31. Jinx
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jinx
Being in labor is… a lot.
Like, a lot a lot.
It’s hot, and loud, and messy in a way that makes every muscle in my body feel like it’s revolting.
And yet here I am, sitting in a big inflatable tub in the middle of the boys’ living room, with fairy lights strung overhead and soft punk music humming from the speakers, trying not to scream my damn lungs out while my uterus goes full war-drum mode.
Exactly the chaos I signed up for.
I wanted this. I wanted the home birth, the water, the control, the familiarity. Hospitals freak me out. I wanted this to feel like mine.
And okay, maybe I romanticized it a little bit. But even now, even as pain knifes through my spine and another contraction steals the air from my lungs, I don’t regret it.
Well. Not much.
“Deep breaths, Jinx,” Ally says, her voice calm and steady as she kneels beside me. “You’re doing beautifully.”
I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like a goddamn sea monster, half submerged and growling with every contraction. But I squeeze her hand anyway and try to breathe through it.
Rowan is pacing nearby, chewing on a protein bar like it’s made of concrete, his jaw tight with nerves.
Thomas is bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s about to be called onto the ice for overtime.
Bruno’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, quietly mumbling affirmations while holding a damp washcloth to my forehead.
“Guys,” Ally says gently, “maybe give Jinx a little space. She’s doing great, but it’s getting intense now.”
“She’s a warrior,” Bruno says reverently. “A goddess. A queen.”
I grunt through a contraction. “Bruno, unless your flattery is going to pull this baby out of me, I need you to zip it for a sec.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, holding up his hands and scooting back.
That’s when Nina, my midwife, steps forward with a practiced calm that settles the air around her. She’s got silver-streaked curls pulled back in a low bun, and she moves like someone who’s delivered a thousand babies and seen a thousand more. No panic. Just quiet certainty.
“Jinx, you’re doing great,” she says, checking her tablet and then giving me a quick but gentle once-over. “That last contraction was long and strong. You’re transitioning.”
I glare at her. “I feel like I’m dying, Nina.”
She smiles. “That’s usually a good sign at this stage.”
“Why do you people always say that like it’s comforting?” I groan.
“Because it means you’re closer to the part where you get to hold your babies.” She gestures toward Ally. “You’re lucky to have a friend like this by your side. And your…” she glances toward the guys with a curious but amused look, “entourage.”
Rowan crouches beside me, brushing my hair back from my sweaty forehead. “You need anything?”
“A different pelvis,” I grit out. “Preferably one that isn’t trying to break in half.”
He chuckles, but it’s tight around the edges. “I’d trade you if I could.”
“I know you would,” I murmur. “But I got this.”
Thomas crouches next to him. “Hey, uh… not to interrupt your water goblin moment—your words, not mine—but just let us know when to do something. We’re… here.”
I look around at them, all three of them, sweaty and nervous and helpless in their own different ways, and despite the agony ripping through my insides, I feel… okay. Supported. Surrounded. Loved .
I smile at them. Or try to. I think it comes out more like a grimace. “I’m glad you guys are here.”
“We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Rowan says, his voice thick.
Another contraction hits, and I double forward, letting loose a guttural sound that surprises even me . Ally talks me through it, counting slow, steady breaths, and when it finally passes, I slump back against the side of the tub.
“That one felt different,” I whisper.
Ally nods. “We’re getting close.”
My heart races. Not from fear, exactly, but from the weight of it. I’m about to meet these tiny humans I’ve been growing.
The little kicks and flutters and late-night hiccups are about to become real , and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff with a storm in my chest and wings on my back.
“You’re going to do this,” Ally says, looking me dead in the eyes. “You’re strong. You’re ready.”
I glance over at the boys, and they’re all watching me like I hung the stars. My chaotic, hockey-playing, ridiculous men. My family.
I take a deep breath, grit my teeth through another wave, and nod.
“Let’s do this thing.”
And I mean it.
The next contraction passes, leaving me panting and clutching the edge of the tub like it wronged me personally. My arms are shaking, but I’m still in it. Still here.
Ally dabs my forehead gently and glances toward the guys, who are trying their absolute best to stay calm—which, for them, mostly means hovering like anxious golden retrievers on espresso.
“They’re sweet,” Nina says with a little smile. “If a bit hyper.”
I let out a wheezy laugh, one that’s part exhaustion, part amusement. “You’re being generous.”
I turn my head toward where Thomas is fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker, trying to find a more “inspirational” playlist, and Bruno is folding and refolding towels like he’s got a side hustle as a hotel maid.
I roll my eyes and groan. “These babies have been doing backflips in my uterus for weeks. I haven’t slept in three. I’m telling you, there’s no chance these kids aren’t hyperactive like their father… or, you know, fathers .”
Ally chuckles and hands me a bottle of water. “You might have your hands full.”
“‘Might’ is optimistic,” I mutter, then eye the boys again. “I’m having gremlins raised by three hockey players. They’re gonna be climbing the walls by age two.”
“We’ll get one of those bouncy castles installed in the backyard,” Thomas calls out without looking away from the speaker. “For enrichment.”
Rowan raises a brow. “Like we’re raising a zoo animal?”
“More like a very fast raccoon,” Bruno says solemnly. “With excellent genetics.”
I groan and flop my head back. “Why did I think I could handle all of you and the babies?”
But even as I say it, I feel the smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
Because deep down, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rowan’s face is a shade of pale I didn’t think possible for someone who’s usually sun-kissed and golden and annoyingly hot even first thing in the morning.
He’s crouched in the corner, head between his knees like he’s the one going through labor. Ally’s got a hand on his back, murmuring reassuring things to him while also shooting me an amused little glance.
“I’m fine,” I groan through a contraction, then point a finger in Rowan’s general direction. “He’s the one about to pass out. Somebody get that man a juice box.”
“He threw up twice already,” Ally says under her breath.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one holding it together right now?”
Thomas bounces back over like an over-caffeinated waiter, dropping a new cup of ice chips beside me, then holding up another one.
“These are fresh,” he announces. “In case the other ones… like… expire or something.”
“They don’t expire, Thomas,” I grit out, but I take a handful anyway and chew with more aggression than necessary. It’s better than yelling. Barely.
Bruno, meanwhile, is pacing by the window, muttering in Slovak and waving his phone like it’s a talisman. “Nie, babka, po?ujem ?a, ale hovorím ti, je to v poriadku…”
He pauses, listens, then nods furiously. “Yes, I am rubbing her lower back! No, not with mustard! That’s for colds…”
I let out a bark of laughter between ragged breaths and shake my head. “Is he talking to his grandma ?”
“Yup,” Ally says cheerfully. “For the fifth time.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the inflatable wall of the birthing tub. I am in hell .
Loud, chaotic, love-drenched, ridiculous hell.
And even through the pain and the sweat and the bone-deep exhaustion, I wouldn’t trade these idiots for anything.
Finally, finally , after what feels like centuries of sweat and pain and deep, primal noises I didn’t even know my body could make, there’s a rush of movement around me, and then…
A cry.
One strong, piercing, beautiful cry.
It cracks through the room like thunder, raw and alive, and I sob with it, collapsing against the edge of the tub as Nina lifts a slippery, red-faced baby into the air like it’s the goddamn Lion King.
“She’s here,” Nina says, calm but glowing. “You’ve got a girl.”
My girl. My baby girl.
Ally’s wiping tears off her face. Rowan is openly crying. Bruno makes the sign of the cross and mutters something reverent. Thomas just stares, wide-eyed and dazed, like he’s just been tackled by joy itself.
They wrap her in a warm towel, hand her to me, and for a minute, the whole world stills.
But only for a minute.
Because then another contraction hits, sharp and immediate and very rude, and I lurch forward with a fresh, ragged scream.
“Oh my god,” I pant. “There’s another one.”
“Yep,” Nina says, already rolling up her sleeves again. “Let’s go, Mama. Baby number two is not waiting.”
Rowan jumps like someone lit a fire under him. “Wait, wait, already?”
Thomas throws a towel over his shoulder and starts pacing. “Right, right, twins. I forgot. I forgot there were two. Shit.”
“Deep breaths, guys,” Ally says with a shaky laugh even as she clutches the first baby to her chest, keeping her warm while I bear down again.
This one feels different. Harder. Sharper. Not that the first was easy, but this one has intent. Like this baby is determined to enter the world with a flair for drama.
“I swear,” I growl through gritted teeth, “if this one comes out jazz hands first?—”
“You’re almost there,” Nina says. “One more push. You’ve got this, Jinx. Let’s meet your other baby.”
I scream again, raw and open, and then, another rush, another swirl of motion, water, breath, sound, and then…
A second cry.
Louder. Throatier. More indignant, like “how dare you make me wait.”
Bruno lets out a shaky laugh, Thomas covers his mouth like he’s afraid to speak, and Rowan nearly slips on the floor trying to get a better look.
“It’s a boy,” Nina announces, triumphant and breathless. “You’ve got a boy.”
They place him in my arms next to his sister, both squirmy and pink and loud, and I can’t stop crying. I’m shaking and exhausted and drenched in sweat, and I’ve never felt so powerful, so broken open, so full of love, I might actually combust.
“Hi,” I whisper to them. “Hi, my babies.”
Rowan’s crouched beside me, eyes wide and shining. “They’re perfect.”
Thomas wipes his face with his sleeve. “They look like angry raisins.”
“They look like miracles,” Bruno corrects, chest heaving with emotion.
“They can be both,” I mumble, grinning weakly. “Multitalented.”
Nina and Ally are already checking vitals, moving around with efficiency and care, but I barely notice. My whole world is in my arms.
My daughter. My son.
We did it.
I did it.
And I’ve never been prouder in my life.
Bruno is the first to speak, his voice hoarse with emotion. “ Diev?a a chlapec. ” His face crumples with awe, and he laughs, a soft, stunned sound. “We have both. We have both.”
Thomas blinks, then blinks again like he can’t quite trust his eyes. “Wait, like… one of each? That’s, oh my god, we’re collecting the full set!”
I laugh, which quickly turns into a half-sob because I’m still shaking, still overwhelmed, still me… but now, somehow, I’m me with twins.
“A girl and a boy,” Rowan echoes, his voice thick. He looks between the babies like he’s trying to memorize every wrinkle, every squeaky breath. “You made a whole damn line change.”
“That’s not how genetics work,” I murmur.
“I don’t care,” he says. “It’s magic.”
Bruno leans in close, brushing a gentle knuckle down the side of our daughter’s cheek. “She looks like Jinx,” he whispers reverently.
“Yeah,” Thomas agrees, peeking over my shoulder, “and this little dude’s got Rowan’s cranky forehead already.”
“Hey,” Rowan mutters, but he doesn’t even try to argue. He’s too busy smiling like someone handed him the moon.
Nina, calm and focused as ever, is gently drying the babies with warm towels, her voice soft. “They’re both perfect. Healthy, strong, and very vocal. That’s a good sign.”
I blink up at her, dazed. “Vocal” feels like an understatement. One of them just made a noise that sounded like a tiny goat scream.
My eyes drift toward the bundles she’s swaddling, little flailing fists poking out, cheeks pink and round and furious at the injustice of birth.
“I didn’t want the pink and blue circus,” I mumble, half to myself. “Everything’s unisex in the nursery. Yellow, green, little frogs and clouds. Felt stupid to assign colors to humans who aren’t even out of the womb yet.”
Rowan huffs a laugh that turns into a sniffle.
Thomas crouches beside the babies, gently tapping one little foot with a fingertip like he can’t believe they’re real. “Frogs are gender neutral. Frogs are everything .”
Bruno nods solemnly. “Frogs are wise. Good guardians.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Rowan says, but he’s smiling as he says it.
The room is warm and loud and kind of a mess. There’s damp towels everywhere, and someone’s elbow just knocked over a bottle of electrolyte water, and I’m sitting in a half-deflated birth tub with tears leaking down my cheeks.
And it’s perfect.
“You’re so small,” I whisper to them. “And you have no idea how much trouble you’re gonna cause.”
Thomas grins. “I feel like they’re already conspiring.”
“Oh, one hundred percent,” Rowan says. “Look at their little faces. Those are the expressions of two people who are definitely going to team up and destroy our house.”
Bruno leans in, voice gentle. “Let them. We’ll build it again. Better every time.”
Nina chuckles softly as she adjusts the towels around me. “You’re all naturals. You should be very proud.”
“Oh, we are,” Thomas says, puffing up like he just won MVP. “I mean, we didn’t do much?—”
“I beg to differ,” I interrupt dryly. “You absolutely contributed.”
Thomas wiggles his eyebrows, and Bruno immediately smacks his arm. “Don’t make it weird,” Bruno hisses, even though he’s grinning.
Rowan just shakes his head, eyes still locked on the babies. “Two of them,” he whispers again, like saying it out loud makes it more real. “Two little humans. Our little humans.”
“Okay,” I whisper, looking down at our tiny miracles. “Now what?”
Thomas grins. “Now we learn how to change diapers without calling 911.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rowan says. “I watched three YouTube tutorials last week. I’m basically a pediatric nurse.”
“I will handle bath time,” Bruno announces solemnly. “And lullabies. And night watch.”
“Night watch?” Thomas echoes.
“Like a guard,” Bruno says, crossing his arms. “Nothing touches them. Not even bad dreams.”
I smile down at our babies and lean back, surrounded by the warmth of my partners and the softness of the moment. Everything else can wait.
“Well…” Thomas leans over to peek at the babies, absolutely glowing. “We get to name them now, right? Like pick ’em out of a hat?”
I cradle both babies against my chest, their tiny, warm bodies curled into me like they were made to fit there. Their soft breaths puff against my skin, and their squirmy little hands keep trying to grab at each other, already connected in that twin sort of way I can’t quite explain.
I no longer feel alone.
Not in my body. Not in my life. Not in this chaotic, loud, beautiful space we’ve built together.
The boys are already back at it, of course, arguing, half-whispering, half-yelling about names. Thomas is insisting that we pick something “adventurous and cool,” while Bruno is making a surprisingly impassioned case for naming them after hockey legends, and Rowan keeps rejecting everything unless it “sounds like someone who could survive in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.” Classic.
I smile because it’s them, and I love them, and I love that this is what our life is.
“I’ve actually… been thinking about names,” I say quietly, running my fingers over the tiny patch of dark hair on my son’s head.
They all pause, looking over like I’ve just pulled out a secret winning lottery ticket.
“And I kinda want to name them something that means something. Something that reminds me of what we went through to get here.”
They go quiet, which never happens. Even Thomas stills.
“For the girl,” I say, voice soft, “I want to name her Lyra. Like the constellation. Because she’s the light I kept looking for, even when things felt impossibly dark.”
Bruno nods slowly, his eyes shining again. “It’s beautiful. And reminiscent of our date night.”
“And for the boy… I was thinking Orion. Because he’s strong. And he’ll always have his sister’s back… just like the belt and the hunter’s stars, always together in the sky.”
Rowan swallows hard, then leans in and kisses my temple. “That’s perfect, Jinx.”
“It’s more than perfect,” Thomas says, already tearing up. “They sound like little badass space warriors.”
Bruno lets out a laugh. “They’ll need to be, if they’re going to grow up with us.”
I pass Lyra into Rowan’s arms and then hand Orion to Bruno, who holds him like he’s holding a sacred treasure. Thomas leans in, brushing a gentle hand across the baby’s hair, grinning ear to ear like he just found a puppy he’s already named and claimed.
I sink back against the cushions, exhausted and sore and blissfully content.
Watching them, all of them, fall completely, irreversibly in love with these tiny humans. Watching the way their walls drop and their hearts stretch to make room for more than just hockey and chaos.
This life… It’s not what I imagined for myself.
I always pictured something different, gritty, solitary, built on independence and hard lines.
But this? This messy, loud, ridiculously loving life with three stubborn, beautiful men and two tiny stars cradled in their arms?
It suits me just fine.