HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  Gritting my teeth, eyes clamped shut; I cup either side of my belly with both hands, and try to breathe through the agony.

  Beside me, Ryker’s losing his shit as he shoves a second pillow under my head, propping it up higher. At least he’s helpful. “Babe. Fuck. Okay. Yes. Breathe. Just breathe. Shit. Fuck! We’re havin’ a baby. Right? What am I sayin’? Of course, you’re havin’ my kid. Fuckin’ hell. This is really happening. I gotta call the doc.”

  His final words penetrate through the haze of pain. Call the doc. Nope.

  Prying my eyes open to check if he’s started to dial, I slap the phone from his hand more forcefully than I intend. It drops onto his lap.

  Ryker frowns down at it, at me, brows knitted together.

  My jaw begins to ache from the building pressure. Her head’s giving my cervix a workout. I’ve gotta relax. Not fight it. She’ll come when she’s ready to. I’ve done this twice before, how hard can it be?

  Riiiight.

  Hard as hell.

  You try pushing a watermelon out of a hole the size of an egg with no medication and tell me you’re as right as rain. Bet a benji that you’ll cry mama before Johnny Cash can sing you his burning rendition of Ring of Fire. Just wait. You’ll see.

  Ten seconds tick by at a sluggish pace, and then its heaven. The tightness ceases only to be replaced with bone-deep exhaustion and achy pressure from spine to asshole.

  Ryker wipes sweat from my forehead with the back of his hand. He discards it on the blanket. “You gotta tell me what you want me to do, sweetheart.” Concern surges off him in waves.

  I steady my erratic breathing. “I’m in labor. Gonna have this baby.”

  “I know. I didn’t sleep much last night. You kept havin’ contractions. They weren’t regular, so I didn’t wake you.”

  What a sweet, sweet man. He should’ve rested. I must’ve been too damn weak to notice the pains. Spending a day enduring contractions while hiding the evidence from your family will do that to ya.

  “You didn’t sleep?” I ask, slotting his fingers through mine to hold his hand. His grip is firm, bringing me comfort—exactly what I need.

  Ryker shrugs, running a palm over his bald head. He stifles a yawn. “Not really. Dozed a few. Woke up for sure when your water broke all over you, me, and the bed.”

  I scowl eyeing the mess. The beds soaked beneath me and Ryker’s leg hairs are matted to his thigh from the wetness. Not that he’s bothered to wipe it off.

  “I don’t wanna call the doc,” I remark.

  “I gathered as much. But you gotta decide how we’re gonna do this. Do you want me to call the fam so we can get ya to the hospital?”

  “Sure. That sounds…” My words are severed as yet another all-consuming vice stakes its claim. This is not a good sign. There was barely two minutes between the last contraction and this one. If he’s gonna call our guys, he’s gotta do it now.

  Spreading my thighs, feet flat on the bed, my nails sink into the back of my leg. In through the nose and out through the mouth, I steady my respirations to keep my heart rate from skyrocketing and our daughter from going into stress. Easy in, easy out. There, I can do it. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. If only the… fuck… nope… this can’t be happening. No. No. No. No! The prehistoric urge to bear down rears out of nowhere, prickling every cell of my body, preparing my muscles to engage without consent.

  “Ryker,” I rasp, refusing to panic. I’ve gotta tell him. He needs to know.

  “I got you, babe. Dialing Kade now.”

  Thank God!

  There’s no way I can let him call for an ambulance. I refuse to scare the crap out of my kids with sirens all because I’m in labor. For thousands of years, women have done this kinda thing at home, in the woods, the river, in the back of a pickup truck.

  I’m safe. We’re safe. We’ve got time. We do. I went fast before, but she’ll wait. There’s no need to overreact. I’ve got this. No pain no gain. I’ve got… sonofabitch… fuck you contractions. This damn pep talk isn’t working.

  Staring ahead at the fireplace, I count the seconds in my head as Ryker talks to his brother on the phone.

  “Kat’s in labor, we need you.”

  Eighteen. Breathe. Nineteen. Breathe. Twenty.

  “No. She doesn’t want the doc. She wants your ass here to take us to the hospital— Yes, I know it wasn’t planned. Just—,”

  “We’re… ohhh… not… gonna make it,” I cut in between sputtering breaths. Shiit… I need to… the pressure…it hurts. Everything in my brain screams for me to push. But I can’t. I won’t. My head and my muscles can fuck right off a cliff. This baby isn’t coming until I say so.

  “What do you mean we’re not gonna make it?” By some miracle, my man is the epitome of calm.

  Thirty. Breathe. Thirty-one. Breathe. Thirty-two.

  “Put. Speaker. On,” I grit, sweat dripping down either side of my face, tendons bulging in my neck.

  Ryker heeds my instructions, and Dickcheese’s voice fills the room with pinpoint concern. “You’re ready to push, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get my bag and be there as soon as I can.”

  I appreciate that he, too, is composed.

  “Good.”

  “You know what to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know ya do. Love you so much.”

  “Love you.”

  “Be strong.”

  “Always am.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  The phone goes dead just as the contraction yields, giving me a short span of time to prepare for the next one. It’s gonna be a doozy.

  Ryker’s hand cups my knee in unfailing support. “What do I need to do?”

  “Don’t freak out.” I flash a tiny grin, attempting to bring a bit of levity to this craziness. I cannot believe we’re gonna have this kid at home. Never in a million years did I think this would happen. So much crap can go wrong delivering in general. But I refuse to believe that. My gut says this is safe. That my baby will be fine, healthy even. If my gut steers me wrong, I’ll fire her from voicing her opinion, and we’ll call 911. It’ll be okay. Everything’s gonna work out. I’ve got this. We’ve got it.

  For an endless moment, our eyes connect, tethering our souls, filling my cup with unimaginable love. It’s soothing, it’s soft, it’s everything I need and more. “I promise. I won’t,” Ryker vows, leaning in to kiss my temple despite the sweat.

  I nod once, believing him. “She’s gonna come soon. Next push, maybe. I need you to get lots of towels and the bulb syringe from under Walker’s bassinet as a precaution.” Kade’s medical kit might not have one.

  Another kiss and knee squeeze. Then Ryker’s scooting off the mattress in his snug boxers that outline his ass and dick in the best of ways. “Anything else?” He pauses with his trusty scooter in place.

  “A bowl from the kitchen. Kade’s gonna need it for the—”

  “Placenta. I’m on it.” And he is. Quick and efficiently my perfect man follows my directives to a T as I take a moment to prepare for the inevitable.

  Shuffling up the bed, pillows piled high beneath my shoulders and head, I prop myself halfway up the headboard to give Kade or Ryker plenty of room to sit by my feet and help deliver if necessary.

  Knowing skin on skin is best, I remove Ryker’s shirt and my bra. It falls into a small pile on the floor. There’s no reason to be shy about nudity at a time like this. A cantaloupe sized head is about to split open my vagina. My breasts hanging out are the least of my worries.

  By the time the next wave of hell steamrolls through me, I’m prepared. Thighs pulled back, chin to chest, I stare straight ahead and simply breathe. The pain is nothing, or so I tell myself. The urge to push I can overcome. Air draws in through my nose and whooshes from my parted lips in even gusts. The pressure down below is indescribable. My stomach feels like an elephant is sitting on me trying to shove my guts out of my crotch. Even as I remain calm, keeping my mus
cles loose, my jaw unclenched, I can feel my body prepare itself to give birth. This might be the part where women scream or cry or want to knock their man’s dick in the dirt. But I’m too busy locking my system down tight. Refusing to let this rule me, when I’m, by the grace of all that is me, gonna rule it like it’s my bitch.

  Forty-six sluggish seconds later my stomach relaxes and Ryker’s back in the bedroom. On the bed beneath my bottom he spreads a few towels, laying a handful on the mattress to use after. The pink plastic mixing bowl I bought for popcorn goes on the floor beside the bed. He sets the bulb syringe that came from the hospital, when Walker was born, on the nightstand where my glasses lay.

  “How’re ya doin’?” Ryker sits at the base of my feet, getting a front row seat to the birthing show. If this was his first time, I’d be worried how he’d feel about me afterward. If the sight of a body barreling out of my cooch would make him love me any less. But this is our third rodeo together. He’s watched heads pop out of my vagina without flinching—much. By this point, he’s a pro. Even the gross stuff doesn’t seem to faze him. And trust me; if you’ve never given birth this way, you won’t understand what I mean by gross stuff.

  “I’m gonna be alright.”

  “Did you have another while I was gettin’ shit?” Ryker rubs my shin, my knee and back again, in even strokes meant to relax me.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you push?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “But you wanted to?”

  “Yes.”

  Expression resolute, he nods in his strong special way that communicates he’s a badass motherfucker who’s got this handled. “The phone is on standby if we need to call an ambulance. Just in case something goes wrong. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

  “Nothing is gonna go wrong,” I reassure with full conviction. I’ve been through enough crap in the past two months. God owes me this one.

  The sudden rush of heavy boot falls clambering up the hallway is music to my ears. Not waiting to be welcomed into the room, Kade shoves the door open. Over his shoulder is a massive black bag full of stuff.

  “Am I too late?” he rasps out between breaths.

  “Not yet,” I reply.

  Kade drops his bag on the open side of the bed and digs in.

  Ryker looks at me, eyes raking my nude form, then to his brother. A flash of something displeasing transforms his face for half a second. His lips turn down. “I’m gonna pretend that you’re not seein’ my woman naked right now. Or that you’re...Why are you puttin’ gloves on?”

  “They’re sanitary, and I need to check her.”

  “Check what exactly? Her blood pressure?” Ryker eyeballs the cuff on the mattress that Kade withdrew from his bag.

  “No.” Snapping the wrists of his gloves, testing they’re secure, Dickcheese grins wide, eyes alight. “I’m gonna examine to see if she’s safe to deliver.” He walks around to my side of the bed and squeezes my bent knee.

  “You’re puttin’ your hand in my woman’s pussy?” Ryker hisses.

  “It’s for medical reasons, bro. I’m not feelin’ her up.” Kade’s all business.

  “I’ve never had a hand inside her. There’s no way I’m lettin’ you do it. Give me the gloves. I’ll check.” Nostrils flaring indignantly, Ryker offers his palm, expecting Kade to comply.

  Kade arches an amused brow. “Do you know what you’re checkin’? What to feel for?”

  “No. But you can tell me. Wait. Do you even know?”

  “Yes. Asshole. I do. And it’s not my hand. It’s a few fingers. Now move, before she has another contraction.”

  Growling his discontent loudly, Ryker scoots a tad out of the way, giving his brother space to reach in.

  Kade poises a big hand by my entrance. “This is gonna be a bit uncomfortable, Watermelon Tits.”

  “Your fingers are gonna be up my vag, I think we’ve already crossed that bridge,” I wisecrack.

  Kade chuckles, teeth flashing. “I love you. Remember that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You love her. I love her more. Now get your fingers in and out of my old lady’s pussy before I punch you in the face.”

  Dickcheese and I share a private snicker at Ryker’s outburst.

  I know I shouldn’t find my man’s overreaction adorable, but I do. He’s all macho and huffy, about to strangle Kade. If he was sitting closer, I’d kiss the scowl clean off his face.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I prepare for Kade’s invasion. He’s swift and efficient, taking no time at all to examine my progress. Once he’s done, he removes both gloves, tosses the bundle on the floor, and seizes the blood pressure cuff.

  “So?” Ryker prompts with an impatient snarl.

  “She’s ready. Got to… never mind.” Kade’s eyes lock with mine as he secures the cuff around my wrist. It’s digital. “You can push on the next contraction.”

  “What’s with the never mind? Is somethin’ wrong?” Ryker grumbles. With the way things are going, Kade might need to test his brother’s blood pressure next. He has got to chill out.

  “No.”

  “Then fuckin’ tell me.”

  “I felt your daughter’s head.”

  “Oh.” Ryker’s lips form into the cutest childlike ‘O’.

  Paying no attention to Ryker’s stunned reaction; Kade rubs my forearm and gives me a subtle wink, reading my BP. “Blood pressure’s a little high. Nothing to be concerned about, though. I’m gonna call a friend of mine after you deliver so she can come weigh the baby and double check everything. I don’t have a baby scale. And she’s sweet. You’ll like her. She doesn’t live in Red Fort, or I would’ve had you use her to begin with. But she’ll make the drive since I asked.”

  “Sounds—” Once more, words are swept from my tongue as the telltale ache in my lower spine crawls around and clamps onto my stomach with the strength of a twelve-foot alligator. Getting in position, thighs held, chin down, I prepare for the push, stretch, and plop.

  “Okay, Watermelon Tits, we’re almost ready for ya. Ryker, place two fingers just inside her canal; lightly pressing down to protect the perineum. This’ll prevent her from tearing,” Kade instructs standing at the rear of the bed, watching as Ryker positions his fingers. I think. I can barely feel him. The… I gotta push.

  Inhaling deeply, I let nature take her badass course and push, channeling all of my energy into my bottom, making no sound. Kade counts to ten aloud. Then I release my muscles and breath, inhale again, hold it, and bear down reengaging all of my muscles to get this baby out.

  By the third try, I feel it—the immense pressure before the burn as a mass breaks through the tight hole with a wet pop. Ryker’s wide glassy eyes are a sight to behold as I pant through the remainder of my contraction, doing my best to ignore the fiery pain.

  “She’ll be out soon.” I’m the first to break the silence, trying to catch my sputtering breath. It’s entirely too cute to see both of my men staring in slack-jawed wonderment at me and the head of my daughter. Reaching down I run my fingers through her slimy hair, careful not to poke any eyes or her nose.

  “She has dark hair,” Ryker whispers in awe.

  “You didn’t make any noise,” Kade notes simultaneously.

  I smile a tired smile, covered in sweat, muscles fatigued. I dunno how some women do this for hours straight. I don’t think I could ever be that resilient. This is difficult enough.

  “There’s no cord around her neck, so you can push her out on the next contraction. Be ready, bro.” Kade clasps Ryker’s shoulder, jostling it a little, infusing it with familial love. “You get to play catch.”

  “I’m gonna have four fuckin’ kids,” my love mumbles to himself, still a bit dumbstruck. Shaking it off, he squeezes my calf and glances up to my face, where he gifts me a look of radiant love that catches in my throat. My heart soars in harmony.

  “Four,” I reiterate equally stunned. Two infants, two sets of diapers, two bellies to feed. It’s not gonna be much
different than having twins, and I always pitied moms with twins because of the extra work. Yet envied them because they had double the love, double the smiles, double the baby babbles, and silliness. I’m one of those moms now. And it’s gonna be amazing.

  “I love you.” Ryker shifts the two fingers inside my opening that our daughter’s head presses on.

  “Love you, too.”

  “Love you three,” Dickcheese interjects, beaming as bright as the sun, totally enjoying this. It’s not every day you get to assist your best friend having a kid.

  Ryker rolls his eyes, smirking from the corner of his mouth. I copy the sentiment for a fleeting moment before the next contraction swoops in without warning. I brace myself. This is it. Time to give birth. Eyeing the clock out of my peripheral, I jot a mental note that she’ll be born just after five a.m.

  Legs back, summoning all my inner strength, I bear down, allowing the surge of pain to guide me.

  Ryker readies his free hand.

  Then it happens.

  Her shoulders breach and the rest comes along for the ride. Reaching underneath her, supporting her not so tiny head, Ryker draws our wet girl to his chest, cradling as he massages her back, skin on skin. Those small eyes blink open, look around half dazed with a tiny furrow between her brows. Then she peers up at him with a look that could only be described as ‘Hey Dad’. Big, fat tears roll down my beautiful man’s face in a rush, dripping off the tip of his chin. A small hiccupped cry tears from our daughter’s lungs. Followed by another, her bottom lip pouty. My nose stings with the urge to bawl, yet I reel it in, not wanting to miss this precious moment. Leaning in, face suspended beside Ryker’s, Kade cries happy tears as he snaps pictures of his brother holding our chubby babes, coated in vernix.