Beckett
She was going to kill me.
Not literally, but the look Libby shot me when I asked for the third time if she needed anything was bordering on homicidal.
“Beckett,” she said with exaggerated patience, one hand resting on her very swollen belly. “I’m pregnant, not dying. I can get my own water.”
“I know, but—”
“But nothing.” She heaved herself up from the couch with a grunt that made my hands twitch to help her. “I’ve been sitting too long. I need to move around. My back is already killing me.”
I watched her waddle—and it was definitely a waddle now, eight and a half months pregnant—into the kitchen, every protective instinct I had screaming at me to follow her. Make sure she didn’t slip. Make sure she didn’t lift anything heavy. Make sure she didn’t—
“I can feel you hovering from here,” she called.
Shit.
“I’m not hovering.”
“You’re absolutely hovering.” She reappeared in the doorway, glass of water in hand, eyebrow raised. “You’ve been hovering for three weeks. Ever since the doctor said the baby could come any time now.”
“That’s not hovering. That’s being prepared.”
“That’s driving me insane.” But she was smiling as she said it, and when she came back to the couch, she let me help her sit. “I love you. You know I love you. But if you ask me one more time if I’m having contractions, I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”
“Noted.” I sat beside her, my hand automatically going to her belly. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” Her voice softened, and she covered my hand with hers. “I promise. And when I’m not okay, you’ll be the first to know.”
The baby kicked under my palm—hard—and I felt that same rush of wonder and terror I’d been feeling for months now.
There was a person in there. A tiny person that was half me and half Libby. A person who was going to depend on us for everything.
Holy shit.
“You’re spiraling,” Libby said gently.
“I’m not—”
“Beckett.”
I exhaled. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Talk to me.”
I looked at her—my wife of six months, glowing and beautiful despite the swollen ankles and constant complaints about heartburn—and felt my chest tighten.
“What if I’m not good at this?” The words came out slowly. “What if I mess it up?”
“Mess what up?”
“Being a dad.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “I’ve never—I don’t know how to do this, Libby. What if I can’t—”
“Stop.” She shifted to face me as much as her belly would allow. “Listen to me. You are going to be an amazing father.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” Her hand cupped my scarred jaw. “I’ve watched you with Wildfire. With every damaged, scared animal that comes through here. You have more patience than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re gentle and strong and you never give up on things that matter.”
“A baby’s not a horse.”
“No, but the principle’s the same. You show up. You’re consistent. You love them even when it’s hard.” She smiled. “And you’re already doing all of that. You’ve been doing it since the day we found out I was pregnant.”
I thought about the past nine months. The way I’d read every parenting book I could find. Set up the nursery three times because I wanted it perfect. Gone to every appointment, held her hand through every ultrasound, felt my heart stop every time we heard that tiny heartbeat.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I could do this.
“I just want to protect you both,” I said quietly. “Keep you safe.”
“I know. And you will.” She laced her fingers with mine. “But you also have to trust that I know my body. That I’ll tell you when I need help. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now come here.” She pulled me closer, and I carefully wrapped my arms around her. “I need you to relax, because your anxiety is making me anxious, and that’s not good for either of us.”
I pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
We sat like that for a while, and slowly I felt some of the tension ease out of my shoulders.
Then Libby went rigid in my arms.
“Libby?”
“I—” She gasped, hand flying to her belly. “Oh.”
My heart stopped. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” But her voice was tight. “I think—I think that was a contraction.”
“Okay.” I forced myself to stay calm. “Okay, that’s normal. We have time. The doctor said first babies take—”
Another gasp cut me off, and she doubled over slightly.
“Beckett—that was another one.”
I glanced at the clock. “That was less than two minutes apart.”
“I know. This is happening fast.” She looked at me, smiling through her pain. “I think maybe you’re going to have to put those foaling skills of yours to good use.”
“What the fuck?” The breath left my lungs as I stared at my wife as if she’d grown two heads.
“I said, you’re going to have to deliver our baby.”
“No way in hell, Libby. I’m taking you to the hospital. What if something happens?”
“Oh, something is going to happen alright.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it as another contraction hit. “This baby is coming right now. Congratulations, cowboy. You’re promoted to midwife.”
The pain on her face got through to me faster than anything else could. I picked her up and carried her to our bed. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”
I undressed her quickly. I barely got one of my t-shirts over her head before she cried out again, her face contorting with pain. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
And I did. I would never let anything happen to her, or our baby.
She nodded her head as the contraction eased. I squeezed her hand before going to gather what I needed. The first thing I did was call an ambulance. The next thing I did was grab the first aid kit. “Okay, let’s have a look.”
My breath caught as I saw my baby’s head crowning. I rubbed Libby’s leg. “When the next contraction comes, sweetheart, I need you to push.”
Libby was crying, her head back on the pillows I had stacked behind her. “I can’t do this—”
“Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know. You can do anything.”
“Easy for you to say—”
The contraction hit, and she bore down with a guttural sound that made my chest ache.
“That’s it,” I said, watching the baby’s head emerge a little more. “That’s perfect. You’re doing so good.”
“You are never touching me again,” she said as the contraction eased off.
I laughed. I’d promise her the moon right now. “That’s what you say now. But when I’m cooking you pancakes without my shirt on, you’ll cave.”
“Asshole.” But she was smiling now—until the next contraction hit.
And after that, it didn’t take long before I was catching my baby—my baby girl—in my hands. Libby and I both had tears in our eyes as she gave a healthy cry. “Look baby. Look what you did.”
I wrapped her in one of my t-shirts and laid her on Libby’s chest.
“Look what we did.” She smiled at me as if I had handed the moon and stars. I breathed a sigh of relief as I heard the sirens outside, then the firm knock on the door as two paramedics entered our house.
They checked everyone over, pronounced mother and baby healthy, and loaded them into the ambulance for a precautionary trip to the hospital.
I rode in the back, holding our baby.
“What should we name her?” Libby asked softly. We’d picked out several names, but hadn’t decided on any one particular one.
I looked down at the little girl I’d helped bring into the world. Then back at Libby. “Emma.”
Libby smiled through her exhaustion. “Emma Grace. It’s perfect.”
Later, after Libby had been checked by the doctors and Emma had been weighed and measured and declared perfect in every way, we were finally alone in the hospital room.
Libby was sleeping, exhausted from everything, and I sat in the chair beside her bed with Emma in my arms.
She was so small. So fragile. Her tiny face was scrunched up, her fists waving, and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Hi, baby girl,” I whispered. “I’m your dad. And I have no idea what I’m doing, but I promise I’m going to figure it out. Also, for the record, you can’t date until you’re thirty.”
She made a small sound, and I felt my heart crack open all over again.
When I’d first arrived at the ranch, I’d been convinced I was too broken for this. For love, for connection, for anything resembling a normal life.
Now I had a wife I adored and a daughter I’d delivered with my own hands.
“I’m going to keep you safe,” I told Emma. “I’m going to show up every day. I’m going to love you and your mom with everything I have. That’s my promise to you.”
Libby stirred, her eyes opening slowly. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Exhausted. Happy.” She smiled. “That was insane.”
“You’re telling me.” I looked down at Emma. “I delivered our daughter in our bedroom.”
“You did.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You were incredible, Beckett. When I was scared, when I didn’t think I could do it, you were right there. Steady. Calm. Everything I needed.”
“I was terrified.”
“I know. But you did it anyway.” She reached up to touch my face. “ Just like everything else. You do what needs doing, even when you’re scared.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just leaned down and kissed her.
When I pulled back, she was smiling through her tears.
“Think you’re ready for this?” she asked. “Midnight feedings and dirty diapers and crying for no reason?”
“She can’t be tougher than Wildfire.” I looked at Emma, her tiny face peaceful now, and felt something settle in my chest. “But, yeah. I’m ready.”
Because the truth was, I’d spent years believing I wasn’t meant for happiness. That the damage was too deep, the scars too permanent.
But Libby had proven me wrong about everything.
She’d shown me that broken things could heal. That trust could be rebuilt. That love could find you even in the darkest places.
And now we had Emma.
Our tiny, perfect miracle. “I love you both,” I said quietly. “More than I knew was possible.”
“We love you too,” Libby whispered.
And for the first time in my life, I actually believed.