19. Earning the Room #2
Another contraction rolled through before the last one had finished with me.
I crushed Nolan’s hand against the mattress, bunching the sheet beneath my other palm as I tried to find somewhere to put the pain.
The room had narrowed to the bed, the monitor beside me, and Nolan standing at my shoulder.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Just get through this one.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
His shirt looked ruined beyond saving. The collar had dried sweat along it, one sleeve still carried a faint grease stain from the marina, and his hair stuck in every direction from hours of dragging his hands through it.
He hadn’t changed clothes, gone looking for coffee, or disappeared into the hall to make a call.
Six hours, and he was still standing beside me.
As the contraction eased, I let my head sink against the pillow. Nolan kept my hand in his while the doctor checked something near the foot of the bed and one of the nurses adjusted the equipment beside her.
“Water?” Nolan asked.
I shook my head. “No. Don’t move.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You said that before.”
He went perfectly still for a moment, but he didn’t look away. “I know.”
Once, I had sat alone at our kitchen island with an anniversary dinner going cold in front of me because my husband had decided something else mattered more.
Now I had been sweating through labor for most of the night, complaining, crying, snapping at him, and nearly breaking his fingers every few minutes.
He had not left my side once.
Another wave started building, and I grabbed his hand again before I even thought about it.
“Here we go,” Nolan said. He leaned closer. “Use me. Squeeze as hard as you need.”
“You may regret saying that.”
“I played professional football. I can survive your hand.”
“You’re very confident for a man whose fingers I can still break.”
He offered a tired grin. “There she is.”
I started to laugh, but it turned into a groan as the contraction took over. Nolan stopped joking. He put his free hand on my shoulder, and he stayed close while I pressed back into the mattress and waited for the pain to pass.
The monitor kept up its steady noise beside us. Nurses moved across the floor. Somebody adjusted the sheet near my legs, but none of it mattered as much as Nolan’s face in front of mine.
When the pressure finally receded, I slumped against the pillow.
“I can’t keep doing this.”
“You are doing it.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.” He brushed damp hair away from my forehead. “But you’re still here.”
The doctor stepped closer to the bed. “You’re doing great, Piper. I need one more big push on the next contraction.”
I stared at her.
One more.
It sounded like nothing when she said it. Two words. A simple instruction.
I reached out blindly until I found Nolan’s hand again.
“I can’t.” My voice cracked, and I hated how small it sounded. “Nolan, I have nothing left.”
He moved closer until his forehead rested against mine. The rest of the room stayed busy around us, but he ignored all of it.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
“You are the strongest person I have ever met. You can do this. I’m right here with you.”
My eyes burned. “You don’t know if I can.”
“I know what you’ve already done.”
“Nolan—”
“You drove yourself across half the country. You built a life when I gave you every reason to give up. You worked through pregnancy in a bait shack, kept Skipper’s marina running, and somehow still let me come back.
” His thumb moved once across the side of my hand.
“This part doesn’t get to be the thing that beats you. ”
I let out a shaky laugh between tears. “That was almost a speech.”
“It was a speech.”
“I hate speeches.”
“I know.”
The doctor glanced toward the monitor. “Piper, the next one is coming soon. When it does, I need you to give me everything you’ve got.”
Nolan stayed bent over me. His hand remained in mine, rough from the marina work that had replaced Sunday crowds and footballs.
Once, I had begged him to come home.
Now he was here.
I kept my eyes on Nolan and waited for the next contraction.
It came before I was ready for it. My fingers closed around Nolan’s hand, and the mattress shifted beneath me as I gathered what little strength I had left.
“Now, Piper,” the doctor said. “Push.”
“I’ve got you,” Nolan said. “Stay with me.”
I pushed.
Every part of the room disappeared except Nolan’s hand and the doctor’s voice telling me to keep going. The effort burned through what remained of my strength, and for one terrible moment I was certain the doctor had been wrong. There couldn’t possibly be anything left for me to give.
“That’s it,” the doctor said. “Keep going.”
Nolan leaned over me. “Come on, Piper. You’re doing it.”
“I hate you for saying that.”
He forced a small smile despite the fear written across his face. “You can hate me later.”
The pressure built until I couldn’t separate one sensation from another. My hand slipped, and he caught mine again before I lost my grip.
“Again,” the doctor said. “Give me one more.”
I shut my eyes and pushed with everything I had.
Then the pressure broke.
A cry filled the room.
For several seconds, the noise made no sense to me. The sound was thin and furious, cutting through the monitor noise and every voice around the bed.
I opened my eyes.
“Is she okay?”
The doctor looked up at me with a smile. “She’s doing very well. You have a beautiful baby girl.”
A girl.
Nolan made a sound beside me that I had never heard from him before.
I turned my head.
He covered his mouth with one hand, but it did nothing to hide the tears running down his face.
This was the man who had stood beneath stadium lights with eighty thousand people screaming his name, never losing his composure.
Now he was crying so hard he had to wipe his face on his sleeve because I still had hold of his other hand.
“We have a daughter,” I said.
He laughed through the tears. “We have a daughter.”
The doctor and nurse worked near the foot of the bed while that tiny cry continued. I strained to lift my head and find her.
“Can I have her?”
“Right now,” the nurse said.
A moment later, a small, warm body settled against my bare chest.
Everything else stopped mattering.
She was so tiny that my hands looked absurd beside her. Damp hair lay against her head, and her face scrunched with outrage as she let out another cry. Afraid to move too much and unwilling to let anyone take her away, I brought one arm around her back while my other hand cupped beneath her.
“Hi,” I whispered. “Oh, sweetheart. Hi.”
Nolan bent beside us, tears still on his face.
“You did it, Piper.” His voice broke. He kissed my temple and stared down at her. “Look at her.”
“I am.”
“She’s incredible.”
Our daughter opened one small hand against my skin.
Nolan stared at it.
His own hand hovered beside her for a moment before he offered one finger. Her fingers curled around it.
That finished him.
He bowed his head until his cheek rested against my hair, laughing again through his tears.
“She’s holding me.”
“Of course she is.”
“She won’t let go.”
“That’s because she’s a Callahan.”
He looked up at me. “You think?”
I looked down at her fingers wrapped around his.
Even in miniature, there was something familiar about them—the long shape, the way they held on with stubborn determination.
“She has your hands, Nolan.”
He stared at our daughter as if I had given him something else to cry about.
“Poor kid,” he said.
I let out a tired laugh. “Those hands made you a living for a long time.”