Chapter 22 - Jonah #2
"You've changed," Robert says quietly. "Six months ago, I wanted to kill you for hurting my brother. Now..."
"Now you only want to maim me slightly?"
Robert laughs. "Something like that."
The rest of dinner is easier, lighter and after dinner, on the drive home, Alex is quiet.
"You did good," I tell him.
"I wanted to argue. Especially when Pastor David starting going on after dessert."
"But you didn't."
"Because you love them. They're your family.
And now they're Samuel's family too." He reaches over, takes my hand.
"I want our son to know them, even if I don't agree with them on everything.
I want him to have what I didn't—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.
A whole complicated, messy, loving family. "
"You're a good man, Alexander Colborne."
"I'm trying to be." He brings my hand to his lips. "Six months ago, I thought my life was over when we got matched. Now I can't imagine any other life."
I kiss him because I can’t imagine any other life either.
23. Alex
"I hate you!"
Jonah's shout echoes through the private birthing suite we've set up in the east wing of the estate. He's been in labor for six hours now, and we seem to have gone back right back to where we started.
"You're doing amazing, sweetheart," I tell him, letting him crush my hand through another contraction.
"Don't you sweetheart me! This is your fault! Your stupidly large Colborne genes making a giant baby!"
Dr. Morrison hides a smile behind her mask. "He's actually measuring perfectly average, Jonah."
"It doesn't feel average! It feels like I'm trying to pass a watermelon!"
I wipe his forehead with a cool cloth, trying not to laugh. Even in agony, even furious, he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I love you," I tell him.
"I hate you," he pants. "So much. When this is over, I'm never letting you touch me again."
"You said that an hour ago. And two hours ago. And—"
"Alexander Colborne, if you don't shut up right now, I swear—" Another contraction cuts him off, and he bears down with a sound that tears at my heart.
"I can see the head," Dr. Morrison announces. "We're almost there."
Almost there. We're almost parents. After nine months of preparation, of classes and books and panic attacks, we're minutes away from meeting our son.
"I can't," Jonah gasps. "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can." I kiss his temple, his cheek, anywhere I can reach. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything."
"I'm not strong. I'm scared."
"Me too," I admit. "Terrified. But we're doing it anyway and we’ll do it together."
He laughs, which turns into a groan as another contraction hits.
"One more big push," Dr. Morrison instructs. "Come on, Jonah."
Jonah grips my hand, bears down with everything he has, and then—
A cry. Tiny, indignant, perfect.
"It's a boy," Dr. Morrison announces unnecessarily, placing the squirming, screaming bundle on Jonah's chest.
I can't breathe. Can't think. I can't do anything but stare at this tiny person we made. He's red and wrinkled and covered in weird fluids and he's absolutely perfect.
"Samuel," Jonah whispers, tears streaming down his face. "Hi, baby. We've been waiting for you."
Samuel stops crying, turning toward Jonah's voice. His eyes are still closed, but he knows his omega dad. Of course he does. He's been listening to Jonah talk and sing for months.
"Do you want to cut the cord?" Dr. Morrison asks me.
My hands shake as I take the scissors. This is it. The moment he becomes separate from Jonah, his own person in the world. I make the cut, and just like that, Samuel Robert Colborne is officially here.
They take him to clean him up and do their tests. I stay with Jonah, holding him while he delivers the afterbirth and Dr. Morrison does whatever mysterious medical things need doing.
"You did it," I tell him. "You're amazing."
"Yes, I am," he confirms. "Even if I did threaten to kill you. Several times."
"I probably deserved it."
"You definitely deserved it."
They bring our beautiful Samuel back, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, and place him in Jonah's arms. He's calmed down now, making little snuffling noises.
"He's so small," I marvel.
"Eight pounds, two ounces," the nurse informs us. "Not that small."
"No wonder he felt like a watermelon," Jonah mutters.
I laugh, then stop abruptly as Samuel's eyes open. They're dark, unfocused, but definitely open. Looking right at me.
"Hi," I say stupidly. "I'm your dad. The disaster one. Your other dad is the smart one."
"Alex," Jonah chides softly.
"It's true. But I promise I'm going to try so hard to be good enough for you. Both of you."
"You already are," Jonah says. "You have been for months."
The door opens, and our families start filtering in. We agreed to have them here, waiting, bridging our two worlds from the very beginning of Samuel's life.
Jonah's Mom enters first is already crying before she even sees the baby. His Dad and brother Robert are close behind.
"Oh, sweetheart," she breathes, carefully touching Samuel's tiny hand. "He's perfect."
"He looks like Alex," Robert observes. "Poor kid."
"He has Jonah's nose," I counter. "And hopefully his temperament."
Diana arrives next, and for the first time in all the years I've known her, she looks completely undone. Her perfect composure cracks as she looks at Samuel.
"He's beautiful," she says softly. "Your mother would have been so proud, Alexander."
"You think?"
"I know." She touches my shoulder, a rare gesture of affection.
Even Pastor David seems moved when he arrives, though he immediately starts talking about baptism schedules.
"We'll discuss it later," Jonah says diplomatically, which is code for 'we'll argue about it for six months and find a compromise that makes no one completely happy.'
That's what we do now—compromise. It's not perfect, but it works.
The room fills with family, with laughter and tears and gentle arguments about who Samuel looks like most. Mrs. Atkins brings in food, Ricky takes approximately seven hundred photos, and through it all, Samuel sleeps peacefully in Jonah's arms.
"Can I?" I ask finally, and Jonah carefully transfers our son to me.
The weight of him is shocking. Not heavy, just... significant. Real. Mine.
"Hi, Samuel," I whisper. "I'm going to mess up sometimes. Probably a lot. But I promise I'll always love you. I'll always try to do better. And I'll always have your other dad to keep me in line."
Samuel makes a little noise, almost like agreement.
"See?" Jonah says. "He already knows."
As the sun sets over the estate, casting golden light through the windows, our families slowly filter out. They'll be back tomorrow, and the next day, and probably every day after that. But for now, it's just us.
Jonah, exhausted but glowing. Me, terrified but determined. And Samuel, perfect and tiny and ours.
"We're a family," Jonah says softly.
"We've been a family for a while now."
"I know. But now it feels official."
I settle next to them on the bed, careful not to jostle either of them. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me. I know I was a lost cause."
"You were never a lost cause. Just a little lost." He leans into me, Samuel safe between us. "We found each other, though."
"A ninety-six percent match," I recall. "Who knew the Bureau could actually get something right?"
"Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll want more photo opps."
I shrug. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore. I have everything I need right here."
Samuel starts fussing, and Jonah shifts to nurse him. It's amazing, this thing his body can do, providing everything our son needs.
"I love you," I tell him. "Both of you. More than I knew was possible."
"We love you too," Jonah responds. "Even when you're being an arrogant ass."
"Especially then?"
"No, definitely despite then."
We sit in comfortable silence, watching our son enjoy his first meal with singular determination. He's got Jonah's focus already.
"What do you think he'll be like?" Jonah asks. "When he grows up?"
"Stubborn, definitely. He's got it from both sides. Probably too smart for his own good. Hopefully kind."
"Definitely kind. We'll make sure of that."
"We'll probably mess some things up," I admit. "I'll be too indulgent, you'll be too strict about some things. We'll argue about screen time and sugar and whether he needs to go to church."
"And we'll figure it out. Like we always do."
"Through spectacular fights and grudging compromises?"
"And really good make-up sex."
I laugh, startling Samuel, who gives us a disgruntled look before returning to his meal.
"I never thought I'd have this," I admit. "A family. A real home. Someone who loves me despite knowing exactly how fucked up I am."
"You're not fucked up. You're complicated. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." He's firm about this. "Look at us, being all emotionally evolved."
Samuel finishes nursing, and I take him to burp while Jonah gets comfortable. He's so tiny against my shoulder, warm and solid and real.
A knock at the door interrupts us. Mrs. Atkins peeks in.
"Sorry to disturb, but there's rather a lot of press at the gates. Apparently, someone leaked that the baby was born."
Of course they did. Even this moment can't be entirely private.
"We’ve got a statement ready.” I tell her. I was going to read it myself, but I don’t want to read this room. Even crossing to the window to my briefcase to get it is three steps too far from my newborn son.
“Mrs. Atkins, would you mind asking Ricky to read it out for me?”
We're thrilled to announce the birth of our son, Samuel Robert Colborne. Omega and baby are doing well. We ask for privacy as we adjust to life as a family.
Simple, direct, and giving them nothing to speculate about. Well, they'll speculate anyway. They always do.
Ricky and Diana handle the rest, as they always does. Within an hour, the press has their story and hopefully will leave us alone for a while.
"How long do you think we have before they start speculating about baby number two?" Jonah asks.
I choke on air. "Baby number two? You just spent six hours screaming that you were never letting me touch you again."
"That was the pain talking. I've already forgotten how bad it was."
"You literally gave birth three hours ago."
"And look how perfect he turned out." He gazes at Samuel with such love it makes my chest ache. "Maybe he needs a sibling. In a few years."
"A few years," I agree weakly. "Let's master keeping this one alive first."
"Deal."
As if on cue, Samuel starts crying. Not the angry cry from earlier, but something softer, needier.
"He's probably hungry again," Jonah says, already moving to nurse him.
I watch them, my omega and our son, and feel that overwhelming sense of rightness again. This is it. This is everything.
My phone buzzes with messages—congratulations from friends, from board members, from people I haven't talked to in years. The official announcement has clearly made the rounds.
One message stands out. Saskia: Congratulations, darling.
I show it to Jonah, who shrugs. "She did us a favor, in a way."
"Very generous of you."
"I can afford to be generous. I won." He grins at me, that bright, beautiful smile that still makes my heart skip. "I got you, didn't I?"
"Pretty sure I'm the one who won here, church mouse."
We lie there in the gathering darkness, listening to Samuel's tiny snores. Tomorrow the chaos will start again—visitors, decisions, the reality of keeping a tiny human alive and happy. But right now, in this moment, everything is perfect.
The End