45. Chapter 45
forty-five
Diesel
The world finally slowed.
I don’t know how long I sat there, head in my hands, shaking like I’d gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been hours. The chaos had bled into a quieter rhythm. The monitor’s beeps steadily, voices calm instead of clipped and urgent.
They’d gotten her stable.
Those were the words I clung to like a lifeline. Stable.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, rough and raw, and dragged myself out of the chair. My legs still felt hollow, like they might not carry me, but I didn’t care. I made it to her side and wrapped my fingers around hers again, terrified she’d vanish if I let go.
Her skin was warmer now. Her breaths steady beneath the oxygen mask. She looked fragile as hell, pale against the sheets, but she was still here—still mine.
The nurse murmured something about blood pressure holding, about keeping fluids going, about transferring her to a different room once things evened out. I nodded like I understood, but the words didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the faint squeeze of her fingers against mine.
The tiniest movement. But it damn near brought me to my knees.
“Sunshine,” I rasped, forehead bowing against her hand. “You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”
Her fingers stayed limp in mine. My eyes flicked to the monitor strapped to her belly, watching the waves spike and dip with every contraction.
I didn’t need the machine to tell me what was happening.
Her stomach went hard as stone, rolling under the skin, then softened again.
Over and over. She was fighting, even like this.
How the hell was she unconscious through that? My strong girl, my stubborn girl, and right now she looked breakable as glass.
The doctor’s voice cut through, calm but edged with urgency.
They’d give her a little time to come around, but if she didn’t…
the OR—emergency c-section. I’d nodded like a good soldier, like I understood, but the words barely landed.
All I could think was, "Whatever it takes.
" Cut me open if you have to. Take me apart. Just keep my girls alive.
I shifted closer, brushing her hair off her damp forehead, my thumb dragging down the curve of her temple. “You hear that, Sadie? They’re ready to do whatever it takes. But I need you to wake up, sunshine. I need you to look at me.”
The machines hummed. Nurses murmured. Time stretched into something unbearable. I kept my gaze locked on her face, searching for any flicker of movement, any sign she was still fighting her way back to me.
And then—her eyelids twitched.
I shot upright so fast the chair behind me scraped against the floor. “That’s it, sunshine. Come on. Come back to me.”
Her lashes fluttered, slow and heavy, like lifting them cost her everything. A weak sound caught in her throat, muffled by the mask over her face.
“I’m right here,” I said, leaning so close my forehead nearly touched hers. My hand swallowed hers, desperate, trembling. “You scared the hell out of me, baby. But you’re okay. You’re okay.”
Her eyes finally cracked open, glassy and unfocused. She blinked, confused, like she wasn’t sure if I was real.
“Diesel?” Her voice was a rasp, broken and thin, but it was her.
Christ, I nearly lost it right there. I pressed my lips to her knuckles, my chest breaking wide open. “Yeah, sunshine. It’s me. I got you.”
The nurse stepped in to check the monitors. “That’s good. She’s coming around. Keep talking to her, Dad.”
Dad. Jesus. That word hit like a freight train, but I didn’t flinch. I just kept my eyes on Sadie, my voice low and rough. “They’re keeping you and the baby safe. You don’t have to do a damn thing but breathe. You hear me? Just breathe.”
She nodded, the tiniest movement, and I felt her fingers twitch against mine. Alive. Present. Here.
Relief crashed into me so hard my legs went weak. For a second, I thought I might hit the floor, but I held on to her instead, anchoring myself with every shaky inhale she managed.
“You’re not leaving me,” I whispered against her hair. “Not now. Not ever.”
Sadie
Suddenly, a bolt of pain ripped through me, sharper than anything I’d felt yet. My whole body clenched, curling in on itself.
“Uh!” The sound tore out of me. “I… I need to push.”
There was no thought behind it. No choice. Just raw instinct.
The nurse was already at my side, calm but brisk. “The doctor’s on her way to check you, but your body knows what it needs. Listen to it.”
Another contraction slammed through, stealing my breath. My back arched, my hands clawing for something, anything—and found Diesel. He let me squeeze the life out of him, his knuckles bone-white under my grip. Not a word of complaint. Just steady, grounded, right there.
Smart man.
It felt like an eternity before the doctor swept in, gloves snapping on as she checked me. Her brows lifted. “Well, you’re definitely ready. I already see the baby’s hair.” She rolled up on a stool with quick, practiced motions. “Okay, Momma. On the next one, we’re going to push.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. The room blurred with movement—nurses adjusting machines, laying out instruments, voices overlapping. I barely heard any of it. All I could hear was Diesel’s voice, low and rough in my ear.
“You’ve got this, sunshine. You hear me? You’re the toughest woman I know. I’m right here. We’re doing this together.”
And then another contraction built, hot and unstoppable, tearing through me like fire.
“Here it comes,” the doctor said. “Big breath, and push.”
The contraction slammed into me, stealing the air right out of my lungs.
“Now,” the doctor urged. “Deep breath and push.”
I sucked in air, clamped my eyes shut, and bore down. Pain split through me, tearing fire through every inch of my body. It felt like my bones might break, like I’d come apart right there on the bed.
“Good, good. Keep going. You’re strong, Momma.”
I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up, that I wasn’t strong, that I was breaking—but Diesel’s voice cut through the haze, gravelly and sure.
“That’s it, sunshine, just like that. You’re doing it. You’re bringing our girl home.”
Our girl. The words cracked something open in me. Tears blurred my vision, sweat dripping into my eyes, but I pushed harder, gripping his hand like it was the only thing tethering me to the earth.
“Okay, breathe. Just breathe.” The nurse counted me down, her voice a metronome against the chaos.
The contraction eased, leaving me gasping, trembling. My chest heaved like I’d run a marathon. Diesel brushed damp hair from my face, his thumb tracing my cheek.
“You’re fire, Sadie. Pure fire. I’ve never seen anything like you.” His forehead pressed to mine, rough voice breaking. “Don’t stop now. You’re so close.”
Another contraction built—stronger, faster this time. No escape.
“Again,” the doctor commanded. “Push.”
I roared, every muscle straining, every ounce of me poured into it. Pain and fear and love all tangled into one unstoppable force.
And through it all, Diesel’s voice stayed steady at my ear: “That’s my girl. That’s my sunshine. Bring her into the world.”
Another contraction tore through me, worse than the last, and I bore down with everything I had left. My throat burned from the sound that ripped out of me—half scream, half growl.
“That’s it, Momma. Don’t stop,” the doctor urged. “She’s right there. Just one more big push.”
One more. God, I didn’t think I had anything left. My body shook, my vision tunneled, and I wanted to collapse into the bed and let it all swallow me.
But then Diesel’s voice cut through the noise, raw and desperate, right at my ear. “Come on, sunshine. You’re almost there. She needs you. I need you. Give me everything you’ve got.”
So I did.
I roared, muscles straining, and shoved past the pain, past the fear, past the exhaustion clawing at my bones.
And then, suddenly, the pressure broke.
A cry filled the room. Thin, wobbly at first, then louder. Stronger. The sound sliced through the chaos, and the whole world seemed to stop.
“She’s here,” the doctor said, her voice breaking into a smile. “Your baby girl is here.”
They held her up for a split second, wet and perfect, tiny arms flailing, her voice announcing herself to the universe.
The sound tore me apart and stitched me back together in the same breath.
Diesel made a sound, low and broken, something between a sob and a laugh, and I realized I’d never heard him sound so undone.
They laid her against my chest, skin to skin, and I stared down at the impossible little human we’d made. She was warm and squirmy, her cheek pressed against my skin, her cries easing as she settled against me.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “She’s… she’s beautiful.”
Diesel leaned over us, his big hand trembling as he brushed one tiny fist with his finger. His face was wet, his jaw tight, but his eyes—Christ, his eyes were soft in a way that shattered me.
“Our girl,” he rasped, kissing my damp forehead before pressing his lips to hers. “You did it, sunshine. You both did.”
The room buzzed around us with nurses moving, machines humming, but none of it mattered. It was just us: me, Diesel, and the little girl who had already stolen every last piece of my heart.