Hot Alpha SEALs: Military Romance Megaset

by Sharon Hamilton

  He balanced his weight on his hands, careful not to put too much pressure on her. His slow, easy movements were somehow more sensual because of the care he showed her and because his position allowed her to watch his expression. With every gentle thrust her pleasurable tension built. She let it come, hoping to extend the moments of intimacy for as long as they could last. Oliver’s expression of concentration morphed into a frown as he fought against his release. He reached down between them and touched her where their bodies joined, messaging the sensitive area until the slow-growing wave became a tsunami which broke over her and swept him along in its wake.

  With the release came a fresh wave of exhaustion. She looped an arm around his neck and drew his lips down to hers for a long, sweet kiss. “I’m going to pretend I’m a man and roll over and go to sleep,” she said, her voice breathy.

  “I feel so used,” Oliver said in an aggrieved tone.

  She laughed. “If you want to turn the movie back on and finish it, it won’t bother me.” She caressed his cheek.

  “Okay.”

  When she turned on her side, he moved to spoon with her, but didn’t turn the light off. “I love you, Oliver.”

  “Ti amo per l’eternità,” he said in return.

  *

  Oliver continued to hold her until her breathing deepened and slowed. He studied the fragile curve of her cheek, and the slender bridge of her nose. There was a new fragility to her shape, despite her pregnancy, which concerned him. She needed to eat more, for herself and the baby. No matter what kind of job he was assigned on post, from now on he was going to make it his calling to see she ate and slept as she should.

  She could only fight effectively if she was in top form. And he was going to make some calls to her doctors and find out if there were things she wasn’t sharing with him. He needed to know.

  And maybe with a plan of action in place, he could keep the worry at bay.

  Chapter Nine

  ‡

  Selena rubbed the side of her swollen belly where tiny toes or fingers poked between her ribs with insistent determination and then pushed downward. If she were trapped in such a tight space, she’d probably be tempted to do the same.

  She tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps. The curtain parted and Judy Elmer, one of the nurses, stepped into the alcove with a tray in her hand.

  “Hey, Selena. Good to see you,” Judy greeted her with a smile and set the tray on the table next to her. Her gaze dropped to Selena’s belly. “It looks like your little one is progressing just as he should. Well, he or she.”

  “Yes. Dr. Sanderlin says the baby’s almost nineteen inches long and weighs about six pounds.”

  “So you’re going old school and don’t know what you’re having?” Judy asked.

  “We want to be surprised. But Lucia, our three year old, has decided her/his name should be Gumby.”

  Judy laughed.

  Selena gripped the arms of the recliner as the nurse peeled back her lapel to expose the port running into the vein just below her collarbone. Judy picked up a syringe filled with clear fluid and pulled loose the cap. “I’m just going to check your port for any blockage.”

  Selena nodded and closed her eyes while the nurse inserted the needle into the port and pushed the plunger. Though the process wasn’t painful she held her breath.

  “Everything’s clear here. I’ll check your vitals, then hook you up, okay?”

  Selena swallowed though her mouth was dry. “Okay.”

  Judy took her pulse and blood pressure.

  “You’re blood pressure’s a little high. Why don’t we wait just a few minutes and see if it comes down?”

  “Okay.”

  “Go ahead and just raise the footrest on the recliner and relax. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check it again.”

  Selena nodded and tugged her scarf forward a little and smoothed it.

  Judy stepped out of the curtained area and walked away.

  She’d been told repeatedly the chemicals wouldn’t hurt the baby, but her fear kicked in every time.

  Everything she did these days was for one child or the other, and poor Oliver got neglected in the crunch. Even sex had been put on hold until after the birth.

  He seemed just as focused, had been for months, on making sure she was eating healthy and unstressed. He messaged her swollen arm when lymphedema kicked in and bandaged it for her to keep the swelling down. He was all about her. While she ate, slept, breathed for the baby.

  At thirty-five weeks, her maternal instincts were cranked to overdrive. She just needed this one thing to go right.

  Judy returned a few minutes later with the bag of Saline and a smaller bag of fluid. She hooked the two together so the saline would feed the chemo into her port a little at a time.

  She paused to take Selena’s blood pressure again. “It’s come down a little. Let’s wait a few more minutes.

  She left again and Selena tilted the recliner back, stared the ceiling, and wished Oliver were there to calm her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing in and out.

  Twenty minutes later Judy slipped back through the curtain. She took a blood sample from the port and once again took her blood pressure. Judy recorded the reading and nodded. “I’ll get your chemo started.”

  Selena rested her hands on her belly, holding it while Judy started the infusion. Once the needle was in place and the liquids were dripping, Judy pulled the curtains back so all the nurses could watch over her and Selena could socialize with the other patients if she wanted.

  If only she could sleep through the next four hours, but the constant back and forth of the nurses, and knowing where she was, kept her from being able to relax.

  Five other women sat in recliners in similar positions, all hooked up to IVs of one kind or another. When she’d begun the treatments, there had been as few as three and as many as ten other patients at any given time. She recognized a couple of the women and raised a hand in greeting.

  “How many does this make for you?” the woman directly across from her asked.

  “Treatments or children?” Selena asked.

  “Both.” The woman said.

  “Six treatments, two children.”

  “Congratulations on both.”

  “Thanks.” The painful tightening of her stomach muscles sent a wave of anxiety through Selena. It was just a Braxton Hicks contraction. She was fine. She’d be hyper-aware of every small twinge of discomfort until the baby was born.

  She forced herself to concentrate, to keep talking with the woman across from her. “How many for you?” Selena asked.

  “This is my seventh and final treatment.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” Selena said with feeling. She was. And envious. Once the baby had arrived, she still had months of other therapies and surgeries to look forward to.

  One thing at a time. As Oliver said.

  She shifted in her seat as her back began to ache and once again a contraction hit.

  She glanced toward the desk in search of Judy, but an unfamiliar nurse stood there recording something on a tablet. She watched the clock, only half listening to the conversation between the woman and another she also recognized. Five minutes later, when another spasm hit, she timed it.

  Braxton Hicks didn’t last sixty seconds and hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Her heart rate soared and she couldn’t catch her breath. She looked down the wide aisle to the desk and pushed the call button. It was too soon. The baby needed the extra five weeks to grow and develop.

  Judy hurried over, “What is it, Selena?”

  She tried to keep her voice calm but her words came out breathy and weak. She wasn’t ready, the baby wasn’t ready. “I’m in labor.”

  *

  “Back into the surf, get wet and sandy,” Oliver yelled. Eighty-two extremely tired men ran toward the water and rolled around in the surf, then returned to the sand and tumbled around in it until they were covered from head to toe.

  Five
minutes later he was yelling again. “Chainey! Do I see a dry spot on your shirt?”

  “Hooyah, Ensign Shaker.” The recruit who stood before him was six inches taller, at least forty pounds heavier, and looked about fourteen.

  “Get your ass back in the surf and get sandy. And when I say get sandy, I mean every inch of you. The devil’s in the details, Chainey. Every detail you miss on a mission can cost your life or someone else’s.”

  “Hooyah, Ensign Shaker.” The kid ran back into the ocean and allowed the water to flow over him, then he raced back to the loose sand twenty feet inland and rolled like a log. When he stood, he looked like the sugar cookie he should have resembled to begin with.

  “Now give me twenty, Chainey, and do it quick because you’re holding up your boat crew. You’re putting their lives at risk because you are keeping them in a holding pattern while you take care of bullshit.”

  “Hooyah, Ensign Shaker.” Chainey hit the sand. He counted out the twenty, leapt to his feet, and dashed over to join his boat crew, who stood holding the IBS—inflatable boat, small—aloft as instructed.

  The summer surf crashed behind them as eight teams of eight men ran in a shuffle down the beach, their rubber boats balanced over them, and then back again. The breeze coming off the water was stiff. The surf was high and was going to give the boat crews a pounding.

  It was the first day of BUD/S and they were weeding out the weak, the ones who didn’t have the right mindset to make it through. There was a method to the torture they dished out, a learning curve to every exercise.

  He was having a blast, though he kept his facial expression stern.

  Oliver noticed a man dressed in shorts and the brown T-shirt worn by the instructors jogging toward them at a steady clip. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to identify him. It was Seaman Corey Bryant, and Oliver frowned until the man changed course and started toward him. Oliver heart clenched and he sprinted to meet him.

  “The hospital called. Your wife’s gone into premature labor, during her chemo. She’s been taken to maternity. I’m here to relieve you.”

  Oliver didn’t stop to thank him, but broke into an all-out run up the beach to the facility. He was out of breath and shaking by the time he made it to his locker. He ignored the change of clothes and just grabbed his wallet and car keys.

  It was just five weeks early. The baby would be fine. Selena would be fine. He’d been telling himself that for months. But what if they weren’t? If something happened to the baby, Selena wouldn’t be able to handle it. She’d clung to it as a ray of hope during a time of fear, and if it was suddenly taken from her—what then?

  He pulled out of the parking lot and wove his way toward the front gate. He had to force himself to watch the speed limit, the urge to floor the gas pedal almost irresistible.

  And what about him? How would he feel should his son or daughter’s life be snatched away before it had a chance to begin?

  He’d been tortured by both pain and guilt since the moment he’d suggested aborting the baby during their first doctor’s appointment. If something happened to the baby now, it would be as though he’d willed it. Willed it with his need to keep his distance, in case it happened because of the cancer, the chemo, or just plain bad luck.

  Would Selena forgive him for those words, spoken out of fear for her? He’d never asked her forgiveness. Never reneged on the intent behind them. Why hadn’t he done so?

  He shook with the need to be there at the hospital as he pulled up at the gate and was waved through by the MPs.

  It seemed an eternity passed before he turned onto Bob Wilson Drive and saw the hulking shape of the Naval Medical Center. Then he faced the nightmare of trying to find parking.

  *

  Selena took deep breaths to steady her racing heart. The room in the maternity wing was empty but for her and the doctor. Thank God. Though the nurses had tried not to stare while she’d changed from her street clothes to a hospital gown, the sight of her mastectomy scar had given them both pause. But it had gotten them on the phone to her ObGyn probably more quickly than otherwise.

  “You have to calm down, Selena,” Dr. Sanderlin said, her voice steady. “The baby’s fine. You’re fine. We’re giving you something to lower your blood pressure.

  “Did someone call Oliver?” Would she ever be able to do anything again without turning to Oliver for reassurance? Since quitting her job, she’d turned into a dependent ninny.

  “Yes, they’ve called him, and I’m sure he’s on his way.”

  “Can we stop the labor? Wouldn’t it be better if we waited a few more weeks?”

  “Every week is important, but you were already dilated three centimeters at your last visit and you’re at six now. I don’t think trying to stop your labor is the right thing to do. It will put your body and the baby under more stress. And leave you open to infection. I think our best option is to let nature take its course.

  “I’ve ordered a test on the amniotic fluid we withdrew just a few minutes ago,” Dr. Sanderlin continued. “It should be back within the hour. The neonatal intensive care unit will be prepared if there’s any issue with lung development. But I just looked at the fetal development on your ultrasound and everything looks fine. He’s just going to be small.”

  Another contraction hit and Selena tried to breathe with it. She had done this alone last time. She could do it again if she had to. But she really wanted Oliver. The unbearable feeling of pressure in her lower abdomen seemed to go on forever. She had to turn on her side to grip the bar on the hospital bed. When it eased, she drew a cleansing breath.

  “I have to lie on my side. I can’t lie flat on my back.”

  “You can lie in whatever position is most comfortable, Selena.” Dr. Sanderlin laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The baby’s turned in the right direction. Everything is going to be fine. You’re doing great.”

  The baby’s steady heartbeat through the monitor reassured her all was right with him/her.

  “I’ve already called down to anesthesia and the nurse will be up to give you an epidural. I’ve already placed the order in your chart. I’m not expecting any problems, but I’d prefer you had one just in case.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to send a nurse midwife in to sit with you until your husband gets here. When you get close to delivery I’ll be back.” Dr. Sanderlin left the room and Selena closed her eyes and geared up for the next contraction. It was already building.

  *

  Oliver ran from the parking structure to the hospital. Inside the place proved to be a maze, and the longer it took him to find the maternity wing the more his anxiety escalated. When he finally found the door, he had to be buzzed in by one of the nurses.

  She handed him a gown to cover up with, then pointed out the room. He jogged to it and pushed open the door. A strange woosh-woosh-woosh sound came from a monitor by the bed. Selena gripped the bar next to her in obvious pain. A blonde woman stood close, offering her encouragement.

  The sight of his wife in pain hammered him with a one-two punch. Seeing her curled on her side in a hospital bed, her scalp bare, gave him visions of something worse. His breathing stopped as he absorbed the roundhouse blow. He’d run toward danger his whole SEAL career, but nothing had scared him more than seeing her like this. It was a nightmare he’d done everything to avoid, to help her avoid.

  Her eyes focused on him. “Oliver.”

  The sound of her voice broke the spell.

  She needed him. This was the birth of their child. It had nothing to do with the cancer.

  The first step was the hardest, but once he’d made it, his feet moved forward on their own. He hooked a nearby chair and jerked it close to the bed, his breathing coming in unsteady gasps. He made an effort to slow it, and then leaned over the railing to press his lips to her forehead and run a comforting hand down her back. “How’s it going?”

  “My water just broke.” She glanced over her shoulder at the blonde woman.


  “My name is Sharon Rollins, I’m a nurse midwife here at the hospital,” she said as she reached for rubber gloves from the bedside table.

  He nodded. “Oliver.”

  She tipped her chin in acknowledgement. “I need to check you, Selena.”

  Selena rolled on her back and just as quickly rolled back. “Wait-wait.”

  The look of focused control on her face as she dealt with the pain reassured Oliver a little. She had done this before, knew what to expect. She’d done it alone. Jesus! His every muscle tensed with regret and sympathy. When she drew a breath, so did he.

  The woman folded back the sheet and did an internal exam. “This baby’s in a rush, you’re at ten,” she announced. “You’re going to want to push, but try not to. Try and blow through it.” She tugged off her gloves and pushed the paging button on the bed. When a voice answered she said, “Page Dr. Sanderlin, stat, and alert the NICU, they need to get someone down here now.”

  Selena grasped Oliver’s wrist and her fingers dug in as she started to blow. “Please, please.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Oliver asked the nurse midwife.

  “When the rest of the crew get in here, she’ll want to hold on to you while she pushes.” She raised the head of the bed, dropped the foot, helped Serena onto her back, and positioned her feet in the stirrups.

  Seeing his wife so vulnerable and exposed, and so helpless to do anything about it, Oliver slipped an arm around Selena and held on through the next contraction.

  Suddenly the room was filled with people. Selena’s doctor strode in dressed in a gown and gloves.

  “We didn’t get the epidural, did we?” she said.

  Selena just stared at her wide-eyed.

  “It’s okay. I don’t think we’ll need it. Let’s have a baby.”

  Oliver had thought he knew what labor was until now. With every contraction, his wife pushed and pushed. He learned to count for her as she bore down, again and again. His arm ached where she clutched it. He blocked it out. The discomfort was nothing compared to what she was going through. Ten minutes turned into twenty. How could one small baby require so much effort to be born? Sweat rolled down his face and hers. A nurse wiped it away for them both.