Epilogue
Maggie
M y chest heaved unbearably as I tried to catch my breath in the tack room of Jack Hennicke’s barn.
Correction: mine and Jack Hennicke’s barn.
His hands held my hips while his forehead rested on my t-shirt clad chest. My fingers rhythmically clutched his hair while the aftershocks of what we had just done ran through me.
The soft blonde strands between my fingertips mixed with the warm scent that was just him allowed me to settle deeper into this bubble that was just us.
I had been living on Cloud Nine with Jack ever since we had renewed our vows two months ago.
Despite me carrying an overdue, fully-grown baby, Jack was quick to initiate his suave charm and sexual desire to calm my waves of frustration.
He didn’t react to my overreaction to running out of leather conditioner when I had one bridle left to clean.
He simply lifted my chin so I could meet his lips and sat me between his legs on the utility cabinet in the tack room and fucked me senseless—or at least until my tears became ones of pleasure instead of anger.
Jack was the absolute last person I imagined myself in this position with.
Married. Living together at our place halfway across the country from where we grew up together.
Carrying a freaking baby and not having a stroke over it.
Well, at least not anymore. I was ecstatic about the man before me becoming a father to our child.
The man that would help me protect her at any cost. The man that would protect me at any cost.
God. Here I was bitching about running out of product while my husband coddled me in the most romantic way possible. In our barn. Putting up with my rollercoaster hormones time and time again.
As cliche as it sounded, there was nothing more perfect than this.
Us. The excitement to become parents was overwhelming and anticipatory, but it brought me the most joy I had ever felt.
Less than a year ago, I was completely clueless as to where my life was going.
The dream I had of becoming a professional player slowly morphed into the physical need to be a mother for my child.
The fear I had of Jack being an unworthy father was replaced by the thousands of small moments that proved how perfectly fit he was to care for our baby. Our girl.
I thought that every possibility of me feeling something romantic toward Jack were thrown out the window with teenage curiosity and childhood crushes, but the truth was, there had been something between us for as long as I could remember.
We grew up together. Distant friends or not, Jack knew me and I knew him.
It didn’t matter that things were fake in the beginning.
I was starting to realize that not much about any of this was a hoax, whether we believed it or not.
Jack offered to bring me to Wyoming. He promised that he would be there for every second of my pregnancy.
He vowed to do anything for us. For our family.
And the craziest part was, he followed through with flying colors.
The Jack I knew growing up was a completely different person, but still felt so familiar to me.
He had grown so much in the last nine months, but I still recognized him as mine. I always would.
I was inexplicably in love with the man before me and I would forever be thanking him for it. Hold him forever and tell him that–
“Oh, my god!” A massive rush of pain swept through my lower abdomen, completely unlike the pleasure that had overtaken me moments before.
Jack clutched at my forearms, eyes flooded with concern as they searched mine. I knew he was searching for a way to fix it. The way he always did.
I only held his gaze for a moment before bellowing over at the consistent pain that began to move lower in my abdomen. It was unlike anything I had felt before, and I knew it could only mean one thing.
It was happening.
“Baby,” Jack cupped my face as stray tears began run down my cheeks.
His thumbs rubbed back and forth in attempt to soothe me, but it only worked for a second before I squinted my eyes and pressed my forehead against his chest. God.
This felt awful. “Tell me how to make it okay. Tell me how to fix it.”
His voice was so gravelly. So protective.
I squeezed his shoulders—tight—as if it could subside the pain, but it was no use. I needed to use my words. “I–I think it’s happening.”
Jack pulled back in surprise and locked his eyes with mine. His eyebrows raised as if I was telling him the best news of his life. The terror I was afraid to catch in his eyes wasn’t there. It was hope. Excitement. Gratitude.
His hands moved down to mine and clutched them tightly. I could feel the anticipation buzzing between our skin. Electricity transferring from one being to another. It was utterly terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
The assurance in his eyes alleviated some of the anxiety building in my chest. And it truly hit me in this moment that these were our last moments as a family of two.
In just a few hours, we would have a little girl in our arms. She would probably be crying and uncontrollable, just like me, but she would be ours.
“Okay, baby. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
Jack
My wife is fucking incredible.
Strong, resilient, and so damn brave.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her throughout the entire drive to the hospital.
I kissed her cheek every time she cried in pain.
I held her hand when the nurse inserted and IV in her arm for her epidural.
I wouldn’t leave her side when the doctor told me to take a break and get some food while Maggie’s dilation stalled and she rested.
And when the doctor came in and told her it was time to start pushing, I braced myself to hear her cries that I couldn’t remedy.
I held her shoulders with a tight grip, squeezing harder every time she threw her head back into my neck.
I watched her shake her head in defiance when the doctor said, “One more push. Just one more, Maggie.” And with awe in my eyes, I watched as Maggie gasped in relief, heaving from the labor her body had just gone through.
“And…she’s here.” Dr. Lopez grinned as she slowly lifted the light of my fucking life.
My god, she was beautiful. A tiny little infant, but a breathtaking one nonetheless.
She had Maggie’s beautiful green eyes—exactly what I had hoped for.
I couldn’t make out the exact color of the flat, wet hair atop her head.
Her tiny hands curled into fists as she let out a cry and inhaled heavy breaths.
Her first breath. Her first moments. I never wanted to take my eyes off of her.
Never wanted to miss any of her firsts. She was so fucking perfect.
Turning to my wife, I realized she was hardly conscious.
Her eyes were half-lidded and a few weak sobs escaped her as she tried to catch her breath, but her fingers moved like they itched to touch her baby.
Our sweet girl that was only a few inches away in Doctor Lopez’s arms. I couldn’t help it, I reached down to cup her face in mine and press our foreheads together, whispering so only we could have this moment.
“She’s here, baby. You did it and I’m so fucking proud of you. ”
My voice was shaky…more vulnerable than I anticipated it to be. This precious moment in my life would never pass again, and the fragility of our little bubble was something even I couldn’t protect from the swirling tornado of emotions in my body.
Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded and attempted to blink them away. I rubbed my thumbs along her cheekbones and kissed her lightly. Her lungs were still desperate for oxygen. Trying to bring her back to reality after what just happened. “I love you, Jack. I always have.”
I was only a man. I couldn’t help the wetness building in my eyes at her words. And when the doctor stood, carefully offering her up, asking, “Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?”
Fuck. She called me Dad.
I had never been called that before, and now it was going to be a name I would hear on a daily basis. Dad . I never thought I would prefer another name so much besides my own. I gulped and vowed to wait until no one was in the room but Maggie and our daughter before I got overly emotional.
A nurse held out a metal clamp for me to take and my heart thumped at performing the first important undertaking for my girl.
What if I did it wrong? What if I hurt her?
How was I going to trust myself with these tasks when I’d never cared for a woman in my life besides Maggie and…
someone I had already pushed away? I felt Maggie’s hand clutch mine in a tight grip, as if she knew what was running through my mind.
This was all backwards. She was the one who had just had a baby.
I shouldn’t have been the person seeking comfort.
Nonetheless, her gesture gave me the confidence that—because she was there, because we were doing this together—I could do it.
I was capable of caring for my girls. No doubting.
Glancing between the doctor and the nurse, a flash of possessiveness ran over me that Maggie or I wasn’t the first person to hold her, but I quickly brushed it off.
Partly in graciousness towards Dr. Lopez for successfully and safely delivering the invaluable little human and partly because I knew it would only be Maggie and I for the next couple of weeks living inside our newborn bubble.
And then our family bubble. For the rest of our lives.
Carefully maneuvering so I could take the clamp from the nurse, I gripped the clamp and followed the nurse’s directions, hovering it right over the baby’s navel and snipping the skin.
It felt like I was going through the motions unconsciously.
As if everything going on was a fantastical dream that I would wake up from, alone in bed and realize none of this was real.
But as I gazed down at the perfect infant, watching another nurse swaddle her in a soft pink blanket, I knew that this was the most real thing in my life.
A day I would keep reliving until my dying breath.
The nurse stood and brought our baby to Maggie’s side, who quickly snapped from her daze of simply observing everything to indulge in her first moment with her child.
The way those perfect emerald eyes opened up when she gazed down at her perfect creation nearly brought me to my knees.
The sight of these two girls together— my two girls together brought me to realize that there was nothing, nothing that I wouldn’t do to protect them.
To keep them safe and happy and loved and laughing for as long as they could remember.
I may not have known what to do with women other than give them a night to remember and leave them back when, but I knew exactly what my reason for life was now.
My family.
My fucking life.
A sob escaped my wife and she ran her fingers across…Anya’s…soft head. She trembled, touching our daughter. Her bottom lip quivered as she met my eyes, silently begging me to come closer and look at our girl. I did. No questions asked.
My legs carried me the short few steps that it took to crouch at her bedside and lean my chin on her shoulder.
I wanted the exact same view as her. I didn’t want to miss a single shadow she observed, a single movement, a single cry.
We both just stared at her what felt like hours.
Committing to memory every curve and and indent in her face.
Every hair on her head. Every tear-coated lash.
God, she was beautiful. So much like her mother.
I would be fighting off teenage boys before this girl was even interested.
“Anya,” Maggie whispered so daintily. The word sounded so precious on her lips.
My mind was rattled and jumbled, only able to hear and see selectively. And right now, it was hearing and seeing two people. There wasn’t room for anything else.
“Anya,” I repeated. The name sounded different on my tongue now that she was really here .
This wasn’t a pretty word we picked out because it was cute, or unique.
It was the name of our daughter. After looking up its meaning, I was absolutely sure that it was the perfect name to call her.
Grace and inspiration to live with graciousness, it fully represented each step Maggie and I took on our journey to her. “It’s perfect.”
My wife looked up at me, those perfect green eyes mixing with her warm honey scent, engulfing me under her gaze.
I traced the curve of her lips and the contour of her cheekbones, just like I did before I kissed her for the first time when we were sixteen.
I looked at her and wished for that same view for the rest of my life.
Now, it was mine.
She was mine.
Not only that, but she had given me two of the most precious gifts of my life.
Herself and our perfect daughter. Our perfect Anya.
The girl we would spend forever worrying about and likely come off as protective and crazy and overbearing.
The girl who would never question if was loved. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Maggie…” I breathed, taking her in for the millionth time and the first all at once. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Her exhausted face still looked inquisitive, always so interested and caring about what I would say next. Always caring for me. Showing love in even the simplest of gestures.
“For everything.”