Chapter Twenty-two
Azlan
It was all happening too fast. We had been warned that our genetics could shorten gestation, but of course nobody could be specific, but somehow I’d expected more time.
I wasn’t ready to be a father. I needed to do more research, learn what my role should be as alpha, what techniques worked best for raising a child.
Panic swirled in my brain. I froze. Standing there in the resort clinic with my omega looking at me.
Looking to me.
Expecting the kind of leadership I’d always tried to provide. And now, when it was needed? I couldn’t move. He’d realize I was nothing like he thought. He’d regret—
“Alpha!” His wail snapped me right out of the spinning vortex trying to suck me down. “Alpha, it hurts.”
I rushed the few feet to his side and took his hand. “I know it does, omega, but remember all the videos we watched?”
“About breathing?”
“Yes. Why don’t we try that and see how it works?” I might not have studied fatherhood, but we’d both studied the birthing process.
“Will you help me?”
“Of course.” I didn’t even recognize the tone as the same one that had been screaming in my head. “We know just what to do.”
Over the net several hours, we put the technique into action. I kept my omega hydrated with ice chips and sips of water and any other clear liquids he wanted. Our healer recommended it. He even had snacks in small amounts, helping him keep up his strength.
The contractions increased in strength over the hours, but Trace was a rockstar. He weathered each round with fierce courage and some swear words I hadn’t ever heard from him before. And then, just when it seemed that this had become our whole life, the healer said, “Time to push.”
He grabbed my hand and squeezed, blunt nails digging into my palm. I didn’t complain when his pain was a hundred, a thousand times worse. Hadn’t I wished I could bear it for him?
I’d never be able to, but I could stand with him, stand behind him and swear to be there for him and our child for every day of my life.
“Deep breath, and on the next contraction, push as hard as you can.”
His groan came from deep within, his breath whooshing out along with a slippery baby sliding into the healer’s gloved hands.
“You have a little son,” she crooned. “Welcome, baby.”
“Theo,” panted Trace. “His name is Theo.”
Not one of the names we’d discussed, but looking down at the red-faced angry little baby squalling in the healer’s arms, I had to admit, “He looks like a Theo.” I didn’t even know what that meant, but it made sense.
Our Theo had arrived and changed our lives forever.
I couldn’t wait to see what that meant.