Chapter 14
Miles
We’re thirty-four weeks. Any day now…
Emma's reading "What to Expect with Twins" for the third time when she suddenly goes very still, and something about her voice when she says my name activates every nerve in my body.
"Miles."
I look up from my laptop where I've been pretending to review a Cabernet Sauvignon while actually watching her.
"I think this is it."
The book slides from her hands. She's staring down at the couch with an expression somewhere between shock and panic.
"It?" I ask, though I already know.
"My water just broke."
For approximately three seconds, I freeze completely. Then every bit of SEAL training kicks in.
"Okay." I stand, crossing to her. "Okay. We're prepared for this."
"Miles, the couch—"
"I don't care about the couch." I help her up carefully. "How do you feel?"
"Wet. And terrified."
"Both valid." I'm already moving toward the door where the hospital bag has been sitting for two weeks. "Any contractions?"
"I don't know. Maybe? Everything feels weird."
I grab the bag—checked and rechecked approximately thirty times—and my phone. "Let's get you changed first."
Ten minutes later, Emma's in clean clothes and we're heading to the car. I help her into the passenger seat, trying to be gentle while also moving quickly because our babies are apparently ready to meet us right now.
"Wait." Emma grabs my arm before I can close the door. "Call Ryan and Brennen."
"I'll call from the car—"
"No. Now. Before we leave. In case—" She stops, breathing through what might be her first real contraction.
I pull out my phone and dial Ryan, putting it on speaker.
He answers immediately. "Miles? Everything okay?"
"It's happening. Emma's water broke. We're heading to the hospital."
A crash in the background. "NOW? Right now?"
"Right now."
"I'm on my way. Which hospital?"
"Pelican Point Regional."
"I'll call Candace. And Brennen. And—oh god, I need to—"
"Ryan. Breathe."
"YOU breathe. I'm freaking out."
"Noted. See you there." I hang up and look at Emma. "He's freaking out."
"Good. Misery loves company."
I close her door, jog around to the driver's side, and start the car. The hospital is fifteen minutes away. Twelve if I push it.
I follow all traffic laws. Mostly.
"How are you doing?" I ask, glancing at Emma.
"Scared. Excited. In pain. All of it." She's gripping the door handle. "This is really happening."
"It is."
"We're going to be parents in a few hours."
"Best job promotion ever."
She laughs, then winces. "Don't make me laugh. Everything hurts."
"Sorry."
We hit a red light. I count seconds, watching Emma breathe through another contraction.
"How far apart?" I ask.
"I don't know. I'm not timing them."
"I am. That was about five minutes since the last one."
"Of course you're timing them."
"I'm thorough."
"You're obsessive."
"Same thing."
The light turns green. I accelerate smoothly, keeping my eyes on the road while monitoring Emma's breathing.
"Miles."
"Yeah?"
"What if I can't do this?"
"You can."
"But what if—"
"Emma." I reach over, taking her hand. "You've got this. And I'm going to be right there with you the entire time."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She squeezes my hand hard through the next contraction. I let her, ignoring the fact that she might actually break bones.
We pull into the hospital parking lot twelve minutes after leaving home. Not bad.
"Stay there," I tell Emma, jogging around to help her out.
"I can walk."
"I know. But let me help anyway."
She takes my arm and we make our way inside. The automatic doors slide open and a nurse spots us immediately.
"Labor?" she asks.
"Twins," Emma manages. "Water broke about twenty minutes ago."
"Let's get you checked in."
The next thirty minutes are a blur of paperwork, admission, and getting Emma settled in a delivery room. She's in a hospital gown, hooked up to monitors that track both babies' heartbeats and her contractions.
"Both babies look great," the nurse—Lenore, same one from our ultrasounds—says. "Dr. Martinez is on her way."
Emma's gripping the bed rail through another contraction. I move to her side, taking her hand.
"Breathe," I remind her. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."
"I know how to breathe."
"Just reminding you."
"Stop being helpful."
"Never."
She glares at me, but there's no heat in it. Just fear and pain and determination.
Dr. Martinez arrives, all efficiency and calm competence. "Emma. Miles. Ready to meet your babies?"
"No," Emma says immediately.
"Yes," I correct.
Dr. Martinez examines Emma, checks the monitors, and nods. "You're at six centimeters. We've got a few hours yet. Try to rest when you can between contractions."
"Rest?" Emma's voice rises slightly. "Is she serious?"
"I know it sounds impossible," Dr. Martinez says sympathetically. "But conserve your energy. You'll need it."
Three hours later, Emma's exhausted and in pain and handling it better than I could.
"You're doing great," I tell her.
"Stop saying that."
"You are though."
"I'm dying."
"You're not dying."
"I feel like I'm dying."
"That's different."
She squeezes my hand through another contraction—they're coming faster now, harder. I coach her through breathing, watching the monitors, trying to stay calm while my wife is clearly in agony.
"Almost there," I tell her. "Almost time to meet them."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Dr. Martinez returns, checks Emma's progress. "You're at ten centimeters. It's time."
Emma's eyes go wide. "Time?"
"Time to push."
“Nope. I’ve changed my mind.” Emma cries out through another contraction.
“I’m afraid that’s not a choice.” Dr. Martinez laughs as she slips on the bright green gloves that match her scrubs.
"I can't do this." Emma's voice breaks, exhausted and terrified. "I can't. It's too much. I'm not ready."
I lean close, forcing her to look at me. "Yes you can. You're Emma Dawson. You can do anything."
"Don't leave me."
"Never. I'm right here." I take her hand. "Let's meet our babies."
Baby A arrives first.
"It's a boy!" Dr. Martinez announces.
Our son comes out crying—loud, angry, absolutely beautiful. The nurse cleans him quickly and places him on Emma's chest.
Emma's crying and laughing at the same time, looking down at this tiny human we made.
"Hi," Emma whispers. "Hi sweetheart."
Our son has dark hair and Emma's nose and he's the most incredible thing I've ever seen.
"He's beautiful," I manage, voice rough.
The nurse takes him for measurements after a moment. "We need to get your daughter here," Dr. Martinez says.
Ten minutes later—the longest ten minutes of my life—Baby B arrives.
"And here's your girl!"
Our daughter is even louder than her brother, announcing her arrival with impressive volume. She's placed on Emma's chest, and Emma's sobbing now.
"They're here," she cries. "They're really here."
After a moment, the nurse takes our daughter for measurements and hands our son to me. I'm holding him, and I can't form words. Can't do anything except stare at this perfect tiny human who is somehow ours.
"We did it," Emma whispers.
"YOU did it."
"WE did it," she insists firmly.
Our son makes a small sound and I adjust my hold carefully. "Hi. Hi buddy. I'm your dad."
"What are their names? We never really decided." Emma asks, voice still rough with emotion.
I look at her. "Ready?"
"Ready."
Emma smiles through tears. "Meet Gracie and Graham Dawson."
I look at our daughter in the nurse's arms, now swaddled and calm. "Hi Gracie."
Then our son in mine. "Hi Graham."
Then Emma. "They're beautiful."
"You're beautiful."
"We're a family now." Emma's eyes are wet again.
"Best family ever."
Gracie makes another sound. Graham's already asleep, apparently exhausted from being born.
"They're so small," Emma whispers.
"Five pounds each. That's good for twins."
"I can't believe they were both inside me."
"You're amazing."
"I'm exhausted."
"That too."
The nurses finish their measurements and bring both babies back, placing them in Emma's arms. She cradles one in each arm, looking down at them with wonder.
"Hi babies," she whispers. "I'm your mom."
Gracie yawns. Graham makes a small sound.
"They're hungry," the nurse says. "Want to try feeding?"
"Now?"
"Best time to start."
The next hour is a blur of learning to breastfeed twins—complicated, exhausting, but Emma handles it with her usual determination. The babies latch eventually, and Emma looks up at me with tired triumph.
"I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Neither do I."
"Guess we'll learn as we go."
She smiles, looking back down at our babies.
There's a knock at the door. Ryan and Brennen peek in tentatively.
"Is Emma—" Brennen stops, seeing the babies. His eyes fill with tears immediately.
"Come meet your niece and nephew," I say quietly.
They approach like they're in a church. Reverent. Awed.
"This is Graham," I nod to the baby Emma's holding on the left. "And Gracie." Right side.
"They're so small," Ryan whispers.
"They're beautiful," Brennen manages, wiping his eyes.
"Want to hold one?"
Brennen backs away. "I'll drop them."
"You won't drop them."
"I might. I'm very emotional right now."
The nurse helps transfer Gracie to Ryan's arms, and he cradles her like she's made of glass. "Hi Gracie. I'm your Uncle Ryan. I'm going to spoil you terribly."
"Not more than me," Brennen says, carefully taking Graham. "I'm Uncle Brennen. I've already started a wine vintage for your twenty-first birthday."
"You actually did that?" I ask.
"Started it last week. Murphy Twins 2026 Reserve."
"You're insane."
"I'm prepared."
Emma's watching her brothers hold our babies, smiling despite her exhaustion.
The door opens again and the Murphy family floods in—Candace, Joselyn, Sophie, Alex, Julie, Maggie. Everyone wanting to meet the newest additions.
Julie reaches us first, eyes already tearing up. "Emma. They're beautiful."
"Want to meet Gracie?" Emma asks.
"I would love nothing more."
Julie takes Gracie from Ryan with practiced ease, cooing softly.
Candace takes Graham from Brennen, rocking him gently. "He's beautiful, Miles. They both are."
Sophie's crying. Joselyn's taking pictures. Maggie's gripping Emma's hand and looking more emotional than I've ever seen her.
"You did good, kid," Maggie tells Emma.
Emma laughs, then winces. Everything still hurts.
"Okay, everyone out," I announce. "Emma needs to rest."
There's a round of gentle hugs, congratulations, and promises to come back tomorrow. The room clears except for us, Gracie, and Graham.
A nurse brings two small bassinets. "You can keep them in here with you tonight if you want. Or we can take them to the nursery so you can sleep."
"Here," Emma and I say at the same time.
The babies are placed in their bassinets next to Emma's bed. Both sleeping now, completely peaceful.
Emma's already dozing off, exhausted beyond measure. I settle into the chair positioned between her bed and the bassinets.
My wife. My daughter. My son.
Emma's hand dangles off the bed toward me. I take it, holding it gently while she sleeps.
Gracie shifts in her bassinet, making a tiny sound. Graham's mouth moves like he's dreaming.
I watch all three of them—Emma's chest rising and falling, Gracie's impossibly small fingers curled into fists, Graham's dark hair sticking up at odd angles.
Eight months ago, Emma was hiding pregnancy tests in her purse. Now we have two babies.
Our family.
I lean back in the chair, still holding Emma's hand, keeping watch over all of them.
This is my job now. Watching over these three humans who are somehow mine.
And I wouldn't trade it for anything.