Chapter 42
Forty-Two
SOREN
Eight Months Later…
“Move, move, move!” I barrel through the hospital hallway like I’m leading a last-stand cavalry charge, minus the sword but definitely with the same panic level.
Matthew trails behind me, huffing, puffing, wrangling an overstuffed bear the size of a Fiat.
“I told you not to stop for coffee,” I hiss over my shoulder.
“I didn’t think she’d go into active labor during a red light!” he snaps. “Besides, she loves the new hazelnut roast.”
We round a corner, nearly plowing through a gurney. The nurse gives me a look. She might tase me. Honestly, fair.
The sign reads MATERNITY WARD in soft pastel letters that do nothing to match my heart rate.
“Pembry? Soren Pembry?” A voice calls out.
I whip around so fast I almost dislocate something.
A nurse in lavender scrubs waves me over. “Come with me. We’ve got to prep you now.”
Matthew clutches the bear as a shield. “I’ll be out here. Rooting for you both. And, uh, this thing has a built-in lullaby button, so... bonus?”
I nod, clapping his shoulder. “Thanks, man.” Then I’m through the doors.
Everything becomes a blur. Hair nets. Booties. Scrubs. Sanitizer. More sanitizer. Another nurse practically swoons when she sees me.
“Oh my God, my sister loves your books. That scene in Blades and Bone when Calla rides the wyvern? Masterpiece.”
I nod. I grin. I consider eating a latex glove to pass out and escape the moment.
“Can we talk about this later?” I whisper. Maybe scream-whisper.
They lead me through the final set of doors. Relief washes over me. There she is. My Ava. Hair piled on her head in the messiest bun ever. Face flushed, eyes half-lidded. She’s ethereal. Serene. A goddess in a delivery gown.
She turns her head, sees me. Tilts her head. Smiles.
And then the contraction hits.
“You!”
“Me?”
“You did this to me, you fantasy-loving, elf-eared, orgasm wizard!”
A nurse glides in with sprinter speed. “She’s fully dilated. We’re ready to go.”
“READY TO GO? I AM NOT READY. NOTHING ABOUT ME IS READY!” Ava panics.
Rushing to her side, I take her hand, immediately regretting everything.
“When did your grip get so strong?”
“When your penis broke my cervix!”
Another contraction.
Another scream.
Another threat to my life.
“We are never having sex again. Do you hear me? I don’t care if your abs sparkle or your tongue is poetry.”
“Okay,” I wheeze. “I deserve this. I deserve all of this.”
The doctor appears like a war general. “Let’s push, Ava. Deep breath. One... two... three…”
What follows is a symphony of primal screams, encouragement, a monologue that might’ve been excerpted from a horror film.
“I hate you! I love you! If you ever try to touch me again, I will hex your balls off!”
“Fair!” I agree. “So fair!”
A high, perfect, wailing cry shatters the air and stitches it back together with wonder.
A nurse lifts the tiniest little bundle I’ve ever seen. Wraps her in pink. Our tiny banshee’s screams are the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
Ava collapses back against the pillows. Glowing. Radiant. Tears sliding down her cheeks. She smiles. “She’s here.”
I kiss Ava’s forehead. “She’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Ava gazes at me for a beat, sweat trailing down her temples. “I know.”
Laughing at our little Star Wars reference, I crush my lips to hers. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you most.”
All the pain. The panic. The profanity.
Gone.
Just a mother. A father. A little girl who already owns our hearts. And a bear outside the door, playing lullabies.