Chapter 23
“This isn’t happening. I’m not ready.”
Wyatt didn’t mean to induce labor with sex, but that’s an unintended side effect all the same. He’s pretty damn sure this is in fact happening, but her tone is so serious that he doesn’t argue.
“I need to take a shower.” Addison heads for the bathroom before spinning on her feet with a determined glare. “I won’t survive off ice chips until this baby is out.”
“What are you talking—”
“When I was pregnant with Emma, and at the hospital, there was another woman in the room beside me in active labor. She was crying because they wouldn’t give her water. It was a whole thing. I cannot live off ice chips, Wyatt. I won’t.”
She’s talking like he’s planning to keep her from the faucet somehow or wrestle a glass of water from her hands.
How easily she could burst into tears at any moment keeps him from pointing out that they don’t have any ice. “I’ll bring you all the water you want.”
“Okay. Okay, good. Thank you, but it doesn’t matter anyway because this isn’t happening yet.”
“Right. It’s definitely not.” He nods.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
She leaves him dumbfounded in the bedroom, and a few moments later, he hears the shower running. That’s what kickstarts him to finally leave the half-soaked bed and get to work.
He strips off the sheets and tosses them in the laundry room, then grabs a watch from a drawer along with a notepad and pen to track her contractions.
He assumes she’ll want to have the baby here, but they haven’t discussed that yet.
For all he knows, she’ll decide on some random spot, like one of the cats birthing their kittens in the cow’s feed trough.
He flips the mattress over and puts on fresh sheets, arranging a tower of towels on the dresser.
This is what he’s been studying all those books for. This is what he’s been training for. He is ready, even if she isn’t.
At least until it sinks in that sometime within the next day, there’s going to be a whole new person with them. Then, he isn’t certain what he’s feeling, and fussing with random tasks is easier than figuring it out.
Maybe she’ll want it darker, he thinks, closing the window blinds.
No, no, that’s depressing. He opens them again to let the morning sun stream in unfiltered.
He moves the bassinet to five different spots, each one not quite right. Too bright, too far away, was that a draft…there’s no Goldilocks spot, and he sighs in frustration, sinking onto the corner of the bed.
Holy shit, they’re having a baby today.
Frantically, he pulls the books from the bedside drawers. Not that those are a substitute for a real doctor. He could read every line ten times over and still not have a clue how to do half the shit required if something goes wrong, and there are so many things that could go wrong.
They are having a baby today, and he could lose them both today.
They know better than most how quickly things can nosedive, but he won’t be useful to anyone if he thinks about that now.
So he forces his mind in another direction, hard as it is, and imagines how it’ll feel to meet his daughter after months of waiting.
She’ll probably have her mother’s big blue eyes and that delicate smile.
Maybe luck will spare her most of his traits.
He hopes that she’ll like him because he already loves her.
“What’s wrong? You’ve got a thousand-yard stare combined with the biggest smile, and to be honest, it’s got me worried.” Addison appears in the doorway in clean clothes with damp hair.
“I just realized we get to meet her today,” he replies softly.
Addison comes to stand between his parted legs, cups his face, and drops the softest kiss on his lips. “That’s very sweet, but this is not happening yet. I feel fine. Let’s make breakfast.”
Okay, so she wasn’t joking. They are absolutely pretending that she’s not labor.
For now.
* * *
They’ve eaten breakfast like nothing is amiss and explained to Emma that the baby will be here soon, but in the same breath, assured her that this is not happening.
Somewhere around lunchtime, Addison focuses on hoarding glasses of water and eating her fill of anything not nailed down.
Her accumulated liquid stash shimmers like little prisms atop the fireplace mantle, which is the go-to spot to keep the cat from stealing a drink.
Wyatt couldn’t eat if he was paid to, but she’s stuffing down those ancient canned peaches like they’re the last ones on earth.
“They don’t let you eat at the hospital.” Her knuckles whiten as she clutches the can, walking from one side of the living room to the other on repeat.
“We got plenty,” he assures her.
“I know.”
It’s a nonchalant reply that’s about as convincing as her attempt at hiding those contractions.
Her neutral expression turns to a grimace, the fork stalls in the can, and she flashes him a panicked glare. Despite her denial, she’s fully aware of the situation, even if she won’t admit it.
“What are you doing with the watch?” she asks.
“Timing the contractions.”
“I’m not having any.”
His response is a blank stare to call her bluff.
“It’s gas. That’s all.” She rubs her stomach as another grimace takes over, this one forcing her to clutch the back of the sofa. “I’m fine. It’s not even that bad. It’s nothing.”
“We should check the ultrasound machine.” He tries carefully. “Make sure she’s in the right position. Are you okay with that?”
“What if she’s not? What do we do then? Because I read all the books as much as you did, but I don’t remember any of it now. My mind is blank.”
That’s as close as he’s gotten so far to her admitting the truth, and he latches onto it. He runs a hand over her back as she bends over the sofa with a groan. “I remember everything. You don’t have to.”
It’s not a lie. He does remember what he read, but neglects to mention how fast his heart is beating or that his own nerves have a stranglehold on him.
“What if she’s not in the right place?” Addison asks again.
“There are some things you can do. Different positions. Easy stuff.”
This seems to calm her momentarily, but her reply surprises him. “I don’t want to look. Is that okay?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
They boot up the machine, and he slathers gel onto her stomach while she lies on the sofa, more tense than he’s ever seen her. He’s got no idea what the hell to say to make this better. If there’s anything he can say at all, so he doesn’t try.
“You’re too quiet. What’s happening?” she whispers.
“Trying to make out what I’m seeing.” He thinks that might be a foot or maybe it’s a hand.
No, definitely a foot, which means the round shape has to be a head.
Why the hell aren’t these grainy images clearer?
They’ve used this thing before, and if there’s a skill required for deciphering it, he hasn’t developed it yet.
“I think she’s upside down. That’s good. Heartbeat is strong, too.”
He was hoping that hearing that tiny thump echo through the room might ease Addison’s stress, but she can’t get up fast enough once he’s finished. He’s not sure if she’s running from him or trying to outrun the contraction that has her knees buckling.
“This is not happening. This is not happening,” she says to herself.
It’s killing him to watch her like this, but she hasn’t been receptive to his fussing, and he hesitates to crowd her. Only when she doubles over, and her knees hit the hardwood does he approach again.
She squeezes his bicep when he joins her, proving she may not want to be alone even if she’s having a hard time asking for anything but space. Her forehead presses into his shoulder as he cups the back of her neck, stroking softly until the vice grip she has on him finally loosens.
He’s never seen her this afraid when she lifts her head to meet his eyes.
Not when he first met her and pointed a gun in her direction.
Not when they were running from the dead, or when she came face to face with her ex-husband.
There’s a different kind of terror this time that soaks right through her touch and makes a home in his soul.
“You’ll stay the whole time?” she asks, an almost childlike worry in her tone.
She gave birth to the last baby alone in a hospital, abandoned by her family because medical care hadn’t been approved by their traditions. She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
“The whole time. Not going anywhere. We’re a team, right?”
She nods. “Right.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I’m hot. Can I wear one of your shirts?”
He smiles. “Of course. Emma, can you grab one from my room?”
It’ll give the kid something to do, and she’s eager to participate. He makes a mental note to try to give her more options. Boil some water or get the bassinet ready. Anything except sitting there and staring at her mother’s misery.
“Come on, let’s get you off the floor. Bedroom? Sofa?”
“Sofa for now.” She crumples on the way there, sagging so heavily he has to hold her up.
“They’re coming faster. Ain’t gonna be long.”
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“Let’s go for better?”
She huffs, letting him guide her to the sofa, where she leans forward to brace on the coffee table. “Sure. Let’s go for that.”
Emma returns with three different shirts that are all bound to be oversized on Addison.
He helps her out of her clothes and into his until she’s wearing nothing but that, the hem resting just above her knees. She seems calmer now, not fanning herself anymore, and quick to wave over Emma in between contractions.
“I don’t want you to be scared. This is a good thing that’s happening, it’s just different for me, that’s all. You already know the story of how you were born. This isn’t anything like that, so I’m….getting used to the idea. But I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not scared,” Emma says. “I’m excited. I’ll have a sister soon.”