by Kira Graham
“I am solid. Rock solid. So solid! Please make this stop. Make it go away. I can’t do this! They said it has to stretch like ten centimeters or something. That’s like half the length of your whole dick, Chilli. Can you imagine something the width of half your whole cock coming outta there?” she wails.
I can feel myself turn pale and then green, because, uh…no, I can’t. Especially when I think about how small Alex is down there. Oh, God. Oh, God—this isn’t possible!
“Oh my God, would you stop screaming? You’re supposed to be calm and say, ‘Alex, your body is going to stretch, and it knows exactly what it should be doing—it’s nature,’” she yells at me, slapping me to calm me down when I feel my vision go a little dark.
That wakes me up enough that I stop thinking and yelling every one of my thoughts out loud. Good. Ahem. Yes. I can do this.
Repeating her words exactly, I stay by her side until she’s calmer and then sigh when her face loses the pinched look.
“We should get married.”
Okay. My delivery needs a little work, but I’m two seconds away from bolting here, people. The only thing keeping me in place is the knowledge that I am here not only to see her through this, but also to make one of our other dreams a reality.
“What?”
“We should get married. Now. Before they come. You were right all along, Al. We owe it to them, and to ourselves, to bring them into a world where their parents are committed and love each other and are ready to do this thing right. So marry me. Please. Let me be there for you when you need me, and let me…earn your love back. I know that I’ve made a lot of mistakes—oh, hell!” I bark, my knees going weak when she squeezes my hand and rears up, moaning while the machines go crazy.
This doesn’t seem right. Where are all the drugs and doctors and nurses? Shouldn’t someone be here to make it better? One Tylenol, for fuck’s—
“Stop that ranting! For hell’s sake, Chilli—you’re more hysterical than I am, and I’m about to give birth,” Alex mutters, falling back with a sweat-soaked huff of sound.
Grabbing a washcloth from beside the bed, I dab at her face and wait her out, my nerves now much worse than the night I first asked her to marry me.
“I don’t want to get married just because people are saying we should. If we do this, then it should be about us, and the boys. Not to fit into society’s norms, and not to do the ‘right’ thing, either,” she whispers, her eyes staying closed while mine go all over her face.
“I agree. Totally. We should do this for us, so…let’s do it. I know that I completely screwed up, and I know that I can’t just expect you to forgive me, but I—I really do want this. You’re my best friend, Alex, and you’re having our babies, and—and that’s a miracle. You know I love you—I mean, I haven’t said it, but—”
She shuts me up with a kiss, one so sweet that I don’t even mention that she may need a mint, and shoves me away with a curse and a hiss.
“Seeing as how I’m indisposed right now, Hart, I’d say that a wedding is out of the question right this minute.”
“Nope. Got a license, a priest, and the whole fam damily out there, just waiting. Hell, Rosetta and Zeus are probably running a pool by now, betting on my survival,” I grunt, grinning when she rolls her eyes.
“Well, then, what are we waiting for?”
Things happen fast after I kiss her again. I grin, rip the door open, and yell to get Adonis’s attention. He, in turn, lets out a whistle, organizes everyone, and then herds them into the room where Alex is panting and glaring at them all, possibly putting two and two together and realizing that we’ve all been plotting behind her back.
Then the priest shuffles in, his collar gripped in Heath’s fist through what turns out to be a twenty-minute ceremony—after Hope insists on doing Alex’s hair. Even when Alex tries to bite her. It’s also halted when she has another contraction, and we have to wait for Ares to be revived because Rosetta, in all her glory, decides to lift the sheet and check on ‘things,’ exposing Alex in a way that Ares cannot avoid seeing.
By the time that he’s awake again, holding a towel to the gash in his forehead, and Jack has simmered down to a volume just a little lower than a cat’s screams, I get to kiss my bride, put my ring on her finger, and thank the priest, who doesn’t so much shuffle as sprint out of the room when Heath smiles for the first time.
I can’t say that I blame him. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen that man smile before, because if I had, I’d definitely have never let him near Alex. His smile looks downright wicked and a little too evil to be called right.
That’s why, when Alex starts to pant, yelling at someone to call the doctor—and prompting Cleo to run out, disappearing so fast that Adonis lets out a bark of derisive laughter—I end up having all my brothers and friends surrounding me when I get caught at the bottom end of the bed during the next contraction. And how Tee ends up almost catching Seth. It’s also how Jack ends up letting out a sob and then fainting, and it’s definitely how I witness the grossest, most beautiful miracle of all.
Two seconds before my brain finally catches up to what’s happening. And shuts down.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex
I read this alien book once where the author, or whomever he was quoting, said that fate is what happens when we interfere with the order of things, but destiny is the one that we cannot control. The path that’s written in the book of life. The road that we cannot stray from, and the river that has an absolute course.
I’m paraphrasing here and embellishing a little, but you get the idea. What happened two hours ago is destiny at its finest, and maybe the one reason that I don’t want to consider killing everyone I know. I gave birth to two perfect, absolutely amazingly formed baby boys. Seth Erin Hart and Axel Lesley Hart.
I very strongly protested those middle names, but you haven’t met Honey and Lovey Sweethart yet, and if you think that anyone can argue with those two old birds, you must be drunk.
As for the actual delivery, I’m not gonna lie—that hurt like hell. I’m also not gonna lie and tell you that I forgot the pain the moment I held the twins. These kids fucking owe me, big time, for letting them come out of there in one piece. But heck, in a way, I can say that it was worth it, because, looking down at Chilli right this minute and seeing him clutching both boys to his chest with a tender, constant smile on his face, I feel as if I did something so special that it’s even beyond what I’d imagined.
“God, they’re perfect,” he murmurs, peering up at me with a smile that immediately turns worried when he sees me. “Al, are you okay—”
“I’m fine, Achilles. Honestly. I told you, I’m just getting over the rippage and trying to forget that I need a bath until those nurses deem me ready. How are you?” I ask, motioning to his nose.
Mom and Dad are still laughing about the birth video, Dad having been recording the wedding ceremony when the delivery went down. I can’t help that I managed to laugh and scream at the same time, and I can’t be blamed for not being able to stop laughing even while Axel was sliding into Doc Payne’s gloved hands.
You should have seen Chilli’s face when I pushed Seth out. The sight was so comical that I almost didn’t feel the pain when things got critical, and their heads started to stretch my tissues to their breaking point. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen those cartoons where the characters get a shock, and their faces go white, like, instantly? That was Chilli. And Adonis. And then Paris scuttled out of the room and promptly passed out, slamming his cheek into the wall on his way down.
Buncha babies.
The only holdouts were Zeus and Ares, but Doc Payne explained that Ares’ concussion from his first fainting episode had likely made his vision too blurry for him to see much of anything that was happening. Then there was Nate, who smiled the whole time and now knows me in ways that I don’t want to think about, because let me tell ya, Tee needs to be killed for trying to avoid catching my baby. Nate caught Seth jus
t as Tee bailed, while Heath and Grange didn’t so much as move.
I think they were both shell-shocked, to be honest.
But the Sweets all held rock solid. Because we’re awesome. Except Tee. She’s a ninny.
“Great,” Chilli sighs, his expression so soft that I feel my chest go tight.
We’re married now, and it’s not that I regret it; I’m just a little scared right now. It’s one thing to do something like this in the heat of the moment, but another thing entirely to be sitting here thinking about things and asking myself what the hell happens now.
“How’d you get everyone to leave?” I ask, not wanting to focus on the bad stuff—not right now, when it’s so good.
“I told Rosetta that she owed me after I spotted her and made her the ‘not catcher,’” he laughs, his smile derisive. “She got them all to leave, though if you look out there, Jack is sitting in his car in the parking lot because he’s convinced that you’ll need something, and he doesn’t want to be too far so that he can get it here immediately.”
I laugh at that. Trust Uncle Jack to be that crazy, and trust Honey to leave him here to do it.
“What about Tee? She okay?”
Hey, I still love her! You can totally kill someone you love. It happens all the time.
“After she stopped washing her hands, and Ares gave her something to calm her down? Sure. She was out like a light while he drew stuff on her face with a Sharpie.”
Ah, I was that young and carefree once. Now I have to be a mom, and something tells me that I may not be as cool as my own mom was. Day-um.
“She’ll kill him as soon as she wakes up.”
“Most likely. Or, ya know, drag it out and make him suffer.”
“This is awkward,” I burst out, feeing annoyed and disgusted by our stilted and very pointless conversation.
Yeah, Chilli and I always talked about random, stupid stuff all the time, but it was never this difficult for us. It was easy, and when we didn’t have anything to say, we’d just chill out. Right now, it feels like I have to keep saying stuff, as if I can’t just be myself, and it irritates the hell out of me that he’s doing the same thing.
“Shit. I mean, shoot!” he grumbles. “It is.”
Laughing, I watch as he slowly stands, gingerly lays the boys in their little cubicles, and comes back over to the bed.
“I guess it’s time for that all-important talk.”
“Frankly, I disagree. Look, Chill, I hate to say this, because it’s not at all productive or healthy or something that I would advise my patients to say, but I really don’t have it in me to have one of those long, meaningful conversations right now. I’m tired, I feel icky, and my head is just…spinning. I can’t talk to you about what happened, what will happen, or what needs to happen. I can’t do feelings right now, or soulful looks, or whatever it is that people normally do at times like these. I hated you with everything in me until a few hours ago,” I explain, feeling like hell when his smile falls, and hurt fills his eyes. “I just need a little time in order to get past that and into this, whatever this is that’s going on. Do you think that we can just…do that?”
It seems like he wants to argue—in fact, I know he does because I know his argument face—but for some reason, maybe because I really am tired and probably look like hell, he lets it go and nods, his hand engulfing mine.
“We can. We can do whatever it is that you need us to right now. For what it’s worth, babe, I didn’t just shove two humans outta my body while a sideshow of fainting and screaming took place. Whatever you need, I’m here. When you’re ready to talk to me, maybe work through this with me, I’m ready,” he assures me. “Can I kiss you? Now that Rosetta and Sin so insensitively suggested that you chew a mint, I’d like to actually kiss my bride.”
I giggle and nod, a little mortified by the bad breath that I had, but come on—I get a free pass considering the circumstances. Though I should probably not have eaten that salami this morning at four a.m.
When he kisses me, slowly, and with a simmering emotion that leaves me breathless and makes me wish that I was at all interested in sex, it’s like a new promise or some poetic shit like that.
********************************************************************
“Come on, come on!” I grumble, my thumbs feeling like two unwieldy pillars of atrophied muscle as I struggle with the diaper and laugh-cry in defeat when I lift Axel, and the thing falls off, like, immediately. “Noooo.”
I can’t do diapers. It’s one of life’s mysteries and God’s ironies, because while I can feed two babies at the same time, clean up puke before it hits me or the floor, and basically perform like a hot though slightly overweight rock star, this one area completely defeats me. I have not once—and this is a running joke that I won’t ever live down—changed a diaper that stayed on.
The things are freaking defective, I grumble silently, eyeing the roll of duct tape hanging from my wrist with a longing that makes me want to cry. Because I know that if Chilli or Nate spots so much as a scrap of duct tape on either kid’s diaper, they won’t ever stop making fun of me. Dammit. It’s just my luck that the two of them ended up being the best goddamned friends ever, and have for some reason ganged up on me. I now have to fight like hell to even get a hand on either one of my sons, and then, when I do, things like this happen. Diaper malfunctions.
“Aw, come on. Help mama out here, kid. How do they get these silly tabs to stay put?” I mutter, my face breaking into a smile when Axel sighs, his look saying, “I can’t talk, moron—or fasten diapers.”
Both boys look exactly like Chilli, and I mean exactly. I used to look at people’s babies, and I’d never see the resemblances. I even agreed with Sin, who sneers and says stuff like, “They all look the same to me—like little old men or women!” With these two, though, I can say without a scrap of bias that they look like their dad. They have the same dark hair that’s plastered on their heads in a thick coat of wispy, silky strands. Their noses, still small, are the same shape, and the brows are going to be the same, too—I can tell. About the only thing that I don’t know for sure yet is their eye color, but yeah, I’m pretty sure that his super DNA is going to win there, too.
I guess that if I ever want a kid who looks like me, I’m going to have to spit out a little girl, but…yeah, like that’s ever happening again. No offense to the mysterious wonder that is childbirth, but screw that shit. Once was enough, and I gave Chilli a twofer, so my plumbing is definitely getting put on hold for at least the next three to ten years, and possibly forever. Now, where the hell do I find Teflon condoms…?
A chuckle from behind me drags me from the intricate impossibility that is the diaper fastening, and I turn to see Chilli lounging in the doorway, watching me with an affectionate amusement that makes me giggle against my will.
“They’re demon diapers, Chill. Evil in an adorably wrapped package,” I whine, sighing when he chuckles and crosses the room to take over, fastening them so fast and efficiently that I have the sick and immature urge to kill him.
Stupid men are always so efficient, while I—I had to do all the hard work. And now they laugh at me. Dammit!
“Oh, hell, no. Nate! Nate, I need you to come grab Axe for me—he’s gonna blow again!” Chilli yells, handing Axel off just as a sputter of blubbering weakness bursts from me. “Don’t cry, baby. Shh, you just need a hot bath and some sleep, is all. You’re overtired. It’s not you; it’s just that you need some rest. There, there.”
I let him soothe me and practically carry me to the bathroom, where he sits me down on the toilet seat, all the while crooning nonsense, and starts running a bath. Ever since I got home, I’ve been a blubbering mess. If you think that this emotional crap is bad while you’re three hundred pounds heavy with human life, then you haven’t seen this post-birth stuff. Doc Payne says that it’s just my body being bombarded with hormonal activity, and that it’ll settle down eventually—an event that I can’t wait for, because I ha
te crying. And for no good reason, too. I hear Seth gurgle, and it’s so cute, and then—boom! I’m crying. I feed them, and it’s basically a tear-fest from start to finish. But here’s the thing: it’s not that I’m miserable, or that I’m not filled with the superpower called maternal love and joy. It just happens.
“Stop it!” I snap, when he keeps coddling me while trying to remove my pants.
I have like a year’s worth of paddage in my underwear, and letting him deal with that disgustingness is not happening.
“Baby, let me help you—ahh, okay. That’s all you,” he mutters, leaping up and turning around so that I can take care of my soiled pads and use the toilet by myself.
I snicker the entire time, finding it as funny as hell that this is what gets to him. I can fart, take a dump, or throw up, and he’s all over it, helping me clean up, but show him a drop of blood, and Chilli is gone. It’s hilarious. Rosetta once told me that Zeus is so weird that he doesn’t even care about her period, but Chilli? Nuh-uh. If it bleeds, he’s out! Like, immediately.
“I told you that I could deal with it, but you keep getting all up in my biz, man,” I muse, giggling when he grunts and drops his head, allowing a long sigh to leave him.
“Zeus says that I need to be cool about shit like this, that it’s natural and not gross, and trust me, I don’t think of you as gross, baby. It’s just that…well, I don’t want that image in my head the next time I go down on you,” he sighs, a rumble of disgust escaping him when I giggle and get into the tub, draping a washcloth over my vagina.
I don’t need him seeing that, either, if it makes sex a no-go. Not that I want it, like, now—I mean, hell, no—but eventually, when my insides are not the consistency of chopped meat, I am so there.
“Zeus is weird. I told him and Rosetta that it’s disgusting that they get jiggy when the vagina is icky, but they disagree.”
Chilli nods, flopping down on the closed toilet lid, and seems content to just sit and watch me while I wash my hair and try to get my pits and legs. My vagina can kiss my ass if it thinks that I’m interested in waxing, shaving, or in any way dealing with the wild bush that pregnancy hormones have brought forth. Nope. It can stay hairy until I can get past the trauma of childbirth.
