Chapter Twenty One
Ellis
Today, May twenty-sixth, started out like any other day. The same persistent ache low in my back that I’ve tried to convince myself is from trouble getting comfortable at night.
I’m officially thirty-nine weeks pregnant and managing my work from my laptop propped against a stack of body pillows in our bedroom. Both dogs have been glued to my side the past few days, so I have Oshie lying next to me and Buck at my feet. A cozy little nest.
“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” Brody’s voice rumbles from the bathroom doorway.
I don’t look up from my screen, typing out a response to our legal team. “What thing?”
Brody steps into the bedroom, looking ridiculously sexy in his workout clothes. Honestly, the man looks good in everything, and especially in nothing, and even with as exhausted as I’ve been lately, I still want him nonstop.
“The thing where you pretend you’re not uncomfortable,” he says, walking over to my side of the bed. He leans down, placing one hand over my stomach. “Are you still having contractions?”
“They’re just braxton-hicks,” I say, shifting slightly in bed. “They’re not timed, but they are annoying. What time do you need to be at the complex?”
Brody pulls his phone from his pocket and looks at the screen. “OTAs start at four today. But listen, I don’t have to go. I can tell Coach you aren’t feeling good. I don’t really feel great about leaving you home alone this late in the game.”
“Brody,” I say, closing my laptop and looking him in the eye. “I know OTAs aren’t technically considered mandatory, but I also know it’s good for you to show up consistently, even as a veteran member of the team. You can’t miss practice every time I have an ache.”
He doesn’t look convinced. He drops to one knee beside the mattress, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes scan every inch of my face with an intensity that turns me on.
“I don’t care, Princess,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my lip. “I just feel like I need to be here for you and our boy.”
“Yesterday, the doctor said I’m barely two centimeters,” I remind him, running my fingers through his hair. “And that first babies take forever. If labor actually starts today—which it won’t—I call in for a helicopter to come get you. Now go. I’ll just be sitting here managing my inbox.”
Brody stares at me for a few seconds, then he leans in, pressing his mouth against mine in a slow, deep kiss that tastes like coffee.
“The fact that you have a helicopter pilot on standby is wild, but in this case, it makes me feel much better,” he says against my lips, then lowers his face and presses a kiss to my belly. “Be good for mommy, and stay in there until I come home,” he whispers against my skin.
“You know what I was thinking about earlier? We haven’t settled on a name yet. I think we should probably do that, don’t you?” I point out.
“Yep, that would be good. He can’t live his life as baby Vaughn,” he grins, standing up and walking to the closet to grab his duffel bag. When he walks back out, he gives me one last look. “I love you, Mrs. Vaughn.”
“I love you, Mr. Vaughn. Now go.”
I watch him leave, listening to the familiar sound of his steps down the stairs.
Twenty minutes later, I stand up to go get more water downstairs.
I make it two steps toward the doorway when a sharp pressure clamps around my stomach. A sudden, unmistakable splash of warm fluid soaks through my pajama pants, right onto the floor.
I really hope that’s not pee.
But the water continues running down my leg, so yep, my water broke.
The annoying braxton-hicks contractions immediately escalate into a whole event.
“Okay, it’s fine,” I gasp, clutching my belly as a wave rips through my lower back, my body telling me this is go time. “Just a little strategy change for the day.”
I walk over to the side of the bed and grab my phone from the nightstand, my hands shaking slightly as I dial Brody. It rings once before his voice fills the speaker.
“Hey, miss me alr—”
“Turn around,” I breathe, sitting on the edge of the mattress as another contraction hits. “Looks like our son is done waiting.”
“I’m on my way.”
We’ve been at the hospital for four hours now, and it all feels like a blur.
By the time we got to the private wing of the hospital, my contractions were coming every three minutes. Now, I’m usually great at maintaining my composure under pressure, but child labor is no joke.
The pain isn’t just physical, it’s like an all-consuming force tearing through my body stripping all logic and control from me.
“You’re doing incredible,” Brody’s voice is steady beside me.
He hasn’t left my side for a single second. He holds me up through every contraction, sweat dripping off his brow. And the grip I have on his hand would have broken a lesser man’s fingers. But he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
“I have to say. I’m not a fan of this,” I gasp, my vision blurring with sweat and tears as another contraction hits. I brace my upper body against the back of the hospital bed, my hand clutching his tightly. “Fuck me, this hurts.”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, his forehead coming down to rest against mine. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Lean into me.”
“She’s fully dilated,” Dr. Marsh announces from the end of the bed, her voice calm and efficient as the nurses prep my body. “Ellis, I need you to start pushing. On the next contraction, I need you to take a deep breath, chin to your chest, and push for ten seconds.”
“Can I get a minute?” I whimper, a wave of panic surging through me. “Brody…” I look up at him.
He leans over me, framing my face with his hands. His eyes lock onto mine with determination.
“Look at me, baby,” he commands, his voice rough. “You’re the strongest, fiercest, most brilliant woman on the face of this planet. You can do this. We’re going to meet our boy. Let’s do this together. You and me.”
A fresh tear slides down my cheek, his words hitting me right in the chest. I nod, squeezing his hand until my knuckles turn white. “Together.”
“Okay, Ellis, here it comes,” Dr. Marsh says. “Take your breath. Now.”
I draw in a ragged breath, tuck my chin, and push with every ounce of my strength.
The pressure is unimaginable. It feels like my hips are literally tearing apart, a hot ring of fire consuming my lower body. Brody pulls my upper back up off the pillows, supporting my neck with one arm while holding my knee back with the other, his voice calm and steady in my ear.
“That’s it! Keep going. Push, baby, push! Ten, nine, eight…good. Don’t let go. Three, two, one. Now rest.”
I collapse back against Brody, panting, my lungs feel like their burning as the contraction eases for a brief second. Brody presses a cup of ice chips to my dry lips and wipes the sweat from my forehead with a washcloth.
I continue pushing like this for what feels like hours, even though I know it hasn’t been that long. But I feel like I’m running a marathon that has no finish line.
“Okay, Ellis, he’s making his way down. A few more pushes. I can see a full head of thick dark hair,” the doctor says.
“He’s almost here,” Brody says against my temple. “Give me another good push, Princess.”
As another wave slams into me, I don’t wait. I grab Brody’s shoulder, pull myself up, and push with a primal sound that echoes in the room.
“Yes! That’s it. Don’t stop,” the doctor urges. “Brody, if you’d like to deliver your son, now is the time to get down here.”
Brody doesn’t hesitate. He drops a kiss to my head, then steps to the foot of the bed, his large frame towering over the medical team as they slide gloves on his hands. He looks completely steady, like he’s done this a thousand times, despite the raw emotion on his face.
A nurse replaces Brody and supports my back.
“One more big push, Ellis,” the doctor tells me. “Give it everything you have!”
I bear down with every single muscle in my core.
I feel a massive, sliding release, a sensation of relief, and then—
A sharp, shrill, furious cry echoes through the room.
“I got him!” Brody’s voice cracks. “Baby, I got him!”
I fall back onto the pillows, completely spent, trying to catch my breath. I lift my head, my vision clearing just in time to see my husband holding a tiny, slippery, brown-haired baby boy in his arms as naturally as if he’s holding a football.
His eyes are wide and brimming with unshed tears as the nurses pull down my gown and guide Brody to place the baby directly onto my bare chest.
The minute that my son lies on me, the rest of the world ceases to exist.
His loud cries soften into tiny squeaks against my skin. He shifts his small head, turning toward my voice as I try to soothe him.
“Oh,” I say, feeling the perfect beat of his heart against mine. “Oh, Brody…”
He sits on the side of the bed, burying his face into the side of my neck, his body shaking with quiet sobs. He lifts his head and presses his mouth against my temple, then reaches out a finger and places it under our son’s tiny hand.
The baby immediately wraps his hand around his finger, holding on with surprising strength.
“Brody,” Dr. Marsh says, smiling as she hands him the scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord?”
“Hell, yes.” Brody takes a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his forearm. He stands and leans over my body, and with steady hands, he cuts the umbilical cord.
He hands the scissors to the doctor and sits back down next to me.
“Look at him, Ellis,” Brody whispers, his voice thick with awe as he looks down at the tiny face resting on my chest. “He’s perfect. And look at all that hair.”
“He is absolutely perfect,” I choke out a laugh through my tears, looking up at my husband. “What are we going to name him?”
Brody leans down, pressing his lips to my forehead, then to our son’s soft head.
“Well, you keep bringing up the name Luke,” he says, voice proud. “So how about Luke Renwick Vaughn?”
I close my eyes, letting the name settle over my heart. “Luke Renwick Vaughn,” I repeat. “Welcome to the world.”