43. Clay #2
Her eyes find mine. Her guard slips, and I finally see the fear she's been hiding.
I cup her face. “Hey.”
She swallows. “Hey.”
“You listen to me, okay?”
She gives a tiny nod.
“You’re Josephine Wright,” I tell her, because somehow that feels like the only thing that matters. “You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met, and the toughest by a country mile.”
A weak laugh breaks out of her.
The nurse smiles.
“You built a life here by yourself. You carried our babies when everything was uncertain. You gave me a chance when I didn’t deserve one yet.” Her eyes fill. “So don’t you dare tell me you can’t do this, Doc.”
The contraction comes hard.
She bears down. The whole room moves with her. I don’t know how long it lasts. Time breaks apart into pieces, the doctor's count, Josie's cry, the monitor's rapid pulse.
My own voice saying things I barely remember.
You’re doing it.
I’m here.
I love you.
That’s it, baby.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Then, suddenly, the doctor says, “One more good push for baby A.”
Josie sobs once, raw and furious, and gives everything she has. And then the world changes. A cry cuts through the room.
My heart stops.
For one suspended second, I don’t understand what I’m hearing.
Then the doctor lifts him, small and wet and furious beneath the bright lights, and I forget every word I’ve ever known.
Josie makes a sound beside me that I’ll remember until I die.
“There he is,” someone says. “A baby boy.”
A nurse moves fast, and then he’s on Josie’s chest, tiny mouth open, fists curled tight like he’s already annoyed with the world.
He has dark hair. A little of it. Enough that my knees almost give out.
I touch him with one finger, barely brave enough.
I start crying before I realize it.
Josie looks at me, crying too, and laughs softly. “Clay.”
“I know.”
“You’re crying.”
“So are you.”
She laughs again, exhausted and beautiful, and for a few shining seconds I think the worst is over.
I think we made it.
Then the doctor says, “Okay. We still have baby B.”
The nurse takes our first son to be checked, promising he’s fine, promising he’s right there, but my hand tightens around Josie’s automatically.
Because suddenly I understand. We are only halfway through.
Josie understands too.
Her face pales.
“I’m tired,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“No, Clay.” Her voice breaks this time. “I’m really tired.”
The monitor changes. Every face in the room turns toward it for half a second too long.
The doctor moves closer.
“Baby B’s heart rate dipped a little. It came back up, but we’re going to keep working, okay?”
Keep working.
The phrase sounds simple, but it’s not.
Josie’s eyes close, and her whole body trembles.
I have never hated my own helplessness more.
I would take every second of this for her if I could. Every ounce of pain. Every bit of fear.
But I can’t.
All I can do is stand there and be the man I promised I’d become.
The next contraction comes.
I feel her try, but she’s exhausted.
The doctor’s voice stays steady, encouraging, but the room has gone too focused. Too controlled. “Again, Josephine. We need another push.”
“I can’t.”
The words come out ragged, nothing like the woman I know.
Something in my chest cracks.
She shakes her head, tears slipping into her hair. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”
I freeze.
Because Josie doesn’t say that. She doesn’t say can’t. Not about work, about life. Not about me. Not about anything.
Then I move in close.
Close enough that she has to see me.
“Look at me.” Her eyes stay squeezed shut. “Josie.” She sobs. “Look at me, baby.”
Her eyes open.
They’re wild with pain and fear and exhaustion.
I cup her face with both hands. “You remember the barn?”
Confusion flickers. “What?”
“The cribs,” I say, voice thick. “You remember when you saw them?”
Another contraction starts building. I can see it take her. “Clay—”
“You asked if I really built them, and I told you I did. And I meant it then, but I mean it more now.” My voice breaks, and I don’t care. “I built them because I knew they were coming home. Both of them.”
She cries harder.
“Both of them, Josie.”
The doctor says something behind me, but I don’t look away from her.
“You hear me? Our babies are coming home. You’re coming home. We are all going home.”
Her breath hitches.
“You don’t get to quit on me now, Doc.” I press my forehead to hers. “Not when we’re almost there.”
For a second, I think it won’t be enough.
Then her hand clamps around mine. Harder than before. Harder than anything.
The contraction peaks.
Josie screams.
And pushes.
The whole room snaps into motion again.
“That’s it,” the doctor says. “That’s it, Josephine. Again.”
She pushes again.
I’m crying openly now, saying her name, telling her I love her, telling her she can do it because I don’t know what else to give her.
Then the sound comes.
Another cry.
Relief hits me so hard I nearly buckle.
The room exhales all at once.
The doctor smiles. “There he is. Another boy.”
Josie sobs.
I laugh.
Or cry.
Or maybe both.
I don’t know anymore.
I only know that both boys are here.
Afterward, the hard edges of the room begin to ease.
The lights dim, the rain eases against the window, and the room empties little by little until the chaos fades into a hush broken only by tiny newborn sounds and Josie’s tired breathing.
Henry is wrapped in a blue blanket in my arms.
Theodore is tucked against Josie’s chest, his tiny cheek pressed to her skin like he already knows exactly where he belongs.
Henry has my temper.
I can tell.
He keeps making angry little faces in his sleep, his mouth puckering as if he has complaints but is too tired to file them properly.
Theodore is quieter, but not calmer. He watches the world through barely open eyes, suspicious as hell.
Josie says they both get that from me.
She’s probably right.
I sit beside her bed with our son in my arms and feel my entire life settle into place.
Josie looks over at me, exhausted beyond words and still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“What?” she whispers.
“Henry James McCoy,” I say softly.
Josie smiles. “Theodore Clay McCoy.”
My eyes lift.
We’d debated that middle name.
I said no at least fifteen times.
Josie ignored me every single time.
“I still think that’s too much pressure for the kid,” I say.
“He’ll survive.”
“He might inherit my bad decision-making.”
“He has me too.”
“That’s his saving grace.”
Her smile trembles.
My jacket hangs over the chair near the door.
The ring is in the pocket.
It’s been there for weeks. Through dinners, doctor appointments, late-night drives.
I meant to plan a proper proposal.
Maybe at the house or at the lake. Maybe somewhere with candles and flowers and no hospital socks involved.
But watching Josie now, with Theodore asleep against her and Henry warm in my arms, I realize I don’t want perfect. I want real.
And nothing in my life has ever been more real than this.
Carefully, I stand.
Josie notices immediately. “What are you doing?”
I shift Henry against my chest and reach into my jacket pocket with my free hand.
The small box feels impossibly heavy.
Josie’s eyes widen. “Clay.”
I come back to the bed and sit on the edge carefully, close enough that Henry’s blanket brushes Theodore’s.
Our sons between us.
Our whole world.
“I had a whole speech,” I say.
Her eyes fill. “Did you?”
“Several versions.”
I open the box.
The ring catches the low hospital light. Simple, beautiful, and unmistakably hers.
Josie covers her mouth with one hand.
I take a breath, but it shakes on the way in.
“I spent most of my life thinking home was a place I could leave.” Her tears spill over.
“I thought if I kept moving, I’d eventually find whatever it was everyone else seemed to have.
Something that made them steady. Something that made them sure.
” I glance down at Henry, then at Theodore.
Then back at her. “I found it with you.”
Her face crumples.
“You gave me a reason to stay before I even knew how to do it. You gave me sons. You gave me a future. And you gave me a chance to become the man I always wanted to be but never believed I could.”
My voice breaks.
I let it.
“I love your stubborn streak. I love the way you keep going when you're scared. I even love that look you get when you're pretending you're fine and fooling absolutely nobody.”
She laughs through tears.
“I love the life we’re building. I love our boys. I love our house. I love that I get to wake up every morning and know exactly where I belong.”
I take the ring from the box.
“So marry me, Josie.”
Her lips part.
I smile through the tears blurring my vision.
“Not because of the boys. Not because it’s expected. Not because it makes sense on paper, although I know you love when things make sense on paper.”
She cries harder.
“Marry me because I’m yours. Because you’re mine. Because I don’t want to spend one more day pretending there’s any future for me that doesn’t have you in it.”
The room is silent except for the tiny sound Theodore makes against her chest.
Josie looks at me.
“Yes,” she whispers.
My heart stops. Then kicks back to life in a way that feels brand new. “Yeah?”
She laughs, breathless and wrecked and beautiful. “Yes, you idiot.”
I slide the ring onto her finger with shaking hands.
It fits.
Of course it does.
Some things are meant to.
Then I lean forward and kiss her carefully over the space where our sons sleep between us.
It isn’t the wild kind of kiss that started all of this. It isn’t heat and recklessness and a bad decision made in the dark. It’s softer than that.
Deeper.
A promise instead of a spark.
When I pull back, Josie rests her forehead against mine.
Henry gives a sudden offended squeak.
Theodore immediately answers with one of his own.
We both look down.
Then we look at each other.
Josie starts laughing.
I do too.