by J. Saman
Loser.
We still don’t know who was behind it, and that’s a bit of a concern. But we fixed it and locked his shit down with my new, very expensive, software and since then, he’s been good. So good in fact, that the measly twenty percent he gave me and Luke is now worth a quarter of a billion dollars.
And that’s not even cracking the shell of what my company is pulling in.
But none of that means anything without Katie and our family that’s about to begin.
She’s my world, they’re my world, and I’ve never been happier or felt more complete in my life.
Adding to that, my brother Kyle, my newest corporate lawyer, moved out here around the time Katie and I found out we were expecting twins. Unfortunately, I think he’s got a thing for my little redheaded assistant, but I’m not going there right now.
I pull into the emergency room turnaround, slam the car to a stop and press that stupid parking button. Racing around to the other side, I yank open the door. Katie can barely walk or move, that’s how much pain she’s in.
Thankfully, a doctor taking a smoke break outside—really?—comes to our aid and grabs a wheelchair. The security guard runs over, yelling at me to move my car, but I toss him the keys and tell him that either he can have it towed or I’ll give him a hundred dollars right now to park it for me.
He shuts up and gets in the car.
Like there was any chance I was leaving my wife right now.
“Take me upstairs,” Katie is yelling and crying. “I don’t want to deliver where I work.”
“Kate, you’re delivering these babies now,” Dr. Clarkson, her boss and chief of the ED says. “You’re fully dilated, and I’m afraid if I try to bring you up, you’ll deliver in the elevator.”
“This is so humiliating,” Katie covers her face in between contractions as she props herself up on the gurney in the trauma room. “Everyone I work with is going to not only know what my vagina looks like, but what the inside of it looks like as well.”
“Then they’ll all be jealous it’s not theirs,” I add, running a hand down her sweaty blonde head.
She looks up at me with wide, tired eyes. “They will, won’t they?” God, I love her.
“Okay, Kate, I feel a contraction coming.” Dr. Clarkson is shielded up head to toe in protective gear like she’s going into a hazmat situation, and is poised at the foot of the gurney between Katie’s open legs. We’ve also got two nurses in here who are friends of Katie’s, so it’s all good. “Get ready to push, Kate, we’ve only got a small window to get these babies out. I’ve got the NICU on standby and Peds is on their way down.”
Katie nods, looking up to me quickly with tears glassing over her beautiful eyes.
“It’s going to be fine, sweetheart.” I lean down to kiss her forehead.
Katie cries out, and Clarkson yells push, and then everything goes into fast motion. More doctors and nurses come rolling in with machines and incubators, all wearing masks and hats.
I’m suddenly terrified.
I need my babies to be okay. I need my Katie to be okay.
I position my body behind hers, helping her to sit up to better improve her pushing angle or some bullshit like that, and I hold her to me, vowing never to let go.
Katie screams and yells, and seconds later, the smallest slimiest human being I’ve ever seen is pulled from her. The baby is a gray-bluish color and before I know what’s happening, everyone is rushing around again. The baby—who’s gender I couldn’t even see—was passed off to the doctors in masks with machines.
“Is it breathing? Oh god, I can’t hear it,” Katie cries out.
“It’s a boy, Kate. You have a son,” Dr. Clarkson says calmly, looking both of us in the eye in turn.
I sob and so does Katie, my body covering hers as we embrace. I’m shaking and crying like I never have before, so completely overwhelmed by everything. We whisper words of love to each other.
I have a son, but the fact that he’s not crying and has six people working on him is not good.
“What’s going on?” Katie yells out, trying to see around the doctors. So am I, but I’m being held back by someone who tells me I have to let them work. I’m about to pummel the rather large woman when a small pissed off wail pierces the chaos and everyone freezes before they sigh in relief.
“Five minute Apgar is seven, Kate,” one of the doctors says to her. “He looks good. His weight is excellent for a thirty-four weeker.”
“That’s because he’s got a large penis like his father,” I whisper to Katie, but apparently not quietly enough because others around us laugh. She smacks at me playfully before arching her back and crying out in another contraction.
“You’re at ten centimeters again, Kate. You ready to push out baby number two?” Clarkson asks.
She nods as tears stream down her face.
“You’re doing so well, baby. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much,” I whisper into her ear, watching the doctors continue to work on our son.
“Push, Kate. Now,” Clarkson demands and Kate complies, but the baby doesn’t come out as quickly this time as it did the last. It takes her three more contractions and three pushes with each one before our little girl comes out.
Unlike with our son, she cries instantly, and so does Katie as she whispers something about giving Maggie siblings. I can’t begin to imagine just how emotional this moment is for her.
Both an extreme high and extreme low.
A few minutes later, our perfect babies are placed on Katie’s chest, and both immediately latch onto her beautiful full breasts—who can blame them really?
The staff gives us privacy for a few minutes now that our son seems to be out of the woods, but they’re still taking both of them up to the NICU for a few days at least.
Fine. Whatever, I won’t fight it.
“You did so good, sweetheart. They’re perfect,” I kiss her sweet lips, looking down at our instant family. I never knew happiness could feel this way. Never realized that things could actually get better. But they have.
“You were part of this too, you know?” She looks up at me with the most contented expression I’ve ever seen.
“Love, all I did was orgasm inside of you. Not exactly a hardship for me. In fact, when they give us the go ahead, I’d like to do that again.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “Make more babies?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Orgasm inside of you.” She really should have gotten that point. I’ll blame it on the fatigue and hormones. “I think we’ll start with the two babies we have and see where we end up in a few years.”
“Thank Christ. I was worried there for a minute.” She looks down at our little bundles that are happily sucking away.
“We have to name them.”
“You don’t like the names we came up with?”
We had two of each gender since all we knew was that we were having twins. We decided to be surprised on the rest.
“Yes, but which ones, love?”
“Oh. Right.” She sinks her teeth into her lip, worrying it back and forth. “I think I like Will.”
“I assume that’s for our son?” She looks up at me like I’m an idiot. “Just making sure.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Will, it is. I think I like Leah for our girl.”
She nods. “Will and Leah. Perfect.”
“Just like you. And them, of course.” I lean down and kiss her lips again, brushing my fingers across their tiny soft heads and kissing them. I’ve heard babies smell good, but I never realized just how amazing it really is.
All of it. Every single thing about this is just…perfect.
“We’re perfect, Ryan,” Katie says, echoing my thoughts as she always seems to do. “And thank god we didn’t have them in the car.”
The End
Keep reading for a sneak peak at the first chapter of Luke’s story,
Start Over.
E
nd of Book Note
Hi everyone, and thank you for reading Ryan and Kate’s story. This book seemed to just fly out of me, and I have to admit, it was as emotional as it was fun to write. I quickly fell in love with both characters separately, as well as together. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I want to thank my family for always being loving and supportive of me, even when you don’t realize you’re being so.
Please stay tuned for more from some of the people we met—and didn’t meet—along the way. Luke’s story, Start Over can be purchased here: Start Over
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Keep reading for Chapter 1 from Start over!!!
Start Over
Chapter 1
Ivy
“No one drinks like that unless they’re in love,” the woman next to me says. I’ve been drinking in the pub for the past hour, and though I noticed the nice pair of legs dangling out of the tiny skirt when she’d sat down next to me half an hour ago, I didn’t do further research.
I ignore her as I take a sip of my Manhattan, which I only drink during dire situations.
“Oh, come on,” she continues, clearly not taking my not-so-subtle hint. “It can’t be that bad.”
I turn my head to her. She’s pretty. Red hair and dark blue eyes, at least that’s how they appear in the dim lighting, attached to petite yet soft features.
I shrug a shoulder, turning back to the mahogany of the bar, hoping the heavy bass beat will serve as enough of a buffer between us.
I’ve never been in this pub before. I guess that really shouldn’t surprise me since I’ve never been much of a boozer—not even in college when you’re supposed to hit the turps.
I only live a few blocks away. Staggering distance. That’s what they call it, isn’t it?
Yes, that’s exactly what they call it. I plan on getting good and drunk tonight. I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning, but for now, it seems like an ace of an idea.
My drinking neighbor says it can’t be that bad, but she’s wrong.
I lost someone today. Not me per se, and it wasn’t my fault or anything, but still. It’s a life gone. A family devastated. You’d think by this point I’d be used to it and no longer take it personally, but I’m not and I do.
So I’m getting pissed.
I take a sip of my second Manhattan of the night, admiring the fact that the bourbon and sweet vermouth are now flavorless.
“Breakup or unrequited love?” the girl on my right asks again.
“Neither.”
And it’s the truth. I’m not in love and I’m not going through a breakup. Sometimes, life just requires a night of drinking in solitude. I don’t share these moments of somber contemplation with anyone. Not my colleagues or staff. No one. Which is probably why I don’t have a ton of friends. They’re all big on commiserating together. I’m not.
Why does everyone always assume that everything has to do with the opposite sex?
“Okay, fine,” she says a little dramatically as she sips her . . . whatever the hell that is. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it.”
“Sorry, it’s not you.”
“Oh right, the whole it’s not you it’s me line,” she laughs. “Your ex must have been a real bitch.”
I can’t help but laugh with her because this woman is actually a nice distraction—one I could use.
“A bitch?” I turn to face her.
“Yeah, to make you so bitter. Was she whoring around?”
“Whoring around?” I feel like we’re playing dirty Mad Libs here, but I can’t quite get the punchline. And now I’m mixing metaphors, which tells me I should have eaten dinner before I took to the booze.
Wait, did she say she?
Ginger here looks at me equally confused. “The woman you broke up with,” the redhead enunciates each word like I’m a child.
“I’m not gay.” I tilt my head, wondering why she automatically assumes I am. She should meet my sister Sophia, then her gaydar would be off the charts. “And I didn’t break up with anyone.”
She bites her lip, amused as hell. “If you’re not gay, what are you doing in a gay bar?”
Her question catches me completely off guard and I spin on my stool to survey the crowd.
Sure as rain, she’s right.
Judging by all the same-sex female couples, this is very much a lesbian bar. “Oh.” At least I have a good place to take Soph when she comes to visit next month. The drinks are ripper.
She laughs out loud, head tilted back, smacking the bar twice for effect. “It’s fine, I’m not gay either. Well, not really anyway.”
I swivel back, reaching for the stem of my fancy glass.
“Then why are you here?”
She shrugs a shoulder, “They have the best mojitos in town.”
I eye her drink quickly before turning back to my own and finishing it down. “I’m Ivy.”
“Claire.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Ditto.”
Claire downs the rest of her drink in one impressive slurp of the straw before slamming it on the counter and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stands up slowly, adjusting her tiny skirt before slapping a twenty on the bar.
“You ready?”
I furrow my eyebrows. “For what?”
“To get out of here.”
“I thought we already established that we’re not gay?”
She snorts, “I’m not going to screw you, Ivy, though I do think you’re rather babealicious—in a serious, brooding sort of way. I’m headed to a party at a friend’s house and I want you to come with me.”
“A party?” I deadpan. “You don’t even know me.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Now come on, I’m borderline bitchy late instead of fashionably late.”
What the hell.
I toss down some money and follow my new friend, Claire, out into the cool misty night. She turns right, immediately setting off at a good clip and crossing her arms over her chest to stave off the cold.
“I like your accent. Australian?”
I nod. “Yes, but I’ve lived in the States for nearly sixteen years now.”
“That explains why you have a slight accent, but don’t sound over the top Aussi.”
I snicker. “Over the top Aussi?”
“Yup. I would know. I lived in Australia for six months when I was a kid.”
I turn to her, taken a back. “Oh, yeah? Where abouts?”
“Sydney. Army brat. My dad was there for training or something.”
I can’t imagine moving around like that for short stints at a time. Probably explains why she’s so affable and outgoing. How else do you meet people or make friends in that sort of situation?
“What about you?”
“Just outside of Melbourne.”
“Is your family still there?”
I shake my head, stepping around a couple who decided that the middle of the sidewalk was the perfect place to make-out. “My mum and dad are here in Seattle now, and my sister lives in California.”
“Nice.” Claire stops at the foot of a large craftsman style home. “This is us.”
I angle to her, my eyebrows raised, because the house is completely dark.
There are no lights on and no cars on the street or in the driveway.
“It’s a surprise engagement party for my boss and my best friend,” she explains, climbing the few cement st
eps up to the door. “They’re getting married in a couple of months, but the ceremony is going to be super small, so one of Kate’s work friends set this up so they could celebrate with her.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely thing to do.”
“It is.” She looks at me as she opens the front door like she lives there. “But if you say lovely again we can’t hang out.”
I snicker, grinning for the first time all day as I wearily follow her in.
“Don’t worry, it’s just me,” Claire calls out, clearly not wanting a houseful of people to yell surprise at her.
“About damn time, Claire,” an enticing male voice bellows out from the dark.
“Suck it, Luke,” Claire says as she grabs hold of my wrist, seeming to know the way. I allow her to lead me, wondering what the hell I’m doing in a strange house with a strange girl. Around us people are giggling and shushing one another.
Stumbling over someone, I mutter out an apology as Claire jerks me down to the ground behind a heavy, solid piece of furniture that can only be a sofa or chair.
“If you had gotten here on time I wouldn’t have to give you shit,” the same male voice whispers in my ear.
“Sorry?” I whisper back, a little unsettled by his proximity. Our hands are essentially touching as the warmth of his body cascades over mine, his breath brushing my face. He smells like the rain, fabric softener, and some woodsy cologne. It’s fantastic, and I practically breathe him in before I can stop myself. It’s the sort of scent that women all over the world fantasize about because it’s just that good.
“You’re not Claire,” he says, and I feel his fingers skimming my own in what can only be a purposeful motion. I jerk my hand back to my lap.
“No, I’m not.” I don’t offer more of an explanation than that. Suddenly I’m embarrassed to be here, practically sitting against a strange man in the dark. His body and face somehow seem closer, though all I can make out are shadows without specific features.
“That’s a good thing,” he whispers. His breath blowing at a wisp of hair near my neck, sending chills across my skin.
