Chapter 36
MAX
Isla
We barrel through the sliding glass doors of the maternity wing like a rock band on a bender—which, to be fair, is not far off. Only this time, the lead singer’s very pregnant girlfriend is gripping my arm and breathing like a Navy SEAL preparing for combat.
Nora’s clutching her side and muttering, “They better have the epidural cart on wheels.”
Behind us, the band fans out like we’re about to headline Madison Square Garden.
“Excuse me!” Annie flags down a nurse like she’s ordering a drink. “We have a laboring goddess here and no time for paperwork.”
The nurse blinks at us, clearly deciding whether we’re a support group or an improv troupe gone rogue.
“Who’s the father?” she asks.
Everyone points at once.“Him!”“Max Donovan!”“The sweaty one with the wild eyes!”
I raise a hand. “Hi. Max. Very involved. Possibly hyperventilating.”
“Come with me,” she says calmly, ushering Nora and me toward triage. “The rest of you can wait in the lobby.”
You’d think she just banned them from Disneyland.
“What?” Lucas sputters. “You’re not letting the rest of the band in?”
“I have a calming presence,” DeShawn insists. “Look at this face. Doesn’t it say doula?”
“I brought snacks!” Lucas protests, holding up a crushed granola bar like it's his ticket in.
“Hospital policy,” the nurse says. “One support person.”
“Guys,” I say, turning back while trying not to trip over my own feet, “I love you, but if anyone tries to sneak in, Nora will end you.”
Nora, mid-contraction, manages to growl, “Try me.”
They all freeze.
“Fair,” Annie whispers. “Deeply fair.”
“She’s so radiant when she’s terrifying,” Lucas murmurs.
“I’m crying and I don’t know why,” Dehsawn adds.
“We’ll be here,” Annie says, suddenly serious. “Go bring the baby into the world, Rockstar Dad.”
I give them a nod. One part gratitude, one part adrenaline spike. Then I follow Nora down the hallway.
Her grip tightens on my hand.
“This is really happening,” she says through gritted teeth.
“I know,” I whisper. “And we’ve got this. You’ve got this.”
She looks at me like I’m the only solid thing in the universe.
And then she squeezes again. Hard.
“…Maybe you’ve got this slightly more than I do,” I wheeze.
We’re directed to a hospital bed and Nora lies down, hair wild around her face, fingers clenched around mine like she’s trying to snap bones.
The nurses do their thing and hook her up to monitor the fetal heart rate and contractions.
“I hate you,” Nora pants, sweat glistening on her brow.
“Totally fair,” I breathe. “Hate away.”
She groans through another contraction, whole body arching off the bed.
The nurse checks the monitor. “That was a strong one. You’re doing great.”
Nora narrows her eyes like she might actually throw the nurse across the room.
Another contraction hits.
I try to count. Breathe with her. Be her calm. But nothing in life—nothing—prepared me for watching someone you love fight pain like this. It’s primal. Terrifying. Holy.
She’s a force of nature.
The doctor walks in, all calm efficiency. “How are we feeling?”
“Like I’m being cracked in half,” Nora growls.
“Good,” he says cheerfully. “That means it’s working.”
She glares at him. “You’re lucky I’m attached to machines.”
I gently brush a damp curl off her forehead, my thumb lingering there. “You’re doing amazing.”
“I look like a swamp witch.”
“You look like a goddess who’s about to bring our baby into the world.”
Her lips twitch. Almost a smile.
Another contraction hits. She lets out a guttural moan, and I squeeze her hand, whispering whatever nonsense I can think of.
“You’re strong. You’re magic. You’ve got this. Just a little more.”
She buries her face into my chest between contractions, trembling. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, you can,” I whisper. “You are. And I’m right here.”
And I am. I won’t move. Not even to wipe the tears off my own face.
Nora cries out again as another wave hits, and the room shifts. The doctor calls for the delivery team. The lights change. It all feels… real now. Imminent.
“We’re getting close,” the nurse says. “It’s almost time.”
Nora’s breathing is ragged. Her eyes flick up to mine, scared and furious and shining with something I’ll never be able to describe.
“I swear to god, Max—if you ever come near me with that look again—”
I laugh, voice wrecked. “Never again. Unless you want to, in which case—absolutely. But never again.”
“Shut up,” she growls.
Another contraction.
She screams.
My heart breaks.
But I don’t let go.
She clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to Earth.
The nurse counts us through it, voice low and firm. “Good. Good. Almost there.”
I whisper in her ear, over and over again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
The doctor leans in, nodding. “Okay, Nora. Next one, we’re pushing.”
Her head drops back. “Oh my god.”
“You’ve got this,” I say. “One more mountain, and we’re there.”
She nods, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.
I kiss her temple.
I don’t say it out loud, but I think it with every beat of my pulse:
This is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.
Nora lets out a sound that belongs in a war movie. Or a rock ballad.
She pushes. I count. I forget how to breathe.
And then—
There’s a cry.
High, sharp, beautiful.
A baby’s cry.
Our baby’s cry.
And just like that, the silence is gone.
The room explodes into movement—nurses, beeping monitors, warm towels, gentle chaos. But all I can see is her.
The doctor lifts her into the air like she’s presenting a miracle. “It’s a girl.”
I stare. My heart trips over itself. A girl.
I look at Nora, who’s already crying. Laughing. Glowing with something more than sweat or adrenaline.
“She’s okay?” Nora whispers, panic and hope still coiled in her chest.
“She’s perfect,” I manage, my throat tight.
They place her in Nora’s arms, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more fragile or powerful than the two of them together. She’s tiny. Pink. Already frowning like she’s unimpressed with the lighting situation.
I lean over them, the three of us a shaky little constellation.
“She has your nose,” I whisper.
“She has your lungs,” Nora murmurs. “I heard her scream before she even opened her eyes.”
“She’s got opinions,” I say, voice cracking. “She’s one of us.”
Nora looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. “She’s ours, Max.”
My heart folds in on itself.
I press a kiss to Nora’s forehead, then to the baby’s soft crown, still damp and new and smelling like everything good in the world.
“I didn’t know I could love like this,” I whisper, and I mean both of them.
The baby lets out another tiny wail, and Nora shushes her instinctively.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, arms shaking, and reach out to stroke the top of the head with one shaking finger.
She blinks up at me, little brow furrowed, like she knows all my secrets already.
“Hey there,” I whisper, voice wrecked. “I’m your dad.”
Then I grin. “I guess Grandpa Sid wasn’t right after all. No twins.”
Nora snorts. “Maybe next time.”
I whip my head around, eyes wide. “Next time?”
She smirks, already smug. “Too soon?”
“Way too soon. I just got feeling back in my legs.”
She laughs again, the kind that crinkles the corners of her eyes. And our daughter—our daughter—makes another tiny noise and curls her fingers around the edge of Nora’s gown like a claim.
Nora looks at me.
“We need to give her a name,” she says softly. “What do you think?”
I nod. We’ve danced around names for weeks—nothing stuck. Everything felt like trying on someone else’s shoes.
But now, looking at this tiny human we made, I know.
“What about Isla?” I say, barely above a breath.
Nora blinks. “Isla?”
“It means island,” I explain. “Which feels… right. Like she’s this calm, perfect place we didn’t even know we were swimming toward.”
Nora stares down at our daughter for a long beat, then smiles.
“Isla,” she repeats, testing the sound of it. “Yeah. That’s her.”
She shifts the baby slightly so I can get a better look, and Isla—our daughter—lets out a contented sigh. Like she’s heard us and approves.
My throat tightens. I press a kiss to Nora’s temple, then another to Isla’s tiny forehead. “Hi, Isla,” I whisper.
The door creaks open, and before the nurse can even finish her sentence—“You can go in now”—our hospital room is flooded with people.
“Move, you oaf, I was first!” Lucas barks, elbowing DeShawn as they scramble to be the first one through the door.
“She’s here,” I say—because it’s all I can manage.
For a moment, there’s actual silence. Reverent. Awed.
“Her name’s Isla,” Nora says gently.
And the room erupts.
Lucas, surprisingly sincere, says, “Isla. That’s… actually perfect.”
Annie beams. “Okay, but when do we get to hold her? I brought a baby manual. I’m emotionally prepared.”
“You guys,” Nora says dryly, “I just gave birth. You can all wait your turn.”
I snort and kiss her temple. “She’s not wrong.”
Lucas dramatically drops onto the armchair. “Fine. Rotation order? Rock-paper-scissors?”
“Actually: you’re up first, Lucas,” I say.
Lucas clasps his hands like he’s in church. “Thank you! Wait: why?”
“You’re her godfather, right?”
His eyes go glassy. “Shit. Yeah. I mean—yes. Yes, I am.”
I gently pass Isla into his arms. He holds her like she’s made of spun sugar and fragile hope.
And suddenly, all the banter dies.
He stares down at her, quiet. “She’s... wow.”
DeShawn peeks over his shoulder. “Let me hold her before he cries on her.”
“You shut your face,” Lucas says, but his voice breaks on the words.
Annie’s already behind them, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Come on, Luke. You’ve had your full minute. Pass the baby before I report you for hoarding.”
“I’m bonding,” Lucas whispers, tears still clinging stubbornly to his lashes as he rocks Isla gently. “This is sacred time.”
Before Annie can launch into a protest, the door bursts open—literally slams against the stopper.
“Oh my God, I’m not late, am I?”
Emily flies into the room like a one-woman storm in boots and a pink hoodie, a balloon half-deflated and trailing behind her, tangled in a giant tote bag.
“I almost tackled a nurse,” she breathes, eyes wide as they lock on Isla. “Oh. Oh, no one warned me she’d be that tiny.”
“She’s about the size of a Chipotle burrito,” DeShawn says solemnly. “With better vibes.”
Emily throws her bag at him without looking. “Move.”
Lucas looks from Emily to me, then down at Isla. “I’m afraid to hand her off now. She’s so soft.”
“Luke,” I say gently, “if you don’t pass the baby, Emily will remove you.”
He gives a sniffly nod and—after one last kiss to Isla’s forehead—carefully transfers her to Emily, who takes her with the care of someone holding a priceless relic.
“Hi,” Emily whispers. “I’m your Auntie Emily. I’m gonna be your favorite, and we’re gonna eat cupcakes and emotionally overshare.”
I glance at Nora, who’s wiping her eyes and laughing all at once.
The door creaks again. This time softer. My mom steps in, looking flushed and radiant, her eyes immediately filling when she sees Isla.
And trailing behind her—wearing a hospital visitor badge crookedly stuck to his blazer and a tie that’s somehow both too tight and completely undone—is Grandpa Sid.
“Am I dead?” he announces loudly, blinking around. “Or did someone finally give me a great-grandkid?”
“Grandpa,” I say, standing to greet him.
He waves a hand. “I saw the balloon girl fly past and figured either someone died or someone got born. Thank God it’s the fun one.”
He peers at Isla in Emily’s arms and grins wide enough to show all his teeth. “Look at that. We finally got another girl in this family who can boss you around, Max.”
“Hey,” I say.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me. You used to eat crayons.”
My mom swats his shoulder. “Dad.”
“What? He did. Purple was his favorite.”
I can’t even be mad. I did have a thing for purple.
Emily snorts and carefully places Isla into my mom’s arms.
And just like that, something settles. Everyone’s here. My chaos of a family—blood and found—gathered around this tiny, perfect new human.
Nora reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together under the blanket. Her smile is tired and full of wonder.
“She’s got everyone already wrapped around her finger,” she murmurs.
“Of course she does,” I say, brushing a kiss to her temple. “She’s yours.”
Grandpa Sid squints toward the bed. “Did someone bring snacks? I’m feeling faint from all the estrogen in this room.”
“I’ll get him crackers,” Lucas sighs.
“Make sure they’re salty,” Sid yells after him. “Like my ex-wife!”
And just like that, the room explodes with laughter.
Yeah.
This kid’s gonna grow up knowing exactly how loud, messy, inappropriate—and completely loved—her family is.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way.