Chapter 35
Wyatt
A few years later . . .
“One . . . two . . . three . . .” I helped a very pregnant Willow up from the picnic blanket. “I knew we should have canceled today. I could smell it.”
She rolled her eyes and gave me a playful swat.
We’d only just gotten comfortable on the layer of straw in the middle of the pumpkin patch.
“You said that last time, too,” Willow countered, folding into a half squat to get to her feet.
She paused to put her hand to her stomach as her face scrunched in pain.
I cursed myself for not hiding her shoes, but she’d insisted on attending the pack’s fall picnic. We were also supposed to meet Jordyn and Harlow at the Halloween Festival later, but I should have known better.
The day before Winnie, our daughter, had been born, Willow had insisted on going to a corn maze an hour away.
She’d proceeded not to tell me she was feeling contractions until they’d been four minutes apart.
Because she’d wanted to finish the maze.
It was only by some miracle that I’d managed to get her back to Maple Hollow in time for the coven midwives to help her deliver.
Our son was due in two days, but I’d noticed the change in her scent and hormones days ago.
I hadn’t sensed pain or discomfort in my mate this morning, so I’d gone along with today’s plan.
This would not happen with the next one .
. . if there was a next one. We needed to get this one evicted first.
Winnie, now eighteen months old, gripped my leg, attempting to help. I scooped her up and sat her on one hip, offering my other arm to Willow for support.
“Eloise,” I called to my sister, and she ran over with a wide grin.
“I knew it.” She chuckled, holding out her hands for her niece, who threw herself toward her auntie as if she could fly. “Call us if you need anything. We’ll take care of everything here. Oh, and I’m thinking William.”
“What?”
“I think you should name him William.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t name my baby?”
“Well, it’s got to be a W name, right? You can’t have Wyatt, Willow, Winnie, and Steve, can you?”
“Eloise—”
“There’s no Stefanie Kardashian, Wyatt.”
“Will you just watch Winnie, please?”
With a grin, she looked at Winnie. “Who wants to decorate cookies with Auntie Eloise?”
“Cookies!” Winnie exclaimed.
“Thank y—oh, ouch.” Willow squeezed my bicep hard as another contraction hit her.
“Yup, time to go.” I passed the diaper bag to Eloise. “Tell Mom we’re off to the midwives.”
My mother and sister would be staying at our house to watch both Winnie and our three cats, who had somehow adopted our werewolf house through the cat distribution system. Meanwhile, Harlow, Jordyn, and Iris would be meeting us at the birth center.
Willow and I headed to the parking lot, where I’d managed to park close to the patch entrance, just in case. We got halfway there before another contraction started. Willow breathed through it, shifting from one foot to the other in a swaying motion.
When it finished, she leaned against me to rest.
I kissed my wife’s brow. “You’re so incredible.”
“Thanks, I’ll try to remember that when I’m pushing a wolf-baby watermelon out of my vagina.” She waddled onward, making it to the car before another contraction.
“What about Wolf?”
“We’re not naming our werewolf son Wolf!” she shouted, clearly exasperated. When I snickered, she asked, “You’re just saying that to make the rage distract me from the pain, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
She laughed even as she clutched my arm with all the strength of an eagle’s talons.
Every day since our wedding, I was more amazed by my wife than the last. Just when I thought I’d reached the depths of my love, I realized it was bottomless. Together, we ran the café, had started a family, volunteered around town, and never missed a pack meeting, moon, or memory.
I loaded her up in the passenger seat, careful not to strap her in too tightly. When she was secure, I cupped her cheek and gave her a quick kiss. She grabbed the collar of my shirt and held me there for a moment longer.
“I can’t wait to meet him.” She smiled up at me, trying to hide the pain of another contraction, the third in less than fifteen minutes.
“Me too,” I said with tears misting my eyes. “But let’s try not to have him in the car. Otherwise, we’re going to have to name him Wagen and call him VW for short.”
She nodded. “Deal.”
As the car pulled out of the parking lot, townsfolk gathered to wave us off. Word had already spread.
Agnes dashed past us, shoulder-checking Billy as she shouted, “Move! I need to finish knitting my pumpkin booties!”
Billy waved to us in the rearview mirror. “Looking forward to welcoming the youngest member of Maple Hollow.”