Epilogue
JACK
W atching Sloane’s stomach grow with our child has been one of the most exciting things I’ve ever witnessed. I mark every new inch, every new stretchmark—which she tells me is not as bad as last time with the way I like to rub her belly down with oils. Every little change intrigues me.
Whether the baby is mine, genetically, or not, I never knew I found pregnant women so alluring. Or maybe it’s just Sloane.
She leans back against the arm of the couch, propped on the pillows I stuffed behind her. Her hands are wrapped around the underside of her pronounced belly, and her eyes close as I dig my thumb into the arch of her left foot.
God, the moan she gives me should not stir my cock the way it does.
Our girl should be on bedrest with these swollen feet and ankles, but it’s impossible to keep her off them. Even with the three of us waiting on her, she can’t seem to sit still for very long.
I pop her toes, and she sucks a sharp breath in through her teeth.
The next groan is not one of pleasure. Her hand presses against the side of her swollen belly, a foot pushing hard against where she’s holding herself.
“Oh, this guy is going to be the end of me. I have to pee again.” She wriggles a little bit, trying to sit up without much luck.
I slip from under her legs, twist her around, and help her to her feet with a small laugh.
Her hand slaps against my chest in a weak admonishment. “You’ve enjoyed having me helpless far too much.”
I lean down and plant a small kiss on her sweet, soft mouth. “I like being helpful. Needed.”
“Mmm. Don’t worry, you’re going to get more than you bargained for the moment this baby is out here in the world instead of hosting a full-on rebellion inside me.”
My laugh makes her pout, but it’s playful. I steal another kiss before I help her waddle to the bathroom. She still won’t let me in with her, claiming not to be a complete invalid yet.
I hover by the door as I wait. I don’t like being too far from her in case she needs me. Overbearing, I know, but I simply can’t help myself. My natural inclination to protect has doubled—tripled—with my feelings for Sloane.
The thought of anything happening to her is unfathomable.
A flush has me at attention again, and by the time she opens the door, she’s breathing hard. One hand braces the door frame as she curls in on herself a little, the other hand cupping her pregnant belly as her chest heaves.
I brush the hair from her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, shit,” Sloane bites out, and wetness spreads across her sweats. “Oh, shit.”
I gather her by the elbows as she looks at me with a wild mix of fear and determination.
Leaning back, I yell up the stairs. “Go time. Bring down some fresh sweats.”
Sloane’s working through her breaths, one of the patterns we were taught in Lamaze class.
Hastings comes thundering down the stairs, panic bright in his eyes as he spots Sloane and the giant wet spot on her sweats, a new pair in his hand. I send him a stern look, and he puts himself back together in a blink.
“Cole is already downstairs,” he says, taking Sloane’s other elbow as we steer her toward the basement.
A giant wooden tub sits in the middle of the concrete floor, the scent of freshly cut wood wafting through the space. Water is running, filling the tub in a steady gush. He’s far calmer than Hastings, but then, he’s been through this before.
Even though we’ve all been trained and registered as midwives to be able to do this at home, worry has rooted itself too deeply to carve out. Cole nods, flipping a switch that will help heat up the water for her to be more comfortable.
Sloane wants a water birth, and we want to give her everything she’s ever wanted. It makes decisions rather easy most of the time.
I help get her sweats and underwear off, but she bats my hand away when I reach to remove the T-shirt. “Just… help me in.”
I have to wait as a contraction doubles her over. Her jaw tight, teeth clenched, she barely grunts before she slowly straightens again and I’m able to help her climb into the tub.
We take care of her while we wait, rotating being the one beside her, holding her hand and breathing with her. The best we can do is provide support and calmness until the baby comes.
And when he does, I’m completely in awe of the little guy. Cole cleans him up and tucks him in a soft towel before he hands the baby over to Sloane. Her eyes are dreamy and tired, but she looks down at him like he’s the most amazing thing in the world.
She’s right. Well, the sight of them both, together, makes the world feel complete at last.
We all stand around her for a moment, watching our woman and our baby bonding. His little hand wraps around her finger as she coos at him.
When she’s ready, Cole takes the little guy back as Hastings and I gather Sloane up out of the water. I lift her in my arms to carry her upstairs for a proper shower. Hastings gets it ready, and I step into the tub without a care for my clothes.
It’s a quick job, cleaning her up and drying her off. With the two of us, it’s easier to manage, and I strip out of my clothes to put on my own sweats as Hastings carries her back downstairs to the couch where Cole is waiting for us.
Sloane settles down with our babe, feeding him and rocking him against her.
God, I never thought I could feel this way. But I’m full of such overwhelming gratitude that she’s a part of our lives. That I get to call her mine.
I brush her light auburn hair from her glimmering eyes and plant a kiss on her forehead, murmuring, “You’re the strongest person I know, and this kid? He’ll have all of us. Always.”