“You’ll have to ask the doctor that question, miss. I’m sorry.”
The next hour goes by in a blur. I’m whisked into the E.R., where my mother is waiting for me and already filling out all of my paperwork.
Once settled into my room and all strapped up to a new set of machines, I meet the doctor on call. I’m heartbroken that my doctor won’t be delivering the baby, but the other doctor is one I’ve met before, and he’s really nice and helps calm my fears.
Delilah surprisingly does check her Facebook and messages me back, saying they’re on their way, followed by a million exclamation marks. She told me the baby better wait for its auntie, which made me laugh. I messaged back that I relayed the memo.
I still haven’t heard from Lawson, and it’s really starting to freak me out. The nurse checked me a few minutes ago and said I’m dilated enough to have an epidural thankfully, because I feel as if I’m going to die with every contraction I have.
I just pray he gets here in time to see the birth of our baby.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lawson
I cannot wait to get out of this damn suit and back into my regular clothes, is all I can think about as I sit in this stuffy-ass office at the top of this skyscraper overlooking the Vegas Strip.
“We are excited for the business adventure, Mr. McCoy,” Mr. Holloway says cheerfully as he pushes his chair back and stands, holding his hand out toward mine.
Standing, I shake his hand along with the other two men and his attorney before taking the ink pen laying on the table and signing the contract, sealing the deal between myself and Vegas’ number one Harley shop.
The second I step off of the elevator, I yank my tie off and dig my phone out of my pocket. I switch it back off of silent and begin to scroll through my notifications that illuminate my screen as I dig my key card to my hotel room out of my pocket.
I notice a few new voicemails, so hit call and enter my password as I push the door to my room open. I toe off my dress shoes and shrug off my dress coat, tossing it onto the chair beside the bed. I begin listening to the first message, which is Dallas calling, wishing me luck at the business meeting. As I begin to unbutton my dress shirt, I hear Emelyn’s voice coming through the phone. It sounds panicked and my fingers stop mid-button as I hear the words ‘water broke’.
Not bothering to listen to the rest of the messages, I stuff my phone back into my pocket and frantically get to work stuffing everything into my suitcase. I slip my dress shoes back on and toss my jacket over my forearm as I wheel my suitcase out of the room and toward the wall of elevators.
My mind is racing as I try to call her phone and see the red battery flashing on my screen as my phone powers off.
“Fuck!” I curse out loud, punching the back of the taxi’s seat as it crawls through traffic toward the airport.
“Take it easy on the seat back there, buddy,” the cabby shouts at me while never taking his eyes off of the road.
“Sorry. You wouldn’t happen to have a USB charger in here, would you?” I ask, even though I know the answer’s going to be no, seeing as this taxi looks to be older than dirt.
“Nope, that I don’t, man. But they’ll have some at the airport.”
No shit, Sherlock. That ain’t helping now, is it?
After what feels like an eternity, we arrive at the airport. I slide my debit card through the machine on the back of the headrest, paying my cab fare, and jump out of the car. Grabbing my luggage off of the seat, I slam the door, sprint through the large glass doors, and head straight for the Southwest Airlines window.
My ticket is for tomorrow, but that isn’t going to do me any good right now. I need a flight back home right fucking now.
The line is a mile fucking long, of course. I’m sweating profusely as I roll my sleeves up my arms. I feel as if I’m going to pass out at any second as panic strikes.
What if I don’t get there in time?
I can’t miss the birth of our baby—Emelyn needs me.
I will get there, even if I have bribe and beg to do so.
Finally, I’m motioned towards the counter and practically spring the four feet between the clerk and me.
I slam my ticket down on the counter and push it towards her. “I have a seat booked for my flight home tomorrow…but I need someone to change this ticket into a flight home for like—right now.”
She gives me a skeptical look as she looks over my ticket and begins typing on her computer. Keeping her eyes on the screen, she says, “I have one flight left for today, but it doesn’t leave for another hour and a half,” she says, finally bringing her eyes back up to mine.
I feel a weight lifted off of my chest and a small smile cracks across my face. “That’s fine. I’ll take it.”
Taking my new ticket, I wheel my carry-on behind me and head straight to security.
Wait for me, baby. I’m on my way.
~~~
As soon as I finished going through security, I managed to get my phone plugged into a charging station and finally call Emelyn. She sounded scared but relieved that I was on my way. I told her to tell our lil McCoy to wait for Daddy. I’d be there as fast as I could.
After an almost four hour long flight, I landed in Tuscaloosa. Every minute on that damn plane felt like an eternity. Thankfully, Dallas picked me up from the airport and took me to my truck—only breaking a few state speed limits.
I do a hundred down the highway the entire drive to Lincoln. I couldn’t care less if someone pulls me over, because the only thing I care about is getting to Emelyn.
She told me to go to the E.R. and just ask for Labor & Delivery. She said she’s in room 112.
Seeing the sign for the hospital, I whip my truck into the parking lot where the E.R. entrance is and pull into the first open parking spot. I made it here in half the time it normally takes thanks to it being my lucky day. Not one cop the entire drive here. I throw my truck into park and jump out, sprinting through the automatic doors.
The second I enter the cold and sterile smelling hospital, memories of the night we were in the accident flash through my mind. I have to force the thoughts out and try to remain focused on Emelyn.
Walking up to the counter, I’m greeted by a young woman in brightly colored scrubs. She pops her gum loudly and leans on her forearms, smiling up at me. “Well…hello, there. What can I get ya, darlin’?”
It takes all the self-control I have not to roll my eyes at her failed attempt to flirt with me.
“My girlfriend is in labor right now—or she may have had the baby already—I’m not quite sure. But I know she said she’s in room 112.”
The feeling of hands clapping me on the back startles me and I jump slightly before spinning around to see who’s behind me.
I’m met by the smiling eyes of my best friend. “Grayson! You guys are here! I thought you’d be at the cabin still.”
“No. We dropped everything. Literally—my arms were full of wood I just brought in to start a fire, when Delilah screamed to me that Emelyn was in labor. We got here as fast as we could. Poor thing was a crying mess. She was terrified not having you here with her.”
My stomach twists at his words. I hate that I wasn’t by her side for every second of this. “How is she? The baby…?”
“She’s still in labor. She’s been having a rough go of things. They’ve been up there for hours. I talked to Delilah a few minutes ago when she called my phone. She said they’re finally close to getting ready to push, so you better haul ass up there right now.”
Fuck, I didn’t go through all of this to get here just seconds too late.
Turning back to the bubble gum popper on the other side of the desk, I ask again, “Can you you direct me to room 112?”
Shaking her head, she stares up at me with a sympathetic look in her eyes as she taps her long, fake nails on the linoleum countertop. “Sorry, sir. But only immediate family, like parents, husbands, and also birthing couches are allowed in the labor and del
ivery room.”
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
“But I’m the baby’s father.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she blinks up at me, batting her long, fake lashes. “Doesn’t matter. Rules are rule. I can’t let any Joe Shmoe who walks in off of the street claiming to be the baby daddy just waltz up to a delivery room. If you want to get up there, we’ll have to contact the mother to confirm you are who you say you are and see a form of identification.”
“This is crazy. The woman in labor has been waiting for him to get here. My wife—his sister—is up there right now with her. He just traveled almost six hours to get here in time. Please don’t let him miss the birth of his first child,” Grayson pleads to her.
Letting out a loud sigh, she picks up the phone and starts dialing numbers, all the while keeping her eyes on Grayson and me. “Hi, yes, this is Phoebe. I have a gentleman down here by the name of…” Her eyes zero in on me.
“Lawson,” I say dryly.
“Lawson, who’s claiming to be the father of Miss Emelyn LaClaire’s baby in that room. I just need to confirm if he is, in fact, the father, and that she wants him present for the birth. Okay. Thank you.” Slamming the phone down, she forces another fake smile at Grayson and me and says, “Go to the elevators and head up to the third floor. You’ll see double doors labeled Labor & Delivery. A nurse will be waiting for you on the other side of the doors. Just hit the call button when you get there and she’ll let you in.”
“Thank you.” Wasting no time, I clap Grayson on the back. “Let’s go, buddy.”
What feels like a million-year elevator ride is probably only really thirty seconds, but I find myself pacing in the tiny elevator as I watch it count the floors as we pass them. Finally, three lights up and the doors ding before sliding open.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Grayson says before finding a seat in the waiting room outside the Labor & Delivery doors. Emelyn’s parents are there in the waiting room, along with my parents already pacing. They must’ve had Greyson waiting downstairs for me. Which thankfully they did, because it saved me from causing a scene and having my ass tossed out of the hospital.
“Glad to see you made it, Lawson,” my mom says as everyone stands and takes turns giving me a hug.
“I was scared for a while there, but I’m so glad I made it here in time. See y’all in a bit.”
I walk over to the doors and press the call button, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I wait for someone to let me in. Running my fingers through my hair, I let out the breath I’ve been holding when I hear the doors open and a man in scrubs greets me.
“Hi, Lawson?”
“Yup. That’s me. Lawson McCoy,” I say, sticking my hand out to shake his.
Laughing, he shakes my hand and then leads me down the hallway. “Right this way. You’re just in time. At any minute now, you should be the proud father to a baby boy or girl. We have lots of bets going on in the room on what the baby will be when it’s born. So far, the odds are three say girl and two say boy.”
The little bit of small talk helps me relax and I find my nervousness easing slightly.
“Emelyn has been saying for months she thinks it’s a girl. I say boy, because every guy wants a little Alabama Roll Tide future quarterback.”
“Ahh, you a college football fan?”
“Yup. I actually played starting quarterback for Alabama a few years ago.” I rarely talk about football, because it’s a sore subject with my father and me, since I turned down offers from the NFL to pursue my dream of opening my own bike shop.
“Wow, that’s pretty awesome. Well, here ya go. She’s right in there. Just sanitize before you go in,” he says, motioning to the hand sanitizer on the wall outside the door.
“Will do. Thanks.” I pump some sanitizer into my hand and rub it in as I enter the room. I push through the curtain blocking the door and immediately spot Emelyn in the center of the room in her hospital bed, sitting up, holding onto the bars of her bed, and pushing.
“Lawson!” she shouts as she falls onto her back and attempts to catch her breath. Immediately, tears fill her eyes as she holds her hand out to me. Taking it in mine, I bring it to my lips, kissing it as I reach out with the other and brush her damp strands of hair out of her eyes.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” Leaning over the rails, I brush a chaste kiss to her lips. They taste salty from her exertion. “How are you doing? How’s the baby?” I ask as I stand back up and look from her, down to the doctor between her legs.
He talks through his face mask, answering me for her, “Baby is doing great. It’s been a slow labor, but only one or two more pushes and Baby McCoy will finally be here.”
Wow.
This is insane and amazing, all at the same time.
I have a sudden rush of adrenaline as I feel Emelyn’s grasp on my hand tighten. I smile over her at my sister, who’s standing on the other side of her holding a cup of ice chips.
“Glad ya made it, big brother. I was starting to get worried. But I’ve had my camera the entire time capturing every moment for you.”
“I don’t even want to think about how I look in half those pictures,” Emelyn grumbles under her breath, all the while keeping her eyes closed.
She looks exhausted. I can only imagine what she’s gone through today.
Emelyn shoots up off of the bed as another contraction hits. “All right, Emelyn. I want you to bear down really hard this time. Give me everything you got. We’re really close here,” the doctors says as she squeezes my and Delilah’s hands and lets out a loud groan as she pushes with everything she has.
“Ohh…oohhh! Here comes the head!” Delilah screams as she peers over the sheet draped across Emelyn’s midsection.
“One more hard push, and then don’t push again until I tell you.” Doing as she’s told, Emelyn pushes as hard as she can then lets out a deep gasp as the doctor tells her to stop pushing.
“Oh. My. God…Lawson, look! There he is,” Delilah says as I watch her wipe away a tear that is running down her cheek. She has her camera pointing between Emelyn’s legs as she snaps a picture of our baby’s face. The sounds of its small cries fill the room.
Childbirth is the grossest thing on the planet, but at the same time the most beautiful thing to ever experience.
I stare down in awe at the tiny face as the doctor works on clearing the airway. “Okay. One more big push and your baby will be here.”
I bend down, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair, and whisper, “Our baby is beautiful, Em. I cannot wait for you to see.” I try to hold back the tears of joy threatening to fall, and rub at my eyes. I’m so overwhelmed with so much happiness and excitement it’s hard to process everything happening right now.
She screams as she pushes again and her body shakes against mine as she bares down as hard as she can. I stare over her thigh and watch as the baby’s shoulders push free, followed by the entire body. In a flash of movement, the baby is being set on top of Emelyn’s stomach as a nurse gets to work rubbing its body.
I hear the doctor telling her to push one more time, but I drown him out, because I’m too consumed with the overwhelming emotions coursing through my body as I take in the sight of my baby.
Emelyn’s and my little miracle.
“Congrats, Mom and Dad—it’s a girl!” the nurse says excitedly as she hands me a pair of funny-looking scissors. “Cut the cord, Dad.”
Reaching out, I cut the cord and watch as the baby is whisked away to the scale.
“Four pounds, eight ounces,” the nurse shouts over to us as she steps aside, giving my sister a moment to take a picture.
I kiss Emelyn one more time and smile down at her. “You were right, baby. She’s a girl!”
“I told you.” She laughs up at me before turning her attention across the room, where they work on our daughter.
“She’s still struggling to breathe a little, so we’re going to have to keep her on some oxygen for a bit
, but then you’ll be able to try and breastfeed in a little while, sweetie,” the nurse says to Emelyn as they continue to rub the baby’s body and get to work putting a diaper and shirt on her. I watch as they slip a little hat over her head and then carry her over to the bassinette. A small oxygen machine hovers over her face and I watch as she wiggles and cries as the nurse swaddles her in a pink and blue striped blanket.
I hear so many dads talk about the first time they see their child. They say there’s no way to put into words what you feel the first time you see their face or touch their tiny hands. Or when you finally get to hold them in your arms. I always assumed they were exaggerating, or if it was one of my friends, I’d bust their balls, calling them a pansy. But now, as I stare down into the eyes of my little girl and watch as she grasps at my pointer finger with her tiny fingers, tears drip from my eyes.
Mine Would Be You Page 18
