Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
Jason
I couldn’t believe a woman as supposedly smart as Francesca St. James P-H-fucking-D had come to a hockey game while in labor.
Because that was the level of stupid we were dealing with here.
You didn’t suddenly become seven centimeters dilated without being close to having the baby.
And we were here with the team doc, who I doubted was qualified to do this.
Sprain an ankle or catch a blade to your forehead?
Dr. Sykes was your guy. Deliver Super Kid? Nope. Not having it.
Violet recognized my concern. “Bren reached out to Dr. Patel—”
“Is she coming?”
“She’s on her way. There’s a good chance she’ll be here before the baby is.”
“Hear that, Doc? Think you can hold on?”
“Only if I close my legs. Which I probably should have done in the first place.” Her face crumpled as she absorbed another wave of pain.
I hated seeing her like this. Sure, I knew it would get to this point, but I’d assumed we’d be in a hospital, surrounded my special equipment and birthing professionals and access to incredibly strong drugs. Not a bunch of well-meaning hockey fans.
“Do you want everyone here?” I whispered.
“No. Just you, only you.”
My thoughts exactly. Even though her family meant the world to her, Franky was reserved and wouldn’t want them to see her so vulnerable.
That was my privilege.
“Violet, do you mind if we give her some space?”
Franky’s stepmom looked at me, then her. “Of course.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead, murmured an endearment I couldn’t hear, then guided everyone else to the door. Rosie called out, “Love you, Franks!”
Franky sniffed. “I love you, too.”
Bren St. James also kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “I’m so proud of you, sprite. I can’t wait to meet my grandchild.” He turned to me. “Take care of my daughter.”
I nodded, the emotion of the moment almost too much. Finally, we were alone with the doctor.
Franky reached for me. “I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
She panted a few short, shallow breaths. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about the baby after the first ultrasound? I know you told Sean and Lauren, but not the rest of your family until I forced your hand at Theo’s party.”
This was what she wanted to know? “We can talk about it later.”
“Now. Tell me now.”
“I was worried they might question—”
“Why you chose me?”
“Why you chose me, Francesca.”
Her eyes welled up. “But—that’s obvious!”
“Is it? You had your lists and variables and plans. Basically, you could have anyone. Sure, you wanted someone healthy, with good genes, but smarts didn’t seem so important to you. I imagined everyone asking themselves, ‘why did she settle for that dumb jock?’”
“Oh, Jason. We’ve been so stuck in these boxes we built all those years ago.” She winced as another contraction dug its claws in. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. About being in love with me.”
“It’s okay. You’re a natural skeptic.”
She slid a look at Dr. Sykes who was busy trying not to be overly focused on the spot between my woman’s thighs. Damned if he do, damned if he don’t.
“I wanted to believe. To take it on faith, but—” She winced.
“You needed evidence. It’s okay, baby. Let’s focus on the here and now.”
That contraction lasted longer than before and seemed to ratchet up her pain levels.
“I need to push.”
“I know.”
“But maybe I can hold on?”
I looked at Dr. Sykes. “Should she wait?”
“She should do what comes naturally.”
“Hear that?” I said. “What comes naturally.”
“Oh sure! For eons, women have been doing this. Pushing out a bundle the size of a bowling ball. So natural! So—agh!” That scream could probably have been heard on the ice. While my boys were birthing a victory, my lady was birthing my kid.
During the next respite, I fingered the scarf she wore, tied loosely around her neck, wondering why it looked so familiar.
“Is this—?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “No harm in a little superstition, right?”
The last time I saw this beauty, it was triple knotted around my wrist, tying me to a hotel room bed while this woman sank down on my cock. I smiled. The doc had finally let a little magical thinking enter her logic-bound world. Praise be.
A noise behind me announced a new arrival.
“Hello, you two!” Dr. Patel had finally joined the party. Though we weren’t out of the woods yet, it was a relief to see the woman who knew the ropes.
I saluted the Rebels team doc. “Thanks for subbing in.”
“Happy to help.” He filled Dr. P. in on the story so far.
Our OB went into full baby-delivering beast mode, while I knelt beside Franky, smoothing her damp hair away from her face, whispering how amazing she was, how she could do anything, how much I loved her and our baby.
Seven minutes later, on one massive push, Super Kid arrived in a slippery swoosh. A few seconds of breath-stealing quiet were interrupted by a wail that told the world the next generation of Rebels or Nobel-prize-winning scientists had burst onto the scene.
Dr. Patel wiped the baby’s head and cleaned up with a bar towel. “Well, Mom and Dad, you have a beautiful, healthy, noisy baby girl.”
A daughter!
Franky sat up on her elbows, her face still red and damp with exertion, and accepted our baby into her arms while I sat behind her and supported her back, defending all that was mine.
“Jason, look at her,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “She’s beautiful.”
“Of course she is. She’s yours.”
She dragged her eyes away from the baby and met my blurry-eyed gaze. “She’s ours. We made her together.”
I swiped at a tear and inclined my head to my daughter’s.
“Hi, gorgeous. Welcome to the world.” Checking her over, I noted all the little things that made her perfect.
Fingers, toes, eyes, nose, her cupid bow mouth.
She even had a mop of dark hair, which tracked because I came from a long line of lustrous locks.
Then everything started happening fast. People came in to gawk at the baby—which was okay, they were her relatives, after all—and the paramedics arrived to take Franky to the hospital. Dr. Patel insisted everything was okay, but that mom and baby should be checked out in more sterile surroundings.
The third period had started, a fuzzy, whip-fast backdrop to the main event. I happily turned my back on that rink-facing glass. I didn’t know the score, had no idea how my boys were doing without me. There would be other games. The birth of my first child would only happen once.
Sean squeezed my shoulder as the gurney carrying Franky left. I was holding my baby girl to my chest, wrapped in a fleecy Rebels blanket that had miraculously appeared, courtesy of Harper (“I get so cold in that box!”).
“Congrats, brother. I’m so thrilled for you.”
“Thanks, Sean-o. I’m so glad you were here.”
Theo followed up with a huge hug and a kiss for my daughter. “Good job, J. Welcome to the Daddy Club.”
Thank God he’d come down to the locker room to tell me Franky and our baby needed me. Now he looked over my shoulder, inside the owners’ box, which had all the hallmarks of a crime scene.
“Damn, I think they’re going to need to triple-steam clean that floor.”