40. Archer
ARCHER
Allie’s on the bed, legs up, chin quivering as she looks at me with tear-lined eyes. I shut the door behind me and step up to the bed, grabbing her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I pepper kisses along her knuckles before dropping my head to her cheek and brushing my lips over her tears.
The last fifteen hours of my life have been an utter fucking shitstorm.
The surreal high of being drafted, holding that jersey in my hands and living out the childhood dream I’d been imagining my entire existence.
Hearing my name called, followed by the roar of the crowd as they celebrated that dream right along with me, only to be lifted even further into the clouds when I got the call that Allie went into labor, and I thought I’d never float down from the sky.
My ultimate dream. Her, and a future together.
Until the reality settled over me that I was thousands of miles away. We immediately headed to the airport but after a delay and a flight change, we ended up stuck in Atlanta for five hours and had to land in Los Angeles rather than San Diego as originally planned.
I’ve been a goddamn basket case, knowing she’s been at the birthing center, going through this experience without me. Another aspect of this journey I’m missing because of football.
I don’t ever want to be resentful of the sport I love so much, the dream I’m now achieving, but if I’d missed the entire birth of my daughter because of it, I’m not sure I could continue loving it the same way.
As soon as we walked into the birthing center, a nurse, Kelly, was on standby, expecting me. My mom handed me a clean change of clothes to put on before the nurse brought me to the birthing suite.
“You have two very stubborn girls here, Archer,” our midwife, Claire, says, peeking up at me from between Allie’s legs. “I need Allie to push when the next contraction starts. Can you help her do that for me?”
I nod, peering down at Allie who’s staring after me with glistening, awestruck eyes.
I stand beside the bed, pushing the matted curls away from her sweat-slicked forehead. Macie stands on her other side, and Willow beside her.
“What are you being stubborn for, Amor?” I ask, forcing lightness into my voice, though my chest cracks at her tears, the pain radiating from her dark eyes, and the way her body trembles.
“Didn’t want to do it without you,” she says through heavy, panting breaths.
That fucking kills me.
“I’m here now,” I whisper, kissing her head. “Let’s meet her together.”
Allie hiccups, crying harder as she nods against my lips. Her soft, delicate hand reaches toward me as she asks, “Hold my hand?”
“Always.” I weave my fingers through hers, squeezing tight.
“Mom?” She turns to Macie. “Can this part just be us?”
My eyes drift up to Willow and Macie, who both nod softly before stepping back from the bed.
Our family is big and lively and unconditionally supportive, and we want them to be part of this journey with us, but when Allie and I discussed it, we both knew that the best experience would be to have her together—just the two of us.
We have to learn to be our own family now, and it starts with this moment.
As Macie and Willow whisper their goodbyes and head out the door, Allie’s grip tightens around my fingers, her breath turns shallow, and she hisses as her muscles seem to tense.
“All right, Allie, it’s time to push for me.”
Allie groans through her teeth, nodding.
“Breathe for me, baby,” I say, unsure how to encourage her any other way.
I don’t know what the fuck to do, and I thought just getting myself to her would dissolve all my feelings of hopelessness, but they’re more powerful than ever as I watch her drenched in pain, unable to offer any other comfort than holding her hand.
We took that birthing class, but now I can’t seem to remember a goddamn thing about it.
The contraction passes, and she relaxes slightly.
“I hate this,” she cries. “I hate it so much.”
“Remember the expulsive breathing we talked about?” Claire asks. “Try that again on the next one. We’re almost there.”
Allie nods, when her gaze drifts up to meet mine, it’s hazed and hooded, but she offers me the softest smile, raw love shining through her eyes. “Thank you for making it to me.” She nods at her belly. “Sorry we stole your moment.”
I’m stopped short—stunned speechless. She’s battling exhaustion, on the brink of collapse, all so she could bring our child into the world. Her strength, her ability to experience something so excruciating, and still has it in her to smile at me. Make a joke. Thank me.
I can’t take her pain away right now, but I can tell her exactly what she means to me as I watch her bear through it.
“I love you so much, Allie,” I say, choking on the emotion rising in my throat.
“I’m in awe of you. It’s unbelievable, what you’re doing right now.
” She holds my hand tighter, tears streaming down her cheeks as she attempts to nod.
“Look at me, Amor. See yourself reflected in my eyes right now. I need you to see you how I see you.”
Her chin lifts slightly, fierce eyes peering up at mine through wet lashes. Her brown irises are laced with pain and etched in love. Raw emotion and a cosmic kind of iridescence.
“Do you see how brave and strong you are? Can you see how proud you make me? How fucking much I love you?”
Her breath hitches, wincing, but nods.
I kiss her forehead again. “You got this, baby. You got this. I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got this.” She pants. “We’ve got this.”
“That’s it, Amor.” I nod. “I love you. I love you.”
I don’t know how much time passes, but I continue speaking.
As she pushes, I tell her stories from our childhood.
Relive the memories that made me fall in love with her, all the moments that led us there.
I don’t know if she can hear me, or if she’s blocked it all out, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.
I remind her to breathe, I let her squeeze my fingers hard enough that they’ll be bruised later, but I don’t care.
I’d rip my fucking soul from my chest and hand it to her if it helped her wade through this.
Finally, Claire says, “She’s crowning. I can see her head. Two more pushes, Allie.”
When she does, her gritted teeth unclench, and she lets out a bellowed scream—a fucking battle cry.
“There you go. Dad, do you want to catch her?”
My head snaps to Claire. “What?”
Allie lets my hand go, words hardly audible through the gravelly tone of her shattered voice. “Get her. You should be the first person in the world to hold her.”
I nod, trembling on shaking legs as I round the bed and stand beside Claire.
“Wash your hands,” she says, nodding to the sink on the back wall behind us.
I do so before returning to Claire’s side. She sits in front of Allie’s body, and my breath lodges in my throat as I catch the first glimpse of our daughter. The top of a dark-haired head.
I don’t even realize I’m sobbing until my words come out garbled when I say, “She’s got hair, Allie. I can see her.” I heave a rattled inhale. “I can see her, baby. She’s here.”
“Get…” She groans, jaw clenched. “Her out…” A shriek whistles through her teeth. “Of me.”
Claire stands to the side, motioning for me to move between Allie’s legs. Everything happens so quickly, it’s hard to make sense of the moment. She reminds Allie to tuck her chin, to push, to breathe, all the while, my eyes are fixed on my daughter as she enters the world.
One final, all-encompassing scream rattles the room, and suddenly…she’s here.
She’s in my arms. She exists, and I’ll never be the same.
My daughter takes her first breath, and time disbands into nothing but mist, this moment inscribed into the fabric of the universe itself. Because nothing has ever been more significant than her.
She wiggles, so fragile, unbelievably small. A healthy wail bellows out of her as I place her on Allie’s chest. I hold her by her bottom as Allie’s body trembles around her. My other hand comes up to her pretty face, and for the first time in this life, the three of us connect.
Touching them both, watching her gaze down at the life we created together, seeing how our daughter settles into the familiar embrace of the breathtaking woman who carried her—it unravels me.
It is purpose. It’s reason.
The eternal thread that has always hummed between Allie and me frays at its edges, binding into something stronger—resilient and vital. Our child is the knot at the middle of it.
“Allie,” I whisper.
“Yeah?” she breathes, unwilling to take her gaze from our baby in her arms.
“This is the nucleus.”
She pauses, breath hitching, before a quivered sob floats from her lips, and she brushes her thumb over our daughter’s forehead. “Yeah.” She nods. “This is the nucleus.”