Chapter 13 #2
“The difference is academic at this point. Both involve extreme suffering and wanting it to be over.”
Dr. Hartley’s voice cut through my haze. “Keep that attitude, Luna. Humor will get you through this better than panic.”
“My attitude is the only thing keeping me from murdering everyone in this room,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
“Channel that energy into your pushing.”
Another contraction hit and I screamed, bearing down with everything I had.
The pressure was unbelievable, building and building until I thought I might actually split in half.
The monitors beeped frantically. Nurses moved around me, adjusting things, checking readings, speaking to each other in medical shorthand I couldn’t follow.
“Good!” Dr. Hartley said when the contraction ended. “That’s perfect. You’re progressing well. Keep pushing just like that when the next one comes.”
“I hate this,” I groaned, my head falling back against the pillows.
Every muscle in my body ached. “I hate everything about this. Why did anyone ever decide that this was a good way to reproduce? Why couldn’t we have evolved to lay eggs?
Eggs seem so much simpler. You just sit on them for a while and then they hatch. No screaming involved.”
Knox made a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, possibly both. “You’re doing incredible, baby. I’m so proud of you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
“Save the pride for after the baby is out. Right now I need you to suffer with me. Are you suffering?”
“More than I’ve ever suffered in my life. Watching you in pain is killing me.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. We’re in this together.”
The pushing continued, contraction after contraction, each one demanding everything I had and then asking for more.
Time lost all meaning. I couldn’t tell if minutes were passing or hours.
My entire existence narrowed down to the rhythm of pain and rest, push and breathe, Dr. Hartley’s calm instructions cutting through the haze.
“You’re doing great, Luna. The baby is moving down. Just a little more.”
“I don’t have a little more,” I sobbed during a brief respite. “I’m empty. There’s nothing left.”
“Yes there is,” Knox said firmly, his face appearing in front of mine.
“You are the strongest person I have ever known, Lina. You survived losing your parents when you were fifteen. You survived five years completely alone. You survived everything life has thrown at you. You can do this. I know you can.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll be right here. Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, remember?”
I looked at him, at this man who had broken my heart and put it back together, who had lied to me and loved me and driven me absolutely insane.
This man who was my mate, my partner, the father of my children.
His gray eyes were bright with unshed tears, his jaw set with determination, his whole being focused on me and only me.
I could do this. For him. For our baby. For our family.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
At some point, the energy in the room shifted. The nurses started moving faster, their expressions more focused. Dr. Hartley’s voice took on an edge that hadn’t been there before. I was too exhausted to understand what it meant, too focused on pushing to process the change.
“We’ve got increased bleeding here,” Dr. Hartley said to one of the nurses, her tone clipped and professional. “Get me another bag of fluids and have blood standing by just in case.”
“Bleeding?” I managed between pushes. “Why am I bleeding?”
“It’s normal during delivery,” Dr. Hartley said, but I could hear the tension underneath her calm words. “Just keep focusing on pushing. Let me worry about everything else.”
“That’s not reassuring!”
“It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s meant to keep you focused. Now push!”
I pushed. And pushed. And pushed until I was certain I had nothing left, until I was running on empty, until my body was operating on pure instinct because my mind had checked out entirely.
“I see the head!” Dr. Hartley announced. “One more push, Luna. Just one more big push and your baby will be here.”
One more. I could do one more. I had to do one more.
The next contraction built and I bore down with everything remaining in my battered body.
I screamed, the sound raw and primal and completely involuntary.
I pushed through the pain and the exhaustion and the fear.
Pushed until I felt the pressure finally release, felt my body go limp with relief, felt the tension drain out of me all at once.
“We’ve got the baby!” Dr. Hartley announced.
I collapsed back against the pillows, gasping for air. Knox was saying my name, his voice thick with emotion, pressing kisses to my forehead and telling me I’d done it, I was amazing, he loved me so much.
But I couldn’t focus on his words. I was listening for a different sound. Waiting for a different voice.
The room was too quiet.
Where was the crying? Babies were supposed to cry when they were born. That was the first sound they made, the sign that they were alive and breathing and okay.
Why wasn’t my baby crying?
I lifted my head, trying to see what was happening. The nurses had clustered around the warming table where they’d taken the baby. Their movements were quick, urgent. Dr. Hartley had moved to join them, her back to me, blocking my view.
“Knox?” My voice came out weak, trembling. “Knox, where’s the baby? What’s happening?”
He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the cluster of medical staff, his face ashen, his whole body rigid with fear that I could feel pouring through the bond.
“Why isn’t my baby crying?” I asked again, louder this time, panic rising in my chest.
No one answered me.
“What happened with my baby?”