39. Roman
ROMAN
Drip, drip, drip.
A groan leaves me as I turn over in the huge bed, burying my face deeper into the ridiculously soft pillows Fae insisted we needed even though there are approximately nine hundred of them and I still don’t understand the difference between “decorative” cushions and normal ones.
Early morning light spills through the curtains whilst warm sheets wrap around my body.
I lie there half-asleep thinking about the fact we’re officially three days away from our due date.
Three fucking days.
My son could quite literally arrive at any moment now and every time I think about it, I feel equal parts excitement and complete fucking terror.
Drip, drip, drip.
I reach lazily across the bed toward Fae’s side only to find cold empty sheets instead.
A frown immediately pulls at my face as my hand searches again before my eyes crack open slightly.
Strange. Fae barely sleeps anymore at this point in the pregnancy, but when she does manage it, she clings onto me like I’m a human body pillow.
A tired smile tugs at my mouth as I stare at the ceiling.
Mum would’ve absolutely loved this stage.
She would’ve been unbearable about it too.
There’d already be three more knitted blankets in the nursery and she probably would’ve bullied me into assembling something unnecessarily complicated whilst pretending not to laugh at me struggling.
Drip, drip, drip.
The sound finally cuts through the sleep fog in my brain enough that I sit up slightly. My eyes scan the bedroom slowly before landing on the open bathroom door across the room.
“Fae?” I call out hoarsely.
A weird feeling twists in my stomach as I drag myself out of bed and walk toward the bathroom still half asleep.
Drip, drip, drip.
The second I walk through the doorway, I realise where the sound is coming from.
Water spills steadily down Fae’s bare legs onto the tiled floor beneath her whilst she braces herself against the bathroom sink breathing heavily.
Her eyes lift toward mine slowly and my entire brain disconnects from reality.
Holy fucking shit.
“Oh my God, you’re having the baby,” I gasp, taking steps towards her.
“I know,” she deadpans.
“No, like right now, Fae. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you were sleeping…”
“Okay. Okay, fuck.” I drag both hands down my face before immediately pacing across the bathroom. “The baby is coming.”
“I kno—” she’s cut off when a pained sound leaves her as a contraction suddenly hits.
Fae doubles slightly over the sink as panic detonates inside my chest. I cross the bathroom in about five steps before immediately starting to rub large circles against her lower back.
Her shoulders practically climb to her ears whilst she breathes through the contraction, and I genuinely don’t know where to look or what to do first. My brain is screaming at me to fix it, but I can’t fix labour.
A broken groan leaves her as another wave of pain seems to tear through her body and my stomach spins. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the sink hard enough that her knuckles turn white whilst she squeezes her eyes shut and breathes through it.
“Don’t hurt your mummy,” I bark as my heart pounds in my chest
She starts laughing.
But this isn’t fucking funny. I’m not meant to be angry at my son before he even arrives, right? How do other people cope with this? Because nobody, and I mean nobody, is allowed to hurt her and right now she’s bent over in pain whilst I stand here completely fucking useless.
Another contraction suddenly crashes through her hard enough that the laughter dies instantly. Fae’s breathing stutters as she squeezes my forearm with surprising strength before bowing her head against the mirror.
“Okay nope,” I shake my head aggressively whilst rubbing her back faster. “I’ve changed my mind. We’re getting the epidural.”
“We?” she chuckles through the pain.
“Yes, we,” I hiss as I stare at her wide-eyed in the mirror and she shakes her head.
“Okay,” I breathe in deeply. “Okay, let’s stay calm.”
The contraction must ease slightly because she finally manages to straighten back up.
Her head tips against my shoulder as she looks up at me with so much love in her eyes that it almost knocks the air from my lungs.
Her hair is messy from sleep, water still dripping slowly down her bare legs onto the tiles beneath us and somehow, she still looks like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.
“Are you telling me that or you?” she mumbles weakly.
“I can’t answer that question with good conscience.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you know I don’t lie.”
Her laugh cuts off sharply as another contraction hits and every molecule of humour immediately evaporates from my body.
“Oh fuck, nope, we’re done laughing now.”
I stay wrapped around her whilst the contraction works its way through her body, rubbing slow circles against her back and whispering complete fucking nonsense into her hair because I genuinely don’t know what else to do.
Eventually her breathing starts evening out again and some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
The second she nods weakly to let me know it’s passed, I move.
“Okay,” I say quickly. “Right. Hospital. Baby. We’ve got this.”
She snorts tiredly whilst I immediately start ushering her back into the bedroom like we’re in some kind of emergency evacuation drill.
I help her sit on the edge of the bed before crouching in front of her and pulling fluffy socks onto her feet with shaking hands.
Then comes leggings, one of my hoodies because apparently none of her own clothes are “comfortable enough” anymore and finally her coat whilst I mutter to myself trying to remember if we actually packed everything we need.
“Roman,” she laughs softly as I nearly trip over the baby bag. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“I can physically hear you panicking.”
Another contraction suddenly stops her halfway through standing and I’m immediately back at her side.
She folds into me with a broken groan whilst I hold her upright in the middle of the bedroom, one hand supporting her bump and the other rubbing firmly against her back as she breathes through the pain against my chest.
The second it passes, we finally make it downstairs.
Slowly. Very fucking slowly. Every few steps she has to stop.
By the time we reach the front door, I’m pretty sure I’ve aged at least twelve years.
I help her into the passenger seat before rushing around to throw the baby bag into the back of the car.
My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop my phone whilst trying to unlock it.
Roman:
Fae’s in labour. We’re going to the hospital now.
The replies come through almost instantly.
Riggs:
OH MY FUCKING GOD
Riggs:
THE BABY IS ESCAPING
Victor:
Drive safely. Keep us updated.
Atlas:
I already checked traffic. Avoid the A12.
Robyn:
OH MY GOD?????
Robyn:
IS SHE OKAY???
Robyn:
IM CRYING. TELL HER I LOVE HER.
Felix:
She’s got this.
Riggs:
WAIT
Riggs:
DOES THIS MEAN IM ABOUT TO BECOME A UILF
Felix:
What the fuck is a UILF
Riggs:
Uncle I’d like to fuck…
Riggs:
Duh.
Roman:
I will kill you before he’s even born.
Riggs:
okay but like lovingly right
Atlas:
Statistically speaking, threatening homicide whilst driving increases collision risk.
Roman:
Shut the fuck up, Atlas.
Victor:
Focus on the road.
Riggs:
Tell Fae if she dies, I’m going with her because Roman will definitely kill us all.
Robyn:
RIGGS???
Felix:
Maybe don’t mention death whilst she’s actively giving birth.
Riggs:
oops, sorry
Riggs:
TELL HER SHES GONNA DO AMAZING
Riggs:
ALSO TELL THE BABY HIS FAVOURITE UNCLE SAYS HURRY UP
Roman:
He doesn’t have a favourite uncle.
Riggs:
yet
Fae laughs weakly beside me before another contraction hits hard enough that her hand clamps around the door handle.
I can feel every bit of blood drain out of my body as I throw the car into drive.
The journey to the hospital is quite possibly the most stressful experience of my entire fucking life.
Every red light feels personal. Every slow driver in front of me feels like an enemy of the state.
Fae keeps trying to tell me to calm down whilst I grip the steering wheel hard enough that I’m half convinced I’m going to rip the leather straight off it.
“Roman,” she breathes through another contraction. “You’re speeding.”
“Our son is trying to exit your body,” I snap. “I think this is an acceptable exception.”
She laughs again before immediately groaning and clutching her stomach harder.
The sound punches straight through my chest. By the time we reach the hospital, I’m running entirely on adrenaline.
I swing the car directly into the ambulance bay and slam the brakes hard enough that a porter immediately starts marching toward us looking furious.
“You can’t park there—”
“My wife is in labour,” I bark whilst already climbing out the car. “Unless you want this baby delivered in your fucking car park, I suggest you move.”
The poor bloke blinks at me whilst Fae covers her face in the passenger seat.
“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You’re actually feral.”
“I’m stressed.”
“You can’t just threaten people like that.”
“I can and I’ll do it again.”