Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
O wen
“I blame that asshole, Laurent,” I mutter as I rub Harper’s lower back in what I hope are soothing circles. She’s folded over the bed, breathing her way through another contraction and I get a fair idea just how painful it is through the bond. “He probably upset Harper and provoked this birth.”
“Medically highly unlikely,” Wyatt says, a glass of water in his outstretched hand, straw bobbing at the ready. “The weight of the babies on Harper’s cervix–”
“Do not talk about my cervix,” Harper growls, her brows all damp with sweat and her teeth gritted together. “In fact, don’t talk at all. Just purr.”
I shut my mouth immediately and oblige her with a loud purr, one that rumbles instinctively in my chest. Her shoulders relax just a smidgen.
It’s incredibly hard to see her in so much discomfort and pain, but it’s a good pain, right? One that means things are moving in the right direction.
Harper groans and flops forward onto the mattress in relief.
I sweep back the hair from her face and Wyatt gently feeds the straw between her lips so she can take some gulps of water.
“Over?” I ask.
“Yes,” she sighs.
“That one lasted a minute,” Daxton says, looking up from his wrist watch, “and it was three minutes since the last one.”
“We’re getting closer,” Wyatt says.
“But how much closer,” Harper wails, “I’ve been doing this for like forever.” It’s actually been only three hours since we arrived at the hospital and this labor looks like it will be a relatively quick one. Not that I’m sharing that information with Harper. I like my testicles too much.
“You’re doing really great, sweetheart,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”
She frowns at me. “You can shove your pride up your—oooowwww,” she moans, her body tensing once more as she rides another one of the contractions. “I want an epidural!”
“I’m buzzing for the doctor,” Wyatt says. “I think she’s getting close.”
“I just want these babies out of me!” Harper moans, tears forming in her eyes.
“They’re coming, Harper. You’re nearly there,” Wyatt reassures her. “And we’ll get you that pain relief.”
She screws her eyes shut as the pain whisks her away to some place distant, emerging several minutes later.
“Sorry,” she says, blinking up at me.
“It’s okay, Harper. Call me every blue name under the sun if it helps.”
She manages a weak smile. “You know I think it might. After all, it’s you sons of bitches who landed me in this position.”
I’m about to tell her that I’d happily swap positions with her if I could, but I’m interrupted by the arrival of the doctor and the nurse.
“She wants an epidural,” Daxton tells the doctor.
However, she takes one look at Harper and shakes her head. “No time for that!” she says. “We need her up on the bed. I’m pretty sure these babies are on their way.”
“Really?” Wyatt says with confusion.
But then we all hear Harper groaning and when we turn around to look back at her, we realize she’s already begun to push.
“Quickly,” the doctor says, practically diving between Harper’s legs as we haul her up onto the bed.
“The baby’s crowning!” the doctor cries.
“You fuckers!!” Harper screams, her eyes rolling back in their sockets as she pushes with all her might. “I’m never having sex with you again!”
“Totally fine,” I say, letting her squeeze my hand so hard I hear my knuckles crunch. “We’ll live lives of celibacy for ever more.”
I watch as the contraction subsides again and she pants, sipping more water from Wyatt’s waiting glass and then gritting her teeth together and pushing.
I’m transfixed by her. I always am. She’s amazing, so goddamn amazing. And what she’s doing now to bring us our family is nothing short of incredible.
I’m so transfixed by her – unable to drag my eyes from her face – that I very nearly miss the birth of our first child. Daxton nudges me just in time as Harper pushes and a slimy tiny creature slithers out into the doctor’s waiting hands.
I only catch a glimpse of the baby before it’s wrapped up tight in a towel. “Are they okay?” Harper asks desperately, peering down her body.
“ He is just fine,” the doctor says, passing him straight into Harper’s arms.
“H-h-h-him?” I stutter.
“Yes,” Harper says, holding him close to her chest and pressing her mouth to his perfect little head. He blinks up at her, his big eyes wide and alert.
“Does he have all his fingers and toes?” Wyatt asks.
“And all his other bits?” I add.
“I don’t care if he doesn’t,” she mutters, but she opens up the blanket anyway so we can all stare down at the perfect form of our son. His ten fingers and thumbs are curled up into little fists. Ten toes protrude from dinky feet and he owns one perfectly formed pecker.
We all stare at him, utterly speechless because he’s so perfect, so beautiful and he belongs to us, our pack. He snuggles in his mommy’s arms, his eyes drifting slowly closed, his little chest expanding and deflating as he breathes his first lungfuls of air.
Then Harper grimaces, knocking us all out of our daze.
“Harper?” Dr. Robinson says. “I think we may be ready for baby number two.”
“Already?” Harper says in dismay.
“Second is always easier – I promise you.”
“Here, let me take him,” the nurse says, gently lifting our son from Harper’s arms. “I’ll get him weighed and checked out while Mommy’s busy.”
Harper doesn’t look as if she wants to relinquish hold of the baby, but then another contraction grips her and she’s gritting her teeth and pushing.
The doctor turns out to be right. Just three pushes this time and another baby is entering the world. This time a girl – our daughter.
She’s a little smaller than her brother but just as perfect, her small head covered in strawberry blonde hair just like her mom’s.
“How are they both so beautiful?” Harper asks, as our daughter punches her tiny fists into the air and yawns widely.
“Oh sorry, are we keeping you awake, little one?” I chuckle.
“Shhh,” Harper says, “it’s hard work being born. Of course, she’s tired.”
“How do you feel, Harper?” Wyatt asks, kissing her forehead.
“Exhausted, sore and really, really happy. I don’t think they could be more perfect.”
“You know I think you said the same thing after we spent that heat together,” I say with a wink.
Harper shushes me again, eyes flicking to the incoming nurse.
“One each,” the nurse says, handing our son back to her, “what are you going to call these little dumplings?”
Harper peers at our son and then our daughter.
“I still can’t decide.” She sighs. “I mean, they have to live with their names forever. They need to be just right.”
“Well, you have a few weeks to decide,” the nurse says, taking our daughter away to be checked and then bringing her back to us.
Then it’s just the four of us – or six now.
Jeez, I can’t help grinning, tears meandering down my cheeks.
“I changed my mind,” Harper whispers, one twin sleeping in her arms, the other dozing in Daxton’s.
“You do want to name them now?” I ask.
“No, about the no more sex thing,” she says. “I want to make more babies. Hundreds, thousands, millions of babies! Because we do make the most gorgeous human beings.”
“We do,” I agree, stroking my daughter’s tiny cheek, her skin soft and new and fragile, “the most gorgeous.”