Chapter 4
Goldie
Someone shoves a clipboard in my hands as I’m wheeled into a hospital room, overwhelmed by the activity and sounds of the busy hospital, the scent of whatever cleaner they use clogging my nose. The nurse fires off questions about how far along I am, where I was previously treated since the hospital doesn’t have me on file as a current patient, and more. I can’t answer as my head pounds when another contraction, worse than all the rest, has me doubling over after the nurse makes me stand and tries to move me to the bed.
I’m already crying from the pain, but I want to cry harder when I remember that Davis has my backpack with my medical history and prenatal paperwork. I should have grabbed it before he helped me out of his truck. If Davis leaves me here without bringing me my backpack after figuring out that I’m more trouble than I’m worth, I don’t know what I’ll do. If or when I’ll be able to contact him since he has my phone, too.
My hands shake as I try my best to fill out the paperwork after I get situated on the bed. Fat teardrops wet the forms, further blurring the questions. I thought I was prepared to give birth in an unknown hospital by myself. Thought I would have time to calmly fill out everything I needed to before I was this far along. Thought that I had made peace with the fact that I would be giving birth without Aunt Lydia, who had gone to all of my prenatal appointments, by my side.
I was so wrong.
And when I’m peppered with questions about health insurance, the nurse frowns when I tell her that I’m uninsured. Because of my age and the measly income I made while waitressing in Nevada, I was covered by Medicaid, but now that I’m in Texas and out of time to apply for emergency coverage, I’m screwed.
How am I supposed to do this? How am I going to —
“Davis?” I breathe out his name when he rushes into my room, carrying my backpack, which he drops to the floor as soon as he gets to my side.
Davis cups my cheeks, his brows pinched with concern. “I’m here, honey. What can I do?”
Davis
I follow the nurse down the hallway, my boots pounding the floor, and I push past her into Goldie’s room. My heart stops when I see how small and scared she looks in the hospital bed, her face flush and slick with sweat.
“Davis?” She asks with disbelief, her eyes brimming with tears.
I bend and cup her cheeks after pushing back some loose strands of hair stuck to her temples. “I’m here, honey. What can I do?”
The woman in charge introduces herself as Nurse Martina. She writes Goldie’s name— Marigold Lewis —on the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker and then tells me, “Let’s start with getting her hoodie off, Dad.”
“Oh, he’s…” Goldie blinks and doesn’t finish her sentence, leaving me to wonder if she’s just as lost as I am about the rules regarding non-relatives.
Under my breath, I ask her, “Do you want me to leave?”
“N-No. Please stay. I-I don’t want to be alone right now,” Goldie whispers before shutting her eyes tight while pressing a hand to the side of her belly.
Nurse Martina motions to Goldie’s hoodie. “Off,” is all she says.
I help Goldie lean forward in bed, and when she doesn’t make a move to remove the hoodie as she concentrates on trying to breathe through what I’m guessing is another contraction, I do it myself. She raises her arms so I can finish pulling it off over her head, and she slumps back. The bruising and claw marks on her arms have faded substantially overnight, thankfully, or I’m sure the hospital staff would be hustling me out of here, assuming I was the one who hurt her.
“T-shirt, too, Dad.”
With a groan, Goldie allows me to help her sit up again. Unlike with the hoodie, helping her remove her T-shirt feels much more intimate. And holy smokes , her tits are huge and spilling out of her way-too-small, light pink bra.
“Fuck me,” I curse under my breath, but obviously not low enough, because her cheeks burn red when I can finally pull my gaze away from her chest. I’d apologize if I weren’t currently tongue-tied as my eyes are drawn back to her cleavage. I’ve never seen a pair of tits so perfect and pale in all my life, and my cock goes rock solid, uncomfortably swelling against my zipper. It’s disgusting and inappropriate, and—and it jerks, already wet at the tip with pre-cum, soaking my boxer briefs when Goldie inhales sharply, causing her tits to jiggle.
“Dad. Earth to Dad. Hello!” Nurse Martina snaps her fingers repeatedly.
I jump back, breaking the laser focus I’ve had on Goldie’s supple breasts. Jesus, Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself. I’m perving on a teenager who is currently in labor . What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never been attracted to teenagers, not even when I was one. I was always drooling over my friends’ moms or my teachers—never anyone younger than me. So why the fuck this girl has a hold on me, I don’t know.
Feeling like a total creep, I clear my throat and look away, choosing to focus on Nurse Martina in her pink scrubs, the top stretched taut around her own heavily pregnant belly as she barks out orders, telling Goldie to remove the rest of her clothing before she can put on her hospital gown.
Knowing that helping her strip out of her bra and bottoms would be taking it too far, I turn around, willing my dick to deflate, as I hear Goldie rustling with her leggings after kicking off her sneakers. Panties, too. God , I want to look so fucking bad, but I force myself to behave. If the nurse thinks it’s weird that I’ve turned my back, she doesn’t say so.
Goldie whispers, “You can turn around now.”
When I do, I find that the nurse has helped her into a thin blue hospital gown and is taking Goldie’s vitals, jotting them down on a chart. I can’t make eye contact with either of them.
I don’t understand half of what the nurse is saying when the on-call doctor, who introduces herself as Dr. Patel, approaches with a warm smile, twisting her onyx hair into some kind of clip on the back of her head to get it out of her face. I have to look at the ceiling when she sits on a rolling stool at the foot of Goldie’s hospital bed to perform some kind of check to see how far along Goldie is in labor. I’m just standing there like a lump, totally out of my element, when Goldie latches onto my hand and yelps.
“I’m almost done. Just try to relax, Marigold,” Dr. Patel instructs gently.
I break my stare with the ceiling tile and check on Goldie. She’s full-on crying, tears falling one after the other down her cheeks. I shoot the doctor a scathing glare for hurting her. Big mistake . Because my eyes never make it as far as the doctor. They stop short on Goldie’s golden pussy nestled between a pair of thick, pale thighs.
“Sweet Jesus,” I croak. I think I actually stop breathing as my eyes rake over the light red, curly hairs covering her mound below the swell of her rounded belly. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience until Goldie cries out, squeezing my hand hard enough to grate the bones together.
The look of agonizing pain on Goldie’s face is alarming, and in an instant, I lean down close enough to brush my nose against hers as I cradle her face and try to soothe her. “You’re ok, honey. It’s gonna be ok.” I straighten up and snap at the doctor still sitting between her thighs, “She’s gonna be ok, right? This is normal, right?”
Dr. Patel gives me a sympathetic smile. “Yes, this is normal. You’re at eight centimeters, Marigold, so not much longer to go.” Dr. Patel rolls Goldie’s hospital gown down to cover her, then goes over different positions Goldie can try to ease some of the pain after she refuses an epidural.
I help her off the bed, and Nurse Martina takes over, showing me what I can do to help. She directs Goldie to lean back against me while I support the underside of her belly, easing some of the weight and pressure as we sway side to side. And oh god, when I close my eyes and bury my face in Goldie’s thick locks that she’s since pulled up into a tangled bun, it feels real. It feels so damn real, like she really is my woman, like her baby really is my child. My hands turn warm on her lower belly, and I pull her a little closer, getting lost in the moment, and only snap open my eyes, shattering the fantasy, when Goldie folds over in pain.
The nurse directs her to brace her hands on the hospital bed and shows me how to massage Goldie’s back throughout the contraction. Her hospital gown parts, revealing her naked bottom. Trying and failing to keep my eyes trained on my hands and not her beautiful peach of an ass, I rub her lower back, her wide hips, and then around to support the weight of her lower belly when she can stand again and rest her head back against the middle of my chest. She fits perfectly in the circle of my arms, and I’m once again lost in the fantasy.
“Why did you refuse the epidural?” I ask her after a lengthy contraction leaves her breathless.
“I don’t have health insurance,” she says, her voice raspy and small. “And epidurals are expensive.”
Fuck , why didn’t I think of that? I open my mouth to offer to give the hospital my insurance card, only to remember that she’s not my wife, and thus, my insurance won’t cover her. And even if we were magically able to get married within the next hour—which I strangely realize I would do in a heartbeat so that she’d have one less thing to worry about—it would still take time to get her added to my plan.
Is this what Wyatt went through? This immediate, overwhelming compulsion to take care of a woman who wasn’t even his yet? How did he withstand it? How am I supposed to withstand it?
When Goldie tips her head to look up at me, I drop a kiss right over the pulse point of her slender neck. I didn’t mean to do it, yet I can’t stop myself from doing it again when she doesn’t pull away. I internally kick myself, wondering why in the hell I keep forgetting that she’s not mine.
“Davis?”
“Yeah, honey?” I answer with a shaky voice, suddenly terrified that she’s going to balk at my insane behavior and kick me out of her room.
Surprising the hell out of me, warmth blooming in my chest, Goldie reaches up and palms the side of my face. “Thank you for staying.”
I lift her chin up to kiss the corner of her pink lips. Fuck , it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real , I repeatedly remind myself, but my heart isn’t getting the memo as I continue to hold her, stroking her cheek with my thumb.
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are wide, searching mine. I want to kiss her again, but not on the corner this time.
When Goldie’s contractions ramp up, coming closer and closer together, and Dr. Patel returns to the room, I help Goldie back onto the bed.
Nurse Martina props Goldie’s left leg in a stirrup. “Dad, help her with her other leg.”
My heart slams against my ribs when I slide my hand under Goldie’s right thigh and lift her knee, then set her heel down on the stirrup on my side of the bed. Her leg is prickly with hair as I slide my hand down from her knee to her ankle and back up again. I need to remove my hand, but I physically can’t, especially when my eyes drift to between her thighs. I am going straight to hell .
Goldie says sheepishly, “Sorry. I haven’t been able to shave with my belly in the way.”
I whip my gaze to her face, her nose scrunched adorably. “Are you seriously apologizing about your hairy legs while you’re about to give birth?”
She drops her mouth open, no doubt about to apologize again, when Dr. Patel says with a cheery voice, “Good news, Marigold. You’re at ten centimeters, and the baby’s head is in position. Get ready to push with the next contraction.”
Goldie is rendered speechless when she’s directed to push after her belly tightens. I hold my breath throughout all of it. When it passes, she cries out, “Davis! Oh god, I can’t do this. You have to get me out of here. Please take me…take me somewhere else. I—” She’s immediately hit with another one that leaves her panting. “I can’t do this!”
With my right hand back under Goldie’s knee, I gently grip her jaw with my left and tilt her head back. “You can do this, honey. You’re so strong, and you’re going to get through this. I know you can.” Everything else fades away as I keep my eyes locked on hers, repeating how strong she is and how good she’s doing after each push, echoing the nurse so I don’t say the wrong thing.
It’s terrifying how red her face gets after thirty minutes of pushing without making much progress. And the sounds she makes have goosebumps breaking out over my entire body. I’ve never heard these kinds of primal noises before, and I shiver when she makes a particularly high-pitched keening sound.
“You’re doing so good, Marigold. The baby’s head is almost out,” Dr. Patel says with encouragement.
“It is?” I twist my head around to see, and holy shit . “I think I’m—”
* * *
“Davis! Oh my god, is he ok? Davis, wake up. I can’t do this by myself!” Goldie shouts, followed by an impossibly long, guttural groan, then deep, heart-wrenching sobs.
Alarmed by my position on the floor, the pounding in the back of my head, and the sobs pouring out of Goldie, I jackknife up. “I’m up. I’m here, Goldie.” I push away a male nurse who tries to get me to lie back down. I also push away the lightheaded feeling that made me pass out in the first place as I stumble to my feet to stand at Goldie’s bedside. I meet her blood-shot stare, and my head instantly clears.
I’ve never seen a baby’s head crown, and that shit looked so painful and shocking that my blood drained, and boom—I was out like a light. But I’m back now, and I resolve to do better. If Goldie can be strong enough to bear the pain of childbirth, then I can be strong enough to watch her do it.
Goldie latches onto my flannel and yanks me closer with surprising strength so that I’m leaning over the bed’s railing. She twists sideways to cry into my chest, then keens in pain.
I palm the back of her head, holding her close to me. “Shh, it’s ok, baby. I’m ok, and you’re ok,” I whisper into her hair to soothe her, kissing her crown between each word.
“Dad, support her leg. She needs to push again,” Dr. Patel says.
Her right leg must have slipped from the stirrup when I passed out, so I slide my hand under her knee to lift it back up.
At some point, the hospital gown must have worked its way up, or someone must have pulled it up because her full, rounded belly is completely exposed, along with the entirety of her bottom half. Her body is a work of art, and I’m entranced by it, especially when her stomach ripples with the next contraction. When Dr. Patel instructs Goldie to push again, I trail my eyes down past her stomach to the V between her thighs and watch as the rest of her baby’s head is born. It’s a battle not to pass out again, and I cling to Goldie as hard as she clings to me.
“Oh my god, Goldie, the baby’s head is out!” I smile so wide my cheeks ache and look away to kiss her forehead. “You’re so amazing.” She smiles, and this time, the tears pooling on her lower lashes are ones of joy. I kiss the tip of her nose, then give her space to breathe when another contraction steals her attention.
Dr. Patel tells her, “One more push, Marigold, and the shoulders will be out.” I follow the nurse’s example and help her lean forward as Goldie bears down, then collapses back on the bed, breathing raggedly. She lets loose what sounds like a cry of utter relief, and the doctor says, “Congratulations, Mom and Dad. You have a beautiful baby girl.”
I catch myself panting along with Goldie, and I clutch my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’ve never experienced or witnessed anything so extraordinary. Life changing. Beautiful. Fucking terrifying .
Before I can think better of it, I do what I’ve wanted to since I held her as she labored—I kiss her square on the lips. “You did it, baby.” When I remember who I am—who she is and is not —I back up, a little afraid of looking her in the eye to see her reaction to the impromptu kiss given by the strange man she met the day before.
“Dad, do you want to cut the umbilical cord?” Dr. Patel holds up a strange pair of scissors and waves me over.
I peek at Goldie and silently ask her what she wants me to do. She gives me a slow nod. Thrilled with her permission, I shift to the end of the bed next to the doctor. I cut between the clamps, ignoring the fluids that have spilled out on the bed so I don’t get lightheaded again. The baby is whisked away before I get a chance to properly look at her.
I can’t believe it. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even know Goldie existed, but here I am, playing the role of husband and father. I palm my chest over my heart, feeling it beat wildly for Goldie, for the baby…a baby that—with a sudden pang in my heart—I have to remind myself for the thousandth time isn’t really mine.
I rejoin Goldie at her side, gaping when the nurse pulls down the top of Goldie’s hospital gown. I lose what little breath I had caught when her full breasts are exposed. I give myself half a second to savor the sight of her dark pink nipples before mentally slapping myself for being a creep, forcing my eyes to focus on the baby girl placed on Goldie’s chest.
“Oh my god, my baby. Oh my—you’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Goldie clears away her tears and stares down at the infant squirming on her chest. She hugs her daughter close and kisses her forehead.
Then she turns to me and smiles so beautifully that I lose myself in the moment again, kissing for longer this time and slipping the tip of my tongue out to taste her. When I pull away a few inches, I keep eye contact with her instead of looking away like a coward. “Congratulations, honey.”
Goldie looks like she’s as swept up in the moment as I am and tips her chin further up like she wants me to kiss her again. The moment is broken when the baby lets out a piercing cry, and our attention is immediately diverted. A fine layer of wet, curly red hair covers the baby’s head, and she’s without a doubt the most adorable little thing I’ve ever seen—no offense to Dolly and Wyatt’s son, William—and there’s that ache in my chest again.
I’ve never given much thought to having children of my own since I was never interested in anyone enough to think about settling down and starting a family, not with so much going on with Dad in the last few years of his life. But now, with Goldie and her baby…the sense of responsibility and desire to take care of Goldie that started within moments of meeting her, which continued to build throughout her labor and delivery, grows exponentially when I place my hand on the baby’s tiny back. I marvel at how my hand spans the width and length of her and how I can feel her heartbeat under my palm.
My hand trembles when I remove it, and I stare in awe as Nurse Martina adjusts the baby’s position and shows Goldie how to nurse her for the first time. Goldie cries and laughs and smiles as the baby opens her tiny rosebud mouth and latches onto the tip of her mother’s nipple. The scene is so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at the two of them.
My family.