52 - Archer and Arrow
Cordelia
The birth was a rollercoaster from start to finish. I heard him cry. My baby boy's voice. The most beautiful sound, evoking a storm of emotions, crashing through me like a tidal wave. One by one.
All I want in that moment is to hold him, touch him, and inhale his newborn scent.
Nothing. Else. Matters.
So, when the male midwife carries him from the room, crying, with his little feet and arms waving in the air, I become hysterical. My wide eyes find my fiancés, his equally distraught, despite trying his hardest to hide it from me. I part my lips to speak but can't form words.
“Don’t worry sweetie,” Lydia smiles, with a gentle pat on my arm. “They just want to check him over properly.”
Logan grips my hand as tightly as I do his. With gentle fingers, he tucks a strand of damp hair behind my ear and leans in to kiss me on the cheek.
“It’s ok,” he whispers. “You did it, my love.”
I can't stop my panicked gaze flitting between him and the open door, as what feels like an eternity passes by. The burn between my thighs that I’d temporarily forgotten, returns tenfold.
The overwhelming exhaustion clouds my vision like smog.
And as time passes, tears spill onto the stained sheets— both mine and Logan's.
Just as I’m about to descend into a full-blown panic attack, the midwife strolls back in, stealing the breath from my lungs. If our fingers weren't intertwined, I’m sure Logan would have wrestled our son from his arms.
“Congratulations,” he says. “You have a healthy baby boy.”
He places the tiny human on my chest, squiggling and covered in bodily fluids. I don't care. AlI I can do is stare. Besotted by his big, bright blue eyes.
Exactly like his papas.
I'm royally screwed. When he’s older, he’s going to use those against me for sure.
Logan kisses me again, stroking over our little boy's fluffy head of hair. I offer my little finger, and he grips it in his chubby hand with strength that shouldn't be possible for a newborn.
“I am so fucking proud of you.”
Logan’s soft voice has me dragging my eyes away to him. I’ve never seen him smile so wide. I nod.
“Jaxon,” I say.
The name we’d decided on together.
“Jaxon Arrow Cox.”
The middle name is after his papa. Archer and Arrow.
“I think baby Jaxon is hungry.” I'd completely forgotten Lydia was still in the room. My cheeks flush with heat, but Lydia’s smile is warm as she readjusts her black rimmed glasses. “Are you wanting to try and breastfeed?”
I nod. My gaze drops to Jaxon, wriggling on my chest, attempting to crawl and making sucking motions with his lips. Like the cutest little fish out of water. Lydia talks me through the process, getting him to latch on—which the greedy little thing does with ease.
Definitely Logan’s: already food obsessed.
The sensation isn't what I expected at all. The gentle tugging as he feeds isn’t painful, it’s relaxing even. And the skin-on-skin contact, with his wet lips brushing against my own makes the bond between us unbreakable.
Once Lydia is happy Jaxon and I are comfortable, she cleans me up down below—which I grit my teeth through, helps me back into fresh maternity underwear and leaves us to enjoy the surreal, but magical time as a new family.
Logan watches me with a lazy smile on his face, elbow resting on the bedside table and chin in his hand. He taps his finger against his lips, still staggering over the reality of our baby being here. In my arms.
“Did you want to hold him?”
The smile on his lips widens. “No rush,” he says. “He’s still guzzling down that yummy milk.” With a coy smile, he leans in and for the first time the scent of blood mixed with his cologne hits me. “You can have them temporarily, kid, but just remember they're mine.”
He throws a boyish wink my way. But as the reminder of what went down tonight comes rallying back in full force, my smile morphs into a frown.
“You look awful,” I comment, eyes taking in the dried blood clinging to his clothes and smeared across his skin. “What happened?”
Logan scoffs and taps my nose with the gentlest of touch. “Thank you, my darling. You, however, look positively radiant.”
“Ignoring my question completely I see.”
He sucks in a lungful of air, straightening up in the chair. “Not tonight, sweetheart. We have much more important things to concentrate on.”
I nod slowly. He’s right. Tonight isn’t the time to be dwelling on what’s been done, regardless of the ache deep in my bones.
I try to readjust myself, only to be hit with the harsh reminder that I just delivered a human through my vagina and that’s not going to be an overnight quick fix.
Hissing through my teeth I can’t help but produce a dry laugh.
Here I am, covered in blood, and various other bodily fluids.
My forehead so saturated I could fry an egg on it, hair a stringy mess, no makeup to hide the purple bags under my eyes from severe lack of sleep.
“You need to get your eyes tested. Me? Attractive? Right now?”
He’s busy stroking Jaxon’s ash toned hair, probably as mesmerised as me by its wispy softness. “You always look gorgeous, vixen. Every time I see you, I fall for you all over again.”
I peel my eyes away from Jaxon to raise my eyebrows. “You still look like shit,” I deadpan. “Maybe try and clean yourself up a bit?”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel special,” he scoffs, blue eyes wide but unable to hide the evidence of shock that gripped us both in a chokehold tonight.
I laugh, the jostling a punch to my stomach. I wince.
“Stop making me laugh. It hurts.” Even as I say the words I can't suppress the giggle. “I’m not used to seeing you this…” I gesture with my free hand up and down his body, “dishevelled.”
Logan stands, stretching his arms to the ceiling with a yawn. Has he really got the audacity to be tired? He’s not just pushed a 7lb human out of his vagina. Yawns are infectious, and I’m soon mirroring him, as the reality of my exhaustion finally kicks in.
“I’ll be two minutes,” he says, near enough running out the door.
I watch Jaxon through hooded eyes, completely content listening to the quiet suckling noises. My eyelids fall heavy. My muscles slowly sag, and I'm on the very edge of consciousness when two familiar men come crashing into the room.
“Congratulations, Bella,” Ezio beams through a curtain of unruly curls.
He strides over to wrap his arms around me in a bear hug, his clean fragrance enveloping the air.
And I find myself tearing up again because it overpowers Jaxon’s soft, delicate scent.
Clarke grabs a plastic chair and drags it over.
He nods, the grin on his face giving away his emotions.
It seems misplaced—usually he’s only happy when he's mocking people.
“Thanks,” I offer a small barely there smile back.
“Where’s daddy?” Clarke pipes up, dark eyes scanning the room around him.
“Here. And if you don't want me to pluck your eyeballs from your skulls for looking at my Mrs’s tits, you'll leave.”
As one we turn to where Logan’s appeared in the open doorway, propping a hip against the wood. He’s managed to scrub off some of the blood that was decorating his olive skin. The gym shorts and t-shirt hugging his body are still stained crimson but it's an improvement.
“We’re not ogling her tits, amigo,” Ezio laughs, rolling his eyes.
He stands, stretching his arms towards his friend for a bro hug.
But Logan keeps his arms crossed over his chest, brows furrowed guardedly.
Ezio hugs him anyway. “Can I remind you I did just nearly get sent down for speeding about fifty miles over the limit?
I'd like to meet the one who was responsible,” his eyes are gleaming with mischief. “Also. You owe me a valet,” he adds.
“Ez, I'm so sorry,” I gush, imagining the clean-up bill for the whole bodily fluids in his car situation.
“Not you, silly girl,” he chuckles, then adds “Poor kid looks exactly like his dad.”
Clarke scoffs. “Even down to the matching blood stains.”
Logan grunts, clearly getting irritated. “You’ve seen him. Now fuck off.”
Clarke rises from his seat, and with the urgency of a librarian saunters over to where Logan stands at the foot of my bed. Without warning he jerks his arm backwards, cracking him in the nuts. Logan pales, air whooshing from his lungs.
“What the fuck?” he spits bending at the waist.
Clarke's lips curl as he slaps him on the back, like he’s trying to burp an oversized baby.
“Just checking you’re still intact. You’re sounding like a bloody woman in heat. Congratulations by the way. For the end of your life as you know it.” He directs a wink at us both and my lips twitch with the overwhelming urge to smile.
“Out.” Logan’s demand echoes through the space, punctuated by a sharp finger directed at the door.
Rolling his eyes skyward, Ezio jerks Clarke at the collar, manhandling him over to the exit.
“Give us a call if you need anything,” he shouts over his shoulder, before disappearing into the corridor.
Shortly after the boys left, I found myself succumbing to the overwhelming pull of sleep.
Exhaustion pummelling me from every angle, and try as I might to fight the inevitable, darkness soon engulfed my vision.
I couldn't take my eyes off my little boy, my baby, my absolute world–I already loved him more than I could imagine.
But falling asleep took the decision from my hands.
Somewhere between consciousness and reality, my eyelids flutter open just a fraction.
If it's nothing but a dream, it’s the most flawless depiction of beauty, captured better than any lens could.
The sight that unfurls beneath the dimmed lights sparks a giddiness, as the dopamine rushes straight to my brain.
My husband-to-be, cradling our little boy within his strong embrace, like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever set his eyes on.
Singing. Humming a melody so soft, so captivating that it steals the very breath from my lungs.
Jaxon punches the air with his tiny fists, trying to catch a hold of Logan’s overgrown stubble.
Daddy grins, this huge goofy thing dripping with devotion.
He boops Jaxon’s tiny nose, just like he does to me, and the warmth of his fingertips ghost my skin.
The moment is serene, charged with a love so pure between father and son.
And mon dieu. I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.