by Ava Claire
He cradled my face in his hands while a voice, gruff and confrontational, collided with Darla’s—whose voice had turned straight up lethal.
"How much for one picture? I've got cash-"
"You're about to have the wrath of the police department raining down on you if you don't turn around," Darla snarled.
Jacob was saying something, that angry nerve beneath his eyes twitching.
Three words.
Not my favorite words.
Are you okay?
I opened my mouth to tell him that I'd be better once someone dragged the paparazzo back to the hole he crawled out of, but then I felt something that snatched the words right out of me.
It was a pop.
Like something snapping inside me.
I felt this rush of fluid, like I’d been holding it for days and my body decided it was the time to finally let go.
I glanced down with trepidation, seeing it with my own two eyes. It must have been all over my face because Jacob's eyes shot to my groin, widening as he took in the expanding, wet circle.
I tried to gulp down the fear, but it didn't budge.
"Baby," I squeaked, my heart flip flopping in my throat. "I think my water just broke.”
Chapter Six
Jacob
“You’re not looking very zen, Mr. Whitmore.”
I glared at my Leila, my voice a hushed whisper that carried in the silence. “You sound as bad as Attila the Hun up front, Mrs. Whitmore.”
That made her face light up like Christmas. Like it did when I asked her to marry me.
Like it did when I told her we were having a baby.
Usually it worked out the other way. I hated that our tumultuous lives had thrown a wrench into whatever creative ‘We’re pregnant!’ announcement Leila would have planned. It was why I didn’t fight her on this class.
There weren't many things that we did normally. I couldn’t remember the last time either of us had run any sort of errand without the paparazzi hot on our trail. The last vacation we took had been interrupted more times than I cared to remember by autograph requests, and the security detail I’d paid to be discreet were as present as the sun, giving me incessant text updates every time they rounded up someone with a camera. I finally told them to just notify me if there was an immediate threat to our safety, so we could have some semblance of escape.
Leila had warily scooted the brochure for ‘Baby and Us: A Seminar For Prepping for Your First Baby’ across the table, wisely plying me with wine and Sullivan’s. There’d been no light in her face then, no playful spark that made my heart stammer in my chest and my cock stir to life. She’d expected me to say no, or worse, demand that we explore more private options. I decided to surprise us both by saying yes. Wanting her to have this thing, to bask in this moment like every other expecting mom in the room.
I went into it knowing some of the other attendees would snap a picture or two when we arrived for the event. I hadn’t expected to spend the first fifteen minutes smiling for pictures with pregnant bellies while the other men quietly scowled. Or for the instructor to finally make an announcement, trying to call the room to order. Her timing was spot on because I was getting requests to sign baby bumps and Leila was wearing her ’this was a bad idea’ smile because she was getting questions about what it was like being married to Jacob Whitmore.
Despite the diffusers puffing out essential oil flavored vapor, easy listening drifting from the speakers around the room, and the ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy!’ shirt that the moderator wore, the growl the woman unleashed was anything but sunshine and cuddles.
“Everyone back in their seats, or I am canceling this...event!’
The pause in her outburst was clearly so she could swallow the ‘fucking’ she wanted to hurl at the growing autograph line.
I didn’t know if she’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed or if she secretly hated her job, but the smallest peeps from the crowd made her bring the whole program to a halt as she zeroed in on the person who dared to interrupt her Powerpoint presentation. And while I’d caught several people not-so-discreetly recording Leila and I, the moderator was completely immune to us. Her tight grin turned unbearably so every time she had the misfortune of landing her beady eyes on our table. She looked like she was sucking on a rotten lemon every time Leila asked a question. My wife ignored the woman’s vehemence and for Leila, I attempted to do the same.
The room fell silent, everyone obeying the moderators’s request that we take a few moments to go to our happy, zen place. To picture our baby.
It was easier said than done. I wasn’t one for visualization nor zen, and it didn’t help that I could feel Leila peeking at me. I decided to commit to my labeling as a ‘problem student’ and kept my eyes open, unabashedly taking in my woman. The woman who made forever seem like a blink of an eye; not nearly enough time to experience and love and build and fuck and support and raise a family.
If you would have told me five years ago that I’d be sitting in a birth prep class with my pregnant wife, I would have laughed in your face, right after I reminded you of who I was. But Leila had shown me other parts of myself. Vulnerable parts of that yearned for more. That yearned for family. For something that went beyond the temporary. To be the father that I wish I had. To find a woman that could be the mother that our kids, that every kid deserves. Someone gentle and firm and kind and...her.
Leila was the one.
She’d always been the one.
I tilted my head, studying her. I caught her doubting at times. Saw her staring at her reflection in the mirror. Touching her cheeks, that were fuller than usual. All I saw was the glow in her skin, the flush taking me somewhere erotic. Remembering the way arousal tinted them the most delicious pink when I advanced towards her with sex and domination on the brain.
She lamented her growing breasts and how hard it was to find tops that could ‘hold the ladies and let them breathe’. My suggestion that she spend as much time as possible naked fell on deaf ears.
I didn’t have any complaints today though, not in the white v-neck tee she was wearing. It accentuated her changing body. A body that I found more alluring and beautiful with each passing day.
I reached for her belly. Even though she was back to pretending she was visualizing with her eyes squeezed closed, her hand covered mine and the sides of her mouth perked upwards with content. My other hand reached for her curly locks, gently tousling the ringlets that cradled her face.
“Mr. Whitmore, do you think the rules don’t apply to you?”
Leila’s eyelids lifted immediately and I saw the pleading in her gaze. The silent prayer that I wouldn’t go off on the woman. Even though my eyes were locked on my wife, I felt several sets locked on me. Cameras balanced discreetly on laps, thumbs close to the red button that would record Jacob Whitmore’s angry tirade, in the Baby and Us class, of all places.
I squared my jaw, struggling to bite my tongue. Not to avoid the bad publicity. Not to spare the moderator, who, to be honest, seemed to enjoy making little comments in hopes that I’d snap. I reined in my annoyance for Lay, who was enjoying the event, all things considered. It was a welcome reprieve from the madness that existed outside this room. I could put up with autographs and snark if it put a smile on my wife’s face.
“My apologies,” I said finally, adjusting my tie. “I got kind of carried away, watching my wife visualize our baby.”
It was true. Even then, slightly embarrassed by the fact that all eyes in the room were on us, she was luminescent. Glowing bright, even though the blinds were drawn and the creamy white candle at the center of our table turned the darkness golden.
It didn’t compare to the pull of Leila.
Some people with way too much time on their hands had photoshopped our faces together to see what the Whitmore baby would look like. Even if such experiments weren’t an invasion, spawning creepy baby caricatures of us, they missed the essence of her.
I reached for Leil
a’s hand, not done explaining myself. “I hope our baby takes after her mom.”
The room devolved into ‘awws’. Even the moderator softened, refraining from slapping her invisible ruler on the desk to call for order.
It wouldn’t have mattered. When Leila blushed even deeper, mouthing the words, ‘I love you’, nothing existed in the world.
It was just the three of us.
*
I avoided reading war stories about childbirth.
The sea of options and information available to me stopped being comforting and empowering after I kept seeing phrases like 'worst pain I've ever experienced' and 'felt like my vagina was being ripped in half'.
Pushing a tiny human being out of your body clearly had some discomfort inherently built in, and every movie or tv show that portrayed a woman in labor had a common, running theme: it's gonna suck. Reading about all the ways it would suck seemed unhelpful to me. Especially when I decided that I wanted to go au naturale.
I clenched my teeth, swallowing a groan. When my doctor explained what would happen to my body during the birth and what to expect, she said the contractions would feel similar to period cramps.
She was a liar of epic proportions.
I was desperately trying, and failing, to ride the contraction, to breathe through the pain, I wished I'd better prepared myself for just how excruciating natural birth would be. Shying away from the blogs and books and first hand experiences had been a mistake. I felt like I was dragged to the deepest part of the ocean—without a life jacket—then summarily thrown off the boat. Left to fend for myself. Lost in the undertow while wave after wave pulled me under and tore me apart.
"You squeeze as hard as you need to."
I blinked, the familiar voice climbing out of the haze of pain. I'd thought I was gripping the rail, but Jacob was right beside me, his face a sea of emotions. I saw empathy, like his heart broke for the pain I was going through. I saw a pain of his own, probably because I was squeezing his hand like my life depended on it. But none of that compared to the thing that got us into this predicament in the first place: love.
Love was emanating from him, every ray of warmth and light and happiness pointed right at me. Under normal circumstances, that may have been enough to pull me out of any funk. Unfortunately, these were far from normal circumstances since every atom in my body seemed to revolt in perfect, agonizing unison. There was no love here, no miracle of life, no reaching beyond.
There was only wave after wave of pain, quickly followed by the voice of reason. Taunting me. Cajoling me.
So...how about them drugs?
I tried to adjust my body, like that would alleviate the pressure, but it was a wasted effort. The muscles in my lower back were still twisting with each new contraction. Since there was no angle at which I could turn down the pain, I decided to go with distraction.
I loved the man whose hand I was clutching with every part of me, but the agony was making me crazy. Telling me this was his fault for being so freaking sexy. For plunging his stupid penis inside me and letting it rip. All the sex in the world wasn't worth this.
I was trying to not cry out, but a moan tore its way out of my mouth as I shook my head. Like I wanted to turn back the clock. Wanted to go back to virginity and naïveté. Anywhere but this bed with my legs spread and my body hurting in ways I never imagined it could hurt.
"I'm never having sex again," I wailed, trading my daggers for swords as I glared up at Jacob. Still, I didn't let go.
He stroked my cheek with the hand that wasn't being mangled. "I'll hold you to that."
I was pretty sure I'd never wanted to strangle or kiss someone so badly. The moment was fleeting as my lower back spasmed, reminding me that now was not the time for lovey doveyness or delighting in the miracle of life.
This was just contractions. The opening act. If this alone was unbearable, how would I handle a baby exiting out of my body?
I tried the whole distraction thing again. Let out sob/moan/profanity laced grunts as I took in the activity that buzzed around me. The machine beside me, that was reading the baby's heart beat, keeping a steady rhythm. As steady as the nurses and techs who surrounded me, each with their marching orders, checking vitals and laying out instruments.
It was like a dance routine they all knew because they'd done it a hundred times before. Rolling and setting up; kneeling and smiling at me. I should have been grateful, should have smiled back since they were all there to help. But I knew that some of them were there in case the shit hit the fan. Ready to leap into action, reminding me (disillusions on what the pain level would be aside), that things could go wrong. The fact that I was already in the hospital was proof of that.
What if the baby didn't cry when it came out? What if one of these smiling nurses was really a paparazzo and they dashed off with my baby as soon as they cut the cord?
Which reminded me, where the hell was my doctor?
I clutched Jacob's hands with both of mine, trying the breathing pattern we learned in class, which didn't help one iota. "Where is Dr. Clarkson?!"
Jacob blinked at me, confusion dashing across his face until it hardened with the fury of an army ready to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. He pressed his lips against my knuckles, breathing fire. His eyes locked on a nurse whose smile fell right off her face when she realized she was in his sights.
"What's the eta for the doctor?"
The last two times he'd asked his words had been measured, with just the right amount of edge that every medical professional in the room had snapped their heads in his direction. They were used to all flavors of husbands—ones with a degree in childbirth from Google University, who thought they knew more about the process than they did, to the quietly suffering ones who clenched their teeth as their wives squeezed their hands and tried to not break or disrupt anything. There were aggressive ones to be sure, jacked up on ego and money and influence that they thought bought them the right to treat the staff like they were their employees. Jacob didn't fit into any of those categories. He looked like a man that was ready to suit up if he had to and do the damn thing himself. He looked like a man who would raze this building to the ground if someone, anyone didn't give him some answers, because his family was on the line.
God, I loved him.
And...I was so never having sex again.
The nurse who was unfortunately the closest to Jacob took a step back, her gray eyes darting around her for a lifeline. "Mr. Whitmore, I believe there was an accident-"
"Our doctor was in an accident?" Jacob sliced through her reply, gently lowering my hand and turning his ire on her full blast.
"N-no, I believe t-there was a incident on the highway-"
"You believe?" Jacob repeated, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.
I swept a hand over my forehead, trying to breathe. Trying to maintain my calm. The person who was supposed to be delivering my baby was God knows where, my husband was about to chew someone up and spit them out, and...
I balled my fists as one contraction rolled on top of another. There was no holding back. I let out a roar.
"I can't...I can't do this," I sobbed. I didn't have control over any of it. No control over the way my face twisted, a lot like my body twisted. No control over the tears that rolled down my cheeks like the contractions that twisted me like a human wash rag. No control over the fact that there was some accident and no one could tell me what that meant for me and the baby that was trying to make its grand entrance, whether we were ready or not.
Jacob flew back to my side, his face softening, eyes clouding with guilt. "I'm sorry-"
"No!" I hollered, happy to do some interrupting myself. "I don't want you to apologize. I just want to know what's going on and who's going to deliver my freaking-" Speaking of the devil, another contraction took the words right out of my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying, trying to cling to the darkness. The space between the pain. The only perk was that I understood some of what one of the n
urses said and apparently, I was right where we needed to be, dilation wise.
"I just wanna push," I begged. The little one who had been doing cartwheels in my belly since it was physically able to was not playing around.
This baby was coming.
"Mrs. Whitmore, I'm sorry your doctor hasn't arrived." This voice was familiar, and unlike the last voice that wasn't Jacob's, it had the calm and authoritative vibe that helped me hold on to the last bits of my sanity.
It was Darla.
"There was a multi-car accident on the highway that has your OB in traffic. All hands are on deck in the ER, in preparation for what will surely be a long night of keeping those on the edge in the land of the living. And unfortunately, our other OBs on staff are tied up in surgery."
I let the tiniest bit of light in, guilt creeping on the edges of my pain. It was an act of God, completely out of anyone's control. As badly as Jacob and I wanted to blame someone, to physically pluck Dr. Clarkson out of her car and transport her to my hospital room, this wasn't a sci-fi film. But none of that changed the fact that if she couldn't get here in time...
"Who the hell is going to deliver our baby?" Jacob and I were on the same wavelength.
My eyes were wide open, locked on the same steely blue ones that I'd found when Jacob and I arrived at the ER.
I was ready to push. Or to find out if it was too late for the epidural after all. This train was already barreling toward its final destination, conductor or not.
Darla stepped up beside Jacob, reaching around and placing her hand on top of both of ours. She looked at me, and me alone. "You are going to be okay, Leila. Your baby is going to be okay." She raised her chin and said some stuff that went in one ear and out the other when another contraction tore the wind from my sails.
The urge to push, to let my body do what it was built to do, consumed me.
"We're going to deliver this baby together."
I batted my eyes from Jacob, to Darla, then rested on the ceiling.
