Evolve Series (Complete Box Set)

by S. E. Hall

  By now she’s latched on manically to both sides of my head, feasting at my mouth then steering me down to suck on her tits, one of her favorite things. Every day they grow and I’m often tempted to suffocate myself in them. What a way to go.

  “Tell me, Em, you want me? You want me inside that pretty wet pussy, don’t cha?”

  “Yes,” she groans, letting her lips fall open. “Put me where you want me, Em, show me.”

  She rolls over on her side away from me and hitches one leg back over my hips. Fumbling, her hand comes behind and between us, tiny fingers grabbing my cock. I scoot closer and she lines me up with her soaking center, backing up until the tip pops inside her.

  And for the next few hours, ‘cause yeah, I got it like that, we consummate our first Valentine’s Day together.

  MIRACLE ON FAIR ROAD

  A SECOND-TIME MOM TOLD A FUNNY STORY at Lamaze one night before we got kicked out. Her water broke in the middle of the grocery store aisle, so she reached over and grabbed a jar of pickles, smashing it on top of her puddle to cover it up. Great story, we all died laughing, but totally non- applicable now, here.

  I’m sitting in the lobby of Quickie Lube, waiting for my oil change and tire rotation, when I suddenly feel like I just peed on myself. It doesn’t occur to me that it’s my water breaking right off the bat because I’ve got 17 days left. Babies don’t come that early, maybe a week, but not over two. This can’t be right. What if something’s wrong? And SHIT, are jackknife pains supposed to immediately follow?

  Okay, I can do this, no need to panic. I pull up Sawyer on my phone, anxious, somewhat frightened tears already dripping down my cheeks.

  “Hey baby, you get your car done?” he answers cheerfully.

  “Not done yet.” I huff out a breath. “Sawyer, my water just broke, in the Quickie Lube on University. And the pain, ahh,” I yelp, hunching over, holding my stomach, “has already started.”

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” a pimple faced kid about twelve asks me.

  “Nooo,” I growl, “I’m not all right. Unless you deliver babies or have a morphine drip handy. I. AM. NOT. ALL RIGHT.”

  “Emmy, babe,” Sawyer frantically screams in my ear, “hand that guy the phone. I’m on my way right now, just hold on, Shorty, Daddy’s coming.”

  I thrust the phone at the poor kid, slumping down in my chair, trying to reposition some of the pressure off my breaking spine. “OH MY GOD,” I sob, screaming, “SEROUSLY?”

  “Dude,” the phone shakes in his hand, “she’s definitely in labor, coming pretty fast I think.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  “All right, yep, I got it.” He ends the call and hands me back my phone which I rip from his hand.

  Sorry kid, wrong place, wrong time. You’ll live. “Ahhh!” I may not.

  “Your husband said to time your contractions. If they get five or less minutes apart, I have to call an ambulance. He’s about fifteen minutes away.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Brian.”

  “Thank you, Brian. I’m sorry I was hateful, but this hurts like a bitch.” I lay my head back and try to concentrate on my breathing, what techniques I got time to learn before Sawyer got us unceremoniously removed from Lamaze. “I’m sitting in a puddle of pain, so just ignore everything I say.”

  “Can I get you a drink or anything?”

  A towel would be nice. “No, thank you I’m fine, I, Ohhh my God! Oh my God, owww.” I bellow, bent over at the waist. The pain, excruciating pain.

  “That wasn’t even three minutes, I’m calling.” He turns and runs to the desk.

  How is this happening? I thought you had time to grab your bag, drive your car and park, walk in and get a wheelchair....this is like a pop and sprint!

  Not but a couple minutes pass and I hear blaring sirens getting closer and closer. I try to stand to meet them and instantly drop back down. Not happening. Another contraction hits as the EMTs come barreling through the door and this one lasts what seems like forever. I felt that one in my hair roots.

  “What’s your name, ma’am?” one of the rescue guys asks, strapping something on my arm that he pulled from some box.

  “Emmett Young.” In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  “How far apart your contractions?”

  “Barely three minutes,” Quickie Lube Brian chimes in from the sidelines.

  “And how many weeks are you?”

  “37. Almost 38. Is that too early?” I bite my trembling lip, worried and scared. Where is Sawyer?

  “Gonna be fine, let’s get you loaded up.” He grabs under one shoulder, another man hooking under my arm from the other side. Mid-stride we have to stop as a 47 on the Richter scale rips through me, causing my legs to go weak, and I’m going down if they don’t catch me.

  “Emmett!” There he is.

  “Sawyer!” comes out a gargled sob. He’s there instantly, hand on my back.

  “Sir, step back, please, let’s get her loaded. You’re more than welcome to ride in the ambulance with her.”

  “We’re going to Regional. 1499 Fair Rd. I called her doctor so they know we’re coming.” He’s so calm, collected, spouting off facts like the man in charge. He picks up my purse off the ground and looks around, spotting Brian. “Someone will be by to pay you and get her car, a guy named Tate or Dane Kendrick. Give it to them.”

  Brian nods speechlessly, probably traumatized for the rest of his life.

  Once we’re rolling, Sawyer stretches and grabs my hand, not letting go until they load me. I scream out in pain and clutch my stomach, every breath an effort. Sawyer and one guy jump in, the doors slam, and next thing I know, we’re moving, sirens blaring. Sawyer’s once again holding my hand, leaned over me with the other stroking my hair, kissing my forehead incessantly.

  “Just breath, baby, everything’s gonna be fine. I’m right here. I got you, Emmy.”

  I give him a tearful nod, tightening my grip on his hand. “I love you,” he mouths, blowing me an air kiss and actually getting me to smile.

  The ride lasts no time at all and then the doors are flying open and I’m rolling all speedy like into the hospital. A nurse meets us and starts directing traffic, having me taken straight to the maternity ward.

  Three contractions later, so ten minutes, and I’m in a robe and bed with a fetal monitor on my stomach and Nurse Nasty elbow deep in my vag.

  “Four.” She snaps off her gloves and rolls her stool to the trash, then back. “You’ve been working. Dr. Greer’s been paged. Do you plan to have an epidural?”

  Is that supposed to be a joke?

  “Yes, please, ASAP, please,” I pant, another wave of pain building.

  “Ok, I’ll go page the anesthesiologist. That’ll keep you out of pain while you dilate to go time! Who will be in the room with you? Hospital allows two.”

  “That would be only me,” Sawyer stands and shakes her hand, “Sawyer Beckett, Daddy.”

  I’D TAKE THE PAIN from her if I could. It’s unbearable to watch beads of sweat line her forehead and lip with each bout of pain. She’s so brave, puffing her lips and breathing through it like a little blowfish, giving me a weak but victorious smile when each one ends.

  Chapter Three: Labor. Touch her, support her, but not too much. Mama gets irritable and swat happy and may spit out “don’t touch me” in a demonic growl, but she doesn’t mean it.

  An hour, sixty minutes and nineteen contractions later, the man with the plan walks in, all casual, to administer the epidural. “Bet you’re glad to see me,” he says with a haughty laugh.

  Beggin’ for an ass kickin’, this guy.

  “Very,” Emmett moans, shifting uncomfortably.

  Chapter Four: Epidurals. Write this down! Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT watch this part. Dr. Evil is gonna shove a huge, I mean grotesquely long, fucking needle in your woman’s spine while she’s hunched over crying. They will not let you hold her during this. A nurse holds o
nto her and you get to sit there like a useless asshole. It will gut you and make you want to beat the ever lovin’ shit out of him! But then, an eerie solace will move over the room like a warm, just out of the dryer, blanket and baby mama will suddenly resemble a human being again.

  And the rest is smooth sailing...not really, but compared to the perfect storm just endured? Tiny ripples in a shallow creek.

  “YOU’RE DOING SO DAMN GOOD, Emmy.” I kiss her forehead, then pop down for a looksee, back and forth, entranced. “Squeeze my hand, Shorty,” and damn does she, “almost there!”

  “Bear down, Emmett, push like your tailbone needs to hit my hand,” Dr. Greet directs her. “There ya go, couple more like that.”

  “My strong, beautiful girl, you got it, baby.” I prop my other hand behind her back and help sit her up. “I love you, Emmett. You’re doing great.” I glance over her leg and see it, a furry black head. “Is that—is that the head?”

  “That’s the head. I need the clamps,” Doc barks at the nurse, and she hands her some big ass salad tongs, scarier looking than the breast pump I hid.

  Oh, hell no.

  “What is that? What are you doing?” Yup—I’m down where the action is now.

  “I’ve got to turn the head, Mr. Beckett.”

  “You are not putting that on my kid’s head. No, no, no.” I shake my head, reaching to grab her weapon.

  “Perfectly safe.” She makes a move but so do I.

  “No way, let me in there, I’ll do it!” I butt in front of the nurse.

  “Sawyer,” oh Doc’s first naming me now, “back up or and let me do my—”

  “Pushing!” Emmett wails out, demanding both our attention.

  ‘Atta girl, Em—one big, hard push and the baby’s head comes out a few more inches. I can’t help it, I smirk and stick out my hand and get the tongs slapped into my palm.

  From that moment, I don’t move, speak, or blink, and I’m not even sure I breathe. The most beautiful little person I’ve ever seen in my life emerges.

  Chapter Five: You’ll never be the same.

  Dr. Greer catches like a champ, scrubbing, rubbing, patting and sucking in a blurred frenzy and a piercing, glorious cry raises the roof. “You have a daughter.” She looks at me. “Would you like to cut the cord?”

  This is it. I use one hand to steady the other and separate her from only her mother. She’s a part of “our” world now.

  “A daughter,” I whisper, following Little Miss’ transfer from the doctor’s hands to the nurse’s. “Emmy, did you hear?” I choke out, turning to look at Mama once my baby’s safely laid in some tray there, only an arm’s length away. (I may have reached out and measured.) “We have a daughter.”

  Exhausted, sweaty, radiant Emmett holds her arms out to me and puckers her sweet lips. “I heard,” she answers, tears streaming down her face. “Is she okay?”

  As gently as my heart will allow, I wrap my arms around her, kissing every inch of her beautiful face. “Yes, she’s perfect. Thank you, Emmett.” I turn my head and kiss her hand as she wipes my own tears for me. “God, I love you. Thank you so much, babe.” I laugh, happy as I’ve ever been, crying like my baby with no shame. “I gotta go make sure they’re doing everything right over there and count all her fingers and toes. Be back in a minute.”

  “You do that, Daddy,” she smiles at me, cupping my cheeks, with warmth and happiness filling her vibrant green eyes, “go get our girl.”

  WE ARE BECKETT

  AFTER THEY’VE GOT EM ALL FIXED UP and resting comfortably and Lil Bit’s been taken, despite my threats, to the nursery, I head to the waiting room. Busting open the doors, I’m greeted by five of my favorite faces, my family. Laney’s leg is twitching a mile a minute, a bunch of pink balloons in her right hand, blue in her left. Beside her is Dane, then Tate and Bennett and good ole Zach.

  They all stand up at once, Laney rushing forward the fastest. “Well?” she asks animatedly.

  “Did ya’ll have bets going?” I ask.

  “Duh,” Tate chuckles. “Better than betting on the Falcons.”

  “All right, team girl over here,” I point, “team boy over here. And where are Evan and Whit?”

  “On their way back from deer camp,” Zach laughs, “I’d hate to be Evan right now. You know Whit is pissed she missed it.”

  “Only two on team boy huh?” I size up Zach and Tate and hear Laney’s grunt beside me. Turning to the pink team, I raise my brows at Dane. “You’re team girl?”

  He grins. “I’m team Laney wants a girl.”

  I rub my chin, flicking my eyes between both groups, making them sweat. “You guys know better than to bet against Laney. It’s a girl!”

  “WOO HOO!” Laney screams, letting go of the blue balloons and leaping at me, wrapping the free hand around my neck. “I knew it! Congratulations!”

  “Thanks, Aunt Gidge,” I kiss her head, putting her down to accept Bennett’s onslaught then bro hugs from the rest.

  “So, what’s her name?” What’s she look like? When can we see her?” Laney rapid fires off.

  “I don’t know yet. Emmett’s sleeping, so we haven’t talked about her name. And she’s beautiful, head full of black hair like her mama. Lil’ chunk, I’ll tell ya. Eight pounds seven ounces.”

  I’ve never seen Laney so excited. I’d barely heard about Parker’s triplets being born, but damn if she’s not chomping at the bit for my girl. “When can we see her?” she whines.

  I rub my head sheepishly. “I don’t know, Gidge, they didn’t say. But I think there’s a window to the nursery. That’s where she’s—”

  And she’s gone like a streak of lightening down the hall. “Okay, then,” Dane clutches my shoulder and shakes my hand, “go take care of business and keep us posted when you can.”

  “AND THEN, Daddy said, ‘no way, woman. I’m your man and that is that.’”

  I wake and turn my head to the sound of his voice, silently watching him talk to our baby bundled in his arms. I’m so tired, but I don’t want to miss this. She lets out some whines, fussing, and he sticks his pinky finger in her mouth. “I know, I know, you’re hungry. Should we wake up Mommy?”

  He lifts his head and catches my gaze, smiling sweetly from ear to ear. “Looks like we already did. Mornin’, Mama, somebody wants a boobie. It’s her,” he nods down at the baby and I have to chuckle at his need to clarify, “I told her I’d share.”

  “Bring her here.” I push myself up, stomach fluttering. I’d taken classes, but I don’t think you can prepare for the feeling that comes when you’re to feed your child for the first time.

  Sawyer laughs as I unsnap the breast flap in my gown. “Well isn’t that handy? I’ll be stealing that for home.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You got her?” he asks, carefully placing my daughter in my arms.

  I nod, eyes blurring with tears as I really look at her for first time. “Look at this hair,” I sniffle, fluffing her mop of dark fuzz. Her little head flops around, no control, as she searches for my breast. “Hold on, little piggy.” I help her, and it takes her a minute, but naturally, like a baby bird just knows to flap and leave the nest, she begins feeding.

  Sawyer leans over and kisses first my head and then hers. “Beautiful,” he murmurs almost under his breath. “Have you thought about a name?”

  I had, nothing that I had to name her though, and no way am I leaving him out of this, so I shrug. “A few ideas. What do you like?”

  His face lights up with hope, then quickly recovers, attempting a see-through mask of nonchalance. “I mean, I had a few ideas too, here and there.”

  “Sawyer,” I goad, “I can tell by the look in your eyes that you know exactly what you want to name her.”

  “Well,” he fidgets, “since we’ve been calling her Alex all this time, I thought maybe Alexandra would be cool for the middle name? Too uppity for the first name, though.”

  I nod encouragingly. “I love it, perfect, we keep Alex.

  Now what
about the first name?”

  “She’s our first miracle, together, so I was thinking about us, something special. Lots of things always make me think of you and me, but above all, is one song in particular.” His feet shuffle on the floor, his hand behind his neck rubbing nervously. “What do you think of Presley?”

  “Presley Alexandra Beckett,” I breathe out as he sucks in a loud breath.

  “Beckett?” He smiles through watering eyes. “Really?”

  I’d been nervous about that last part, feeling presumptuous, but seeing his face now, that worry disappears. “Of course,” I whisper.

  “Goddamn, Em,” he says, then winces. “Sorry, bad Daddy.” He kisses her sweet head and looks up at me. “You cripple me, woman. I love you.” He gulps, collecting himself. “I love you so much. And I love you, Presley Alexandra Beckett. Our girl. And just so you know,” he lifts my chin, “Beckett sounds good with Emmett Louise too.”

  MY DAUGHTER IS AMAZABABY, defying all laws of gravity, digestion…and Pampers.

  “Good Lord, Princess P! You dropped a bomb on your daddy, didn’t you?”

  One “P” fits all with her—Presley, Princess, Poopy Pants…

  “We gotta switch diapers, baby, this is ridiculous. How do you get it down your leg?”

  I swear she saves ‘em up for me. Emmett is all the time kissing her naked lil’ hiney—no way she’d do that if she’d ever gotten one of these gems! Quite proud of herself, she coos and gurgles little spit bubbles out her mouth, arms and legs flailing wildly as I wipe…and wipe…in vain.

  “That’s it, shower time!”

  I refasten her diaper and wrap a blanket around her, snatching her up and heading for the bathroom. Presley and I seem to take a shower every time I watch her alone. She is the cleanest baby ever, except for the few minutes of mass destruction before the shower. Today Emmett’s at her “Body after Baby” class, which puts her gone two hours round trip, and this is already our second shower today. Presley loves it, though, and it’s the easiest way I’ve found to get her clean when she surprises me with one of her “treats.”