by Raine Miller
We’d come too close to losing each other. I shuddered at the thought and went back to shading fluffy white clouds over a sparkling blue-green sea.
SIR hovered on his haunches, ready to spring the second I let his favorite rag bone fly. “Go get it, boy.” I let it go, putting my high school shot-put skills to use. He tore off to find it in the natural plantings at the edge of the lawn, happily rooting around and enjoying himself. I sat on one of the garden walls and waited for him to come back.
Feeling a little bit of backache earlier, I’d hoped an easy walk with the dog would help, but it hadn’t. The dull pain was still there, and I wanted a hot drink. I pulled my sweater shawl closer to ward off the chill. It was wintertime after all and I was grateful for the dry day, but checking out the dark clouds above, it looked like it would be raining in another hour or so.
I called Sir back over to me, and stood up to go back inside the house. The weirdest sensation of heat hit me between my legs. It lasted for about two seconds before it didn’t feel warm anymore. I was wet down there. A lot wet. Like I’d pissed my pants, but I knew I definitely had not.
I freaked for a moment, afraid it could be blood, but when I touched the area of my leggings, my hand came away clear and wet, not bloody. I put my fingers up to my nose and smelled it. Not pee, just wet... Water…
Shit!
I figured there was a very good chance my water had just broken.
Double shit!
RUNNING Blackstone Security from Somerset was really working out quite well. I’d put in the same communications system I had in the London flat, and conducted my business in the same way as before. Neil was running the executive offices in town, and keeping the cogs running smoothly to the point I don’t think I was even missed. I’d have to give some serious thought to what my role would be in London for the future. The idea of staying here at Stonewell for more than just weekends was an appealing one. I knew Brynne loved the country, and had even been in contact with her art advisor at University of London about organizing some evaluative study of the paintings at Hallborough. After the discovery of the Sir Frisk painting belonging to Mallerton, she’d been thoroughly charged up with discovering what other secrets might be hiding in the old house. She told me there was plenty of work there to keep her busy for years, if the proposal was funded.
The sound of a barking dog assaulted my thoughts. Incessant, non-stop, frantic barking. This wasn’t like Sir at all. He was usually fairly quiet, which was a trait I liked about him. He was a good dog, but what I was hearing sounded like he was agitated. I wondered if somebody was outside on the property.
I stood up from my desk and used the crutches to head over to the window. My study overlooked the back gardens and then the coastal sea beyond it.
I could make out Sir, barking frantically in the direction of the house with his head pointing up at the sky.
He was beside Brynne.
She was sitting on the garden wall holding herself between her legs.
Her light grey leggings were stained dark at the insides of her thighs—
Fuck. NO! NO! NO!
“FRED, what’s going on? Tell me something useful!” I had my brother-in-law by the collar and pulled up to my face, feeling like my heart would explode in another minute or two.
“Stop manhandling the doctor so he can deliver your baby,” he said calmly, pushing me off him. “Go with Mary Ellen. She’ll get you scrubbed for theatre. You’re about to be a father, you big nob.”
“Caesarean section? Really, Fred?” I croaked.
“’Fraid so, brother. The baby is in a breech position and we can’t risk a foot-first birth for Brynne. She’s not built for it.” He slapped me on the back hard. “She’s going to be fine. Stop worrying me and go get ready.” Fred left me in the hall and disappeared into a door marked for staff only.
I gulped and followed Mary Ellen, hoping I didn’t pass out before I got to wherever she was leading me.
“Where have they taken my wife?” I asked.
“She’s being prepared for the surgical theatre right now and getting her epidural. Dr. Greymont will walk you through the process as he does the procedure. You’ll be able to watch the whole thing, and talk to your wife throughout.” She smiled kindly. “Congratulations, Dad.”
“Really.”
Was that myself speaking? It didn’t sound like my voice to my own ears. Why did I keep saying really like a moronic half-wit? I think I was in too great a shock to process much of the events of the last two hours. After Sir had alerted me to Brynne’s situation in the garden, I’d called 999. While we waited for the ambulance to show up, I called Dr. B’s service in London, as well as Fred, in a complete panic about what to do and where to go. Then the motherfucking horror ride, with Brynne in the back of an ambulance all the way to Bridgwater Hospital—over thirteen, long, rolling, country miles. So much for planning. No posh London hospital, or society doc, would be delivering our baby after all. The worst part had been not being able to carry Brynne inside the house to wait. I had to hobble around like a fucking gimp with no idea of what was happening to her as they whisked her away for evaluation. The baby wasn’t due for another three weeks at least…
“Mr. Blackstone?”
“What?” I turned to the voice and blinked.
“You need to remove your clothes and put these on, even the hat. Then you’ll wash your hands and forearms according to wall plaque directions, and when you’re all set, you’ll meet me just through there.” Nurse Mary Ellen pointed to where I was to end up. “I’ll take you into the theatre and you’ll be reunited with your wife, and you’ll watch your baby being born.” She looked happy.
“Oh…real—all right.” Again, surely the bloke who was speaking in such a pathetically weak voice was some other person, and couldn’t possibly be me.
Mary Ellen grinned some more. “Deep breath, Mr. Blackstone.”
“But is everything going to be all right? It’s too early for—”
She tilted her head and told me in a no-nonsense tone, “Babies have their own ideas about when to come. Nothing to be done about that. Your wife is in the best possible hands. Dr. Greymont does this all the time, but I’m sure you already know that.” She looked at me oddly, probably figuring there was more wrong with me than just my busted leg, before she left the room so I could change.
I don’t know how I walked into that operating theatre because I was fucking scared to, but at the same time, I needed to see Brynne and reassure myself she was okay. The room was cold and there was a strong antiseptic smell that hung in the air. I went to where everyone was gathered, limping slowly without my crutches. One thing I’d decided—I was walking into this on my own two legs, fucking busted or not.
“There he is,” Fred said, giving me a thumbs up.
“Ethan?” Brynne called out.
I closed my eyes in relief at the sound of her voice, and made my way to her. All I could see was her face and the main portion of her stomach. Everything else was swathed in blue medical drape. “I’m here, baby.” I leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “How are you?”
“I’m fine now that you’re back here.” I love you, she mouthed.
Funny, how I felt exactly the same. All of the stress and panic sort of melted away as soon as we saw each other and could be together. Brynne was so strong, and brave. She looked completely ready for what was about to happen. And…so beautiful. If she could do this, then the least I could do was stay conscious. How did I ever find this amazing and remarkable woman? How did she ever fall in love with me? Lucky bastard.
“I love you more,” I said.
“Ready to become Mum and Dad?” Fred asked cheerfully.
Yes.
“RIGHT, you can look now, if you like, E.” Fred said in a methodical tone, which told me he was focusing on the job at hand, as he should.
I’d kept my eyes on Brynne’s while he did the incision, stroking her hand with my thumb, knowing there was no way in h
ell I could watch a blade slicing into her perfect skin. She was so calm, and matter of fact about everything. No apparent fear of any kind; just a solid determination to get on with it and see this to its conclusion. She is so amazing. Women on the verge of giving birth had some serious mojo in the way of resolve and bravery, and it was utterly spectacular to see Brynne this way.
The sound of monitors beeped in the background, against the clicking of medical instruments and the jostling of her body on the table as they worked their way closer to the baby.
“I can’t feel any pain, Ethan. Just pulling and pushing. Feels weird, but I’m good.” She nodded and smiled at me. “I just want to meet our baby now.”
“Me too, my beauty. Me too.”
“Out we go,” Fred said with firm authority.
I peeked over the drape and saw a cap of dark hair emerging from Brynne’s belly, then a scrunched-up face looking furiously outraged at the rough treatment of being dragged into the world of bright lights and loud noises, then miniature shoulders and arms slipped through the opening, and then…the rest of a tiny little body. The whole process took probably about ten seconds in total.
And just that quickly…she was finally here with us.
LAUREL Thomasine Blackstone was born on the 7th of February at precisely three forty-four p.m. She weighed six pounds, four ounces, and was nineteen and three-quarter inches long. She came into the world with a healthy cry, and some pretty, dark curls on her perfectly shaped head. The last two came from her father, of course.
My butterfly angel was a beautiful little girl who would look to me to care for her, and help her to grow, and to love her unconditionally, along with her father, who would do all of those things for her, too. He would do them well. Because Ethan Blackstone was a wonderful man, with a beautiful heart, filled with so much love for me, and for our daughter.
I cried tears of happiness and joy when they put her into my arms for the first time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, even though I was so exhausted I probably could’ve slept for a day straight. I wanted to look at her little hands, and fingers, and toes, and feet instead. And I did—for hours. Her nose, and eyes, and rosebud lips, and cherub cheeks were pretty captivating as well.
When she was born, Ethan saw her before I could, because of the drape shielding everything from my view. He looked back at me and told me we had a daughter.
And for the first time since I’d known him, I saw tears in my Ethan’s eyes.
14th February
Somerset
“JUST a minute, little one, Daddy’s got to get you dressed, and then I’ll take you to Mummy. You must be a good girl, and stop wriggling—and let me put your arm—oh, for fuck’s sake—I can’t get this silly thing on you. It’s completely stupid,” he sang to her in a soothing voice. “So we’ll just wrap you up in a blanket instead. Yes we will…”
The most beautiful sounds of Ethan talking to Laurel in the night made me hold my breath so I could hear every whispered word, every baby sound, every rustle of the diaper changing, and the frustrating struggle of him trying to worm her into a fresh sleeper. Ethan did all of it because he wanted to, because he embraced fatherhood in the way he embraced everything in his life. With complete attention, loyalty, and dedication to those he loved.
I’d discovered something else about my daughter in the short time since she’d been born. She was a daddy’s girl, just like me. Ethan’s voice comforted her when she was fussy, and lulled her off to sleep when she was tired. He was the Laurel-whisperer all right, and it made me hope my dad could see her, or know about her, somehow…wherever he was in the vast universe.
“Ahh, you’re awake,” he said as he limped across the room toward me, cast still on his leg, holding our baby against his chest. My beautiful man, in all his sleep-mussed glory—all six foot three inches of him, his fine physique, and hard, carved muscles—holding a tiny bundle like it was the most precious treasure on earth. I wanted a picture of them together.
Thankfully I kept my camera on the bedside table, so I picked it up and snapped a photograph.
“That’s going to be perfect.” I smiled at him as he put her into my arms. “Thank you for changing her for me.”
“Of course,” he said, settling himself back into bed beside us. Ethan had helped me so much in the first days when I came home from the hospital. The incision from my C-section still hurt and the pain meds made me sleepy. So he’d gotten into a routine of getting up and bringing her to me for feeding in the night. He waited until she was finished, and then put her back in the bassinet again. Sometimes he’d burp her for me, too. Once he’d gotten the hang of things, he was really good at handling her, with one exception. His big hands and fingers didn’t work too well with putting her into tiny outfits with mini snaps and closures.
“So you had trouble with the sleeper again?” I said, as I opened the flap on the nursing bra I now wore around the clock. Wearing it was better than waking up in a puddle of milk.
“Yeah. It’s hard to get her arms into the sleeves.”
“I know. I heard you.” As soon as Laurel smelled the milk she started rooting for my nipple. Her little bow lips latched on and she started to suckle, her tiny hand fisting above my breast. “I heard that sweet little f-bomb you sang to her, too.”
“Shit,” he muttered. I looked over at him and laughed. “I’m going to have to work on that with her. Sorry. My mouth is filth.”
“I love your mouth, but yeah, it is filthy, and this little angel will copy everything you say and do. She’s her daddy’s girl.”
He looked happy at my prediction, his blue eyes lighting up in a smile. “You think so?” he asked softly.
“I know so, baby.”
“I love you both so much,” he said slowly, his simple words full of deep emotion, and heartfelt truth. He brought his lips to mine and kissed me lovingly, and then he leaned back into the pillows and watched over us both.
DAWN was breaking as I woke. I was alone in our bedroom. When I saw the lavender roses, I remembered the day and smiled. Valentine’s Day. Our first one, in fact. I looked at what had been left out for me by my romantic husband.
Beneath the vase of flowers, an envelope was propped beside a black velvet jewelry box. I opened the box first. It was another vintage piece from his family’s collection no doubt, and it was beautiful—a filigree butterfly pendant with a large ruby for its body. So perfect for me. I slipped the chain over my head and admired it. I would love wearing this necklace as a reminder of my butterfly angel.
I reached for his letter and read it.
My Beauty,
Every day since the first day, you have made my life worth living. You make me wake up every single day knowing that I am a blessed man. With you, I am real. You made me real when you walked into that gallery and looked up to see me. You are the only one. The only person ever able to really see me. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life loving you. That’s all I want, all I need.
Forever yours,
E
Brushing the joyful tears from my face, I got out of bed, and went to find my loving husband, so I could thank him for his precious gift.
28th February
London
“DO you know what today is?” I asked from my spot on the rug.
“Of course I know. I’m good with dates,” she said smugly.
“All right then, what is today, missus?”
“It’s Laurel’s original due date, mister.”
Not a surprise to me that she knew. Brynne remembered the important things. Our baby girl was three weeks old today, and growing like a weed. She had gained nearly a pound too, which was a good thing, because she was simply too tiny when she was born, in my opinion. But she was a strong little nurser. A fighter, just like her mum.
Right now, the two of us were indulging Mummy as she organized us for a photograph she wanted. Brynne was becoming quite the photographer, and took pictures of Laurel and me all the time now. This particu
lar shot was one she’d seen on a pinning site and showed to me, asking if she could recreate the scene with our baby once it was born. Today was the day, apparently.
The first step had been to nurse Laurel into a milk-coma. Then Brynne strategically placed her on my back while she was asleep, so my tattooed wings appeared to be hers, making her look like a little baby angel. She already was anyway, so why not have a photograph of her as one?
“How do we look?” I asked, her camera clicking away.
“Like a smokin’ hot daddy with a newborn baby sleeping on his back,” she sassed.
“Somebody needs to have her mouth kept busy, I think.”
She laughed at me. “I hope that’s a promise you’re going to keep later,” she said sexily.
“My cock heard that, baby,” I teased, expecting some kind of sarcastic rebuttal in return. But the thing with Brynne was that she was not terribly predictable. And really fuckin’ quick on the draw with comebacks. So, usually, when I thought I had the upper hand in a verbal sparring? She swooped in and trumped my hand. Did it all the time.
I heard her catch her breath, though. Made me wonder if she was thinking about my cock, and if it was making her consider other things. I sure thought about it, but the reasonable portion of my brain realized she was still healing from a major surgery. I’d just have to wait until she let me know she was ready.
“I am finished here,” she said, abruptly, setting her camera on the table. “And someone is ready for her crib while she sleeps it off.” The baby was lifted away, and then the clack of the door as she left the room told me I was alone.
I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how changed my life was from a year ago. The man from last year was two months away from receiving Tom Bennett’s email. He was somebody I didn’t even recognize anymore. And thank Christ for that, because I had no desire to ever return to such an empty life.
