55. Epilogue Two
Epilogue Two
AVA
T he house is quiet when I wake, the kind of heavy, middle-of-the-night hush that feels almost unreal.
I shift, wincing as a tight wave rolls low through my abdomen. I press a hand to my stomach, breathing slowly, counting it out.
Jackson is still asleep beside me, one arm heavy across my waist, his face soft and peaceful in the moonlight spilling through the curtains.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve imagined this moment: the start of labor, the sudden realness of it all. I thought I’d be terrified. Instead, there’s a strange, steady calm humming under my skin, like my body has known all along that this was coming.
Another contraction builds, a little stronger this time. I shift again, trying not to wake him, but he stirs almost immediately.
His eyes blink open, slow at first, then suddenly alert when he sees my face.
“Ava?” His voice is rough, still thick with sleep.
I manage a small, strained smile. “I think it’s time.”
His eyes widen, then he bolts upright, fully awake, his hand already moving to rest over mine on my stomach. “Are you having contractions?”
I nod, but then gasp involuntarily when another one tightens across my belly. “They’re regular now—closer every time.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, then leans in to press his forehead to mine, his breath warm and steadying. “Okay. We’ve got this. We’re ready.”
I nod, though a shiver runs through me: part excitement, part nerves.
Jackson grabs his phone and calls Miss Taylor, putting her on speaker.
“Ava and I are heading to the hospital.”
“I’ll come stay with the boys,” she says before he even asks. “I’ll get them ready and bring them later.”
“Thank you,” we both say at the same time.
After ending the call, Jackson’s eyes flick to me, softening even more as he squeezes my hand. “Ready to meet our girl?”
A tear slips free, and I nod, my chest too full to speak for a second.
“Yeah,” I finally whisper. “I’m ready.”
He helps me up slowly, his hands firm and gentle all at once. I glance down the hallway toward the boys’ rooms, and for a fleeting moment I picture them as big brothers: wide-eyed, protective, their hearts bursting with curiosity and pride, ready to sweep their sister into every wild adventure.
Jackson leans down, presses a quick kiss to my forehead, and then rests his palm once more over my belly.
“Let’s go bring her home,” he says.
And just like that, in the quiet glow of our bedroom, we step into the next chapter together.
The world feels surreal as we step outside, the crisp winter air hitting my face and snapping me even further awake.
Jackson hurries to open the passenger door, his movements quick but careful. I lower myself in, one hand gripping my belly as another contraction crests. I breathe through it, counting in my head like they taught us in birthing class.
By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, his hands clamp around the wheel in a firm, unyielding grip.
I glance over, a soft laugh bubbling up despite the pain. “Breathe, Jackson. You’re going to pass out before I do.”
He exhales, then lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Right. Breathing. Got it.”
The drive is quiet. The roads are mostly empty, streetlights casting golden pools of light over the dark asphalt.
Every few minutes, I shift as a new contraction builds. Jackson keeps glancing over, torn between me and the road.
“Talk to me,” he says after a moment, his voice low. “What do you need?”
I reach over, threading my fingers through his. “Just you. You’re already doing everything.”
His shoulders drop just a fraction, and he squeezes my hand.
When we pull up to the hospital entrance, he’s out of the car and rushing around to my side. A nurse appears with a wheelchair, her face kind and calm.
“Looks like we’re ready to meet a baby soon,” she says, her voice warm.
Jackson steadies me as I lower into the chair, brushing a quick kiss to my forehead. Relief flickers in his eyes now that someone else is steering us inside.
They wheel me through the quiet, fluorescent-lit halls, the wheels humming softly against the linoleum.
I can hear Jackson on the phone. It sounds like he’s talking to his mom first, then my parents.
My fingers still cling to Jackson’s as he keeps pace beside me, his free hand drifting now and then to rest on my shoulder or squeeze my arm.
A nurse asks my name and a few quick questions; I answer between breaths, the contractions coming closer together now, stronger and more insistent.
Jackson stays close, his presence a steady anchor at my side.
Once we reach the labor and delivery wing, they help me into a room, dim and quiet except for the soft beep of monitors. The nurse hooks me up, checks my progress.
“You’re progressing well—almost there,” she says, her voice gentle. “You’re doing great.”
Jackson exhales hard beside me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles again and again.
I turn to him, our foreheads nearly touching. “This is really happening,” I whisper, the words catching on a mix of pain and awe.
He kisses me, soft but urgent. “Yeah. It is. You’re incredible.”
I cling to that, to him, as another wave builds, knowing that soon everything will be different in the best possible way.
The next few hours pass in a blur of biting edges and soft reassurances.
Jackson never leaves my side. Every contraction has me gripping his hand so tightly I’m sure he’ll lose circulation, but he never flinches. He just breathes with me, whispering steady words I can’t always make out but feel in my bones.
When I start to falter, my voice cracks around a groan, and my eyes squeeze shut. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I gasp, tears slipping hot and fast down my cheeks.
Jackson presses his forehead to mine, his voice breaking too. “You can. You are. I’m right here.”
His words root me, pull me back every time I think I might float away from the pain.
The nurses move around us in quiet choreography: checking monitors, adjusting pillows, offering ice chips. One of them keeps telling me I’m strong, that I’m almost there.
When the doctor finally says, “It’s time to push,” something in me locks into place.
I bear down with everything I have left, the world narrowing to nothing but Jackson’s voice and the heat of his hand in mine.
Minutes feel like lifetimes. Each push steals my breath, leaves me shaking.
And then—
A piercing cry splits the air.
My eyes fly open, and I collapse back against the bed, gasping. The room shifts instantly: relief flooding every corner, the nurses moving quickly but gently, the doctor’s quiet instructions.
Jackson makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before: a raw, stunned laugh that turns into a choked sob.
The nurse places a small, wiggling bundle on my chest. My arms come up automatically, trembling as I curl around her tiny, impossibly warm body.
Our baby girl.
She’s squalling, her little fists flailing, her skin soft and pink. I press my forehead to hers, tears spilling faster now, unstoppable.
“Hi,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Hi, sweet girl. You’re here.”
Jackson’s hand moves over her back, the other cupping my face as he kisses my temple again and again.
“You did it,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Ava, she’s perfect.”
I glance up at him, our eyes locking: both of us wide open, raw, everything laid bare.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. We’re both crying, laughing, breathing hard.
“She’s so beautiful,” I whisper.
“She looks just like you,” he says, his thumb brushing tears from my cheek.
We stay like that, the three of us, tangled together in that first precious, impossible moment: all the pain forgotten, replaced by a fierce, protective love so strong it feels like it might split me open all over again.
Jackson brushes strands of hair from my face. "My mom and your parents are on their way. They’re so excited. Your mom said they’d be on the first flight out."
I let out a shaky laugh, relief threading through the pain.
The nurses finish their checks, wrapping our daughter in a soft pink blanket before settling her back onto my chest. She lets out a soft, content sound, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the fabric.
Jackson sits at the edge of the bed, one hand hovering protectively near her head, the other still gripping mine. We keep glancing at each other, still dazed, like we’re both making sure this is real.
A quiet knock at the door pulls us from our bubble.
Miss Taylor peeks in first, her eyes shining. She steps aside, and the boys spill into the room, wide-eyed and breathless.
Liam stops first, his gaze fixed on the bundle in my arms. Noah edges closer, his mouth falling open.
“Is that… her?” Liam asks, his voice hushed and awestruck.
I nod, tears springing up again. “Come say hi.”
Jackson helps guide them forward. Miss Taylor hangs back, her hand pressed to her heart, tears slipping down her cheeks as she watches.
Liam steps carefully to my side, peering down with big, cautious eyes. Noah follows, practically bouncing with excitement but holding himself back, like he knows this moment is delicate.
“She’s so little,” Noah whispers, his fingers curling into the blanket at his side.
“She’s your sister,” Jackson says, his voice low and warm. “And she’s been waiting to meet you.”
Liam shifts a little closer, studying her face intently. “She’s really cute,” he declares finally.
A laugh bubbles out of me, unsteady but full. “She is,” I agree.
Jackson glances at me, and I nod. This is the moment.
“We wanted you guys to help pick her name,” I say softly, my eyes moving between their faces.
The boys freeze, wide-eyed.
“We talked about a few names,” Jackson says gently. “But there’s one that feels right, and we wanted to make sure it felt right to you too.”
I take a breath, my heart thudding as I look at them. “What do you think of Elsie?”
Liam blinks, as if considering it carefully, then breaks into a huge grin and nods enthusiastically.
“Elsie!” Noah shouts, turning to Miss Taylor like he needs to tell the whole world right now.
Miss Taylor laughs through her tears, stepping forward to wrap her arms around them both.
“That’s a beautiful name,” she says, her voice thick.
Liam leans closer to me again, eyes locked on his sister. “Hi, Elsie,” he whispers, his small hand hovering just above her tiny head before gently brushing her hair.
Jackson’s hand finds my shoulder, squeezing once, steady and sure. I look up at him, my chest pulling tight around so much love I can barely hold it.
“Welcome to the family, Elsie,” he murmurs, his voice breaking on her name.
For a moment, everything else fades. It’s just us, Jackson’s steady warmth at my side, the boys’ awed little faces, Miss Taylor’s soft laughter and tears, and the tiny, perfect weight of our daughter nestled against my heart.
I close my eyes, breathing it all in.
Our family. Complete.
The room gradually quiets after the initial flurry of introductions. Miss Taylor steps out with the boys to grab snacks and give us a few moments alone, promising she’ll bring them back for more baby time soon.
Jackson pulls a chair even closer to the bed, his arm sliding behind my shoulders as he leans in, his forehead pressing gently to my temple.
I shift Elsie slightly, cradling her so her tiny cheek rests against my chest. She sighs in her sleep, her little mouth forming a perfect, soft “O” shape.
For a while, neither of us says anything. The only sounds are Elsie’s quiet breaths and the distant hum of the hospital hallway outside.
Jackson finally speaks, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of… stillness,” he says. “Like nothing else exists outside this room.”
I turn to look at him, my heart stuttering at the raw honesty in his eyes.
“I know,” I whisper. “It feels like everything finally makes sense. Like every choice, every hard moment... led us right here.”
His hand slips from my shoulder to rest lightly over my arm, his thumb brushing slow, calming circles.
“We have a daughter,” he says, his voice a reverent hush.
I nod, tears pricking again as I look down at Elsie.
Jackson leans forward then, pressing a careful kiss to the side of her head, and another to my cheek.
I breathe in deeply, my whole body sinking into this moment: the gentle weight of our daughter, the warmth of Jackson beside me, the knowledge that our boys are just down the hall, already plotting future adventures with their sister.
I close my eyes, my forehead resting lightly against his.
“I love you,” I whisper, the words slipping out as naturally as breath.
“I love you,” he murmurs back. “More than I ever thought possible.”
For a long, quiet moment, we stay just like that: our little family’s newest heartbeat tucked between us, the world beyond these walls fading into nothing but soft light and steady love.
And in that hush, I know this isn’t just the start of a new chapter. It’s the beginning of a thousand stories we’ll write together.
Our messy, loud, beautiful forever.
Thank you for reading Faking It With My Pucking Protector!
If you enjoyed this, then you will LOVE Triplets For My Pucking Enemy !
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Keep reading for a sneak peek!