weariness in her, the weight of every moment she’s spent without rest. Brenda told me she skipped lunch— again .
My chest vibrates with frustration, knowing that she must be starving, that I’m not taking care of her properly.
“Fuck this,” I mutter the words under my breath, my patience snapping as I storm across the room.
Gently, I pry the papers from her hand, careful to avoid giving her a paper cut, even as she opens her mouth to protest. I fix her with a stern look, silencing whatever argument she’s about to make.
“You skipped lunch, it’s hours past dinner, and you’re running on empty, little omega,” I growl, my words a mixture of frustration and care. “You know the rules.”
Doesn’t she understand how precious she is? How much I want to look after her?
Her bottom lip trembles, and I see the tears she’s desperately trying to hold back.
“I’m sorry, alpha,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
I kneel down in front of her, taking her cold hands into my warm ones, and rub soothing circles onto the backs of her hands.
“Don’t apologise to me, little mate. Be sorry to yourself.” I reach up and wipe the tears away that are falling down her cheeks. “You need to take care of yourself so you can grow our baby.”
Her fragile sniffle nearly breaks me. Without a word, I lift her from her chair, and cradle her into my chest. At this stage in pregnancy, there’s only a small bump on my mate’s stomach, but I spread my hand over it, as she curls into me.
She’s so small, so precious. Her head rests against my heart, and her body melts into mine, as she hears what beats only for her.
Her soft purrs echo with mine, and I sit down into her chair so I don’t risk dropping her. Her tears fade, as contentment takes over, and I know that I’ve won this battle.
My little mate is not the type to slow down.
She’s smart, independent, capable… but she’s also carrying our baby, and it’s my job— my duty— to protect them both.
No matter how hard she fights me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, running my hand up and down her spine. She shivers, the exhaustion clear.
“I’m okay.”
“Another rule broken,” I say, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet my eyes. “You’ve missed lunch. You cancelled on us for dinner. Now you’re lying about your emotional state. What would your therapist say?”
“That lying only makes it harder for me to get the support I need.”
“Exactly.”
Emme whimpers, and I cuddle her back in, soothing my omega instinctively. The further along in her pregnancy Emme’s gotten, the more comfortable she’s been with her omega behaviours. My therapist says it’s because we’re making her feel safe.
We’re giving her the stability and reassurance that every omega craves, and the more we give her a consistent, safe environment, the more she’ll show us.
So far, he’s not been wrong.
“I’m struggling to balance everything,” she finally admits. “I don’t want to slow down.”
Victory!
I brush a kiss to the top of her head, staying quiet so that I don’t dissuade her from talking when she’s finally opening up to me. I exhale through my nose, keeping myself calm and steady.
“Between the Brighter Futures Foundation campaign, the We Deserve Space campaign, and approving the new edits…” She trails off, sniffling again, as she wraps her arms tighter around me. She’s so small, and with how she’s hunched over into me, it makes her seem fragile.
“I don’t have enough time in the day to get my work done. Never mind using the bathroom, or eating, or getting fresh air. I’m chained to this desk unless I’m in a meeting, and then the baby kicks and protests, and I just… it’s hard.”
“Oh, my little treasure,” I murmur, rocking her gently. “I am so proud of you for admitting this.”
Uri and I already discussed this a few days ago as we could tell that our mate was at the risk of burning herself out. She’s outworking everyone, including me. I’ve been putting in so much extra work to prepare for taking some proper time off when the baby comes, and yet she’s still working longer hours.
At thirty-seven weeks pregnant.
It’s in-fucking-comprehensible.
But the difference between me and her, is that I’ll delegate where I can. I filter out the noise, cut away the unimportant. She doesn’t. She’s still convinced that she has to do it all herself, or it won’t get done right.
She’s so desperate to get everything ready before the baby comes, that she’s killing herself in the process.
“What do I do, Pax?” she asks. “What if I fall behind? Then what? I’m going to be on maternity leave soon, and I have no idea how things here are going to cope.”
My arms tighten around her, and I kiss her head.
“Then nothing ,” I murmur. “Nothing happens. The world doesn’t fall apart. Someone else will pick up the slack.”
She lets out a bitter huff. “It feels like it all will.”
I tip her head back, smoothing her hair away from her face. “You’re the most capable woman I’ve ever met, Emmeline. But even you were not made to carry it all alone.”
Her blue eyes brim with tears again but she blinks them away. “I hate being like this. Weak, pathetic.” She shakes her head, cringing slightly, before sighing. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re not weak, or pathetic,” I say immediately. “You’re exhausted. There’s a difference—a big one.”
She curls into my chest again, her breath catching.
“We’ll fix it. Me, you, and Uri will sit down together tomorrow and get a plan in place. We’ll restructure, hand off all the shitty grunt work, and we’ll get you back on track.”
“Really?”
I rub my hand up and down her back, cuddling her in. “And you know what else? We’re going to protect your time, make sure that you’ll get breaks, and food, and rest.”
She hesitates, and I can smell her anxiety spike before she relaxes. “You’ll help me make sure it’s possible?”
“Little treasure, I’ve already started,” I promise her.
My omega never likes to ask for help, not until it’s too late, and she’s drowning. She never complains, she just keeps going until she collapses.
Not anymore.
Not on my watch.
“You’re safe with me,” I promise, running a hand over her bump. “Always.”
She hums against me, her breathing soft and slow, and I know she’s starting to drift off.
I don’t move. I just hold her tight against me.
I’m not going anywhere.
Sterling’s on his way to pick us up, and until then, I’ll watch over my mate and make sure she gets some good sleep.
She’s only been sleeping for a few moments, when a slow whine slips from her throat. I freeze, holding her against me, as she shifts and whimpers.
Her hands curled into my shirt, and her eyes fly open.
“What’s going on, Emme?” I demand.
She grimaces. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
But she’s lying through her clenched teeth.
“Where hurts?” My body is tense, my fingers itching to do something, to help her.
I can smell the strong tang of pain in her scent.
She rubs her belly, fingers twitching like she’s trying to chase the pain but can’t quite catch it.
“Just… tight. Crampy. Like… ugh. It’s probably Braxton Hicks again.”
I hum low in my throat, reassuring but alert. Her scent’s changed—sharper, more electric. Not fear. Not distress. Just… different. I press my palm flat against her bump, tuning in to the flutter of movement beneath.
“You’ve been having them often?” I ask, voice still low, calm.
Calm for her. But I feel anything but.
“Mmm… today, yeah. Off and on. Like my body’s stretching everything out of place.” She winces again, curling her knees slightly, before relaxing. The pain must have eased “It’s fine, I just need to sleep.”
I kiss the top of her head. “We’ll get you home. Warm bath. Nest. Plenty of foot rubs and massages for you. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”
Except my instincts are prickling. Sterling needs to get here. Now.
We’re not going to be able to go home—not if she’s actively in labour like I think she is.
I reach for my phone one-handed, barely shifting her in my lap. She murmurs sleepily, nuzzling in deeper, while I send a text to the group chat.
Paxton
Hurry the fuck up Sterling.
She’s cramping. Contracting.
Claims it’s Braxton Hicks.
I’m not sure.
Oscar, Uri, meet us at the hospital.
Bring the hospital bag.
My mate has never whimpered in her sleep before. Never curled in quite like this, like she’s guarding her own body from the inside out, even when having these Braxton Hicks.
Another contraction, only a few minutes later. Four, five at a push. I wasn’t timing the seconds as accurately as I should have.
“How are you feeling, love?” I ask, carefully.
“Just tired,” she whispers again. “So tired, Pax.”
“I know, treasure,” I whisper, stroking her spine. “Rest now. I’ve got you.”
But I don’t let myself relax.
Not when the next sound out of her mouth is a sharp inhale and a hiss through her teeth. Not when her nails dig into my chest like she’s anchoring herself.
“Okay, ow. That one was… okay. That one was not fake.” Her eyes fly open, wide and wet. “That one was real.”
I’m already moving, standing with her in my arms, cradling her tight as she clings to me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur again, firmer this time. “You’re not alone. We’ve trained for this. You’re ready.”
Even if I’m not. Even if I’d give anything to keep her safe for just a little longer.
“I haven’t packed everything. The charger—there’s stuff in my drawer?—”
“Emme.”
She meets my gaze, breathing hard.
“We have everything we need. The rest can burn.”
She barks out a laugh, tightening her grip on me. Her lips tremble, tears pricking at her eyes. “I’m scared.”
I press our foreheads together, breathing her in. “That’s okay. I’m not.”
There’s a knock on the office door before it creaks open and Sterling steps inside, his beta calm slipping the second he sees my face.
“Time?” he asks, already reaching for her coat.
I nod. “Time.”
“Guys,” Emme whispers, as I feel something wet dripping down my stomach, and my pants. There’s a rancid, copper tang that fills the air, and my nose burns. I hold my mate tightly against my chest, already knowing what she’s going to say.
“What was that?” Sterling demands, nostrils flaring. “What is that smell?”
“My waters just broke.”
Fuck.