by Alice Ward
Glancing around, I smiled to see Hannah in Jack’s arms. They were doing really well together, and thankfully, Jack and Ace had become friends. Everything in my life was perfect.
Ooooouch.
Except for these stupid contractions.
“Are you okay?” Ace asked, looking concerned and I forced a bright smile on my face.
“Absolutely. I just hope the real contractions aren’t too much worse than these Braxton ones,” I muttered. “That one hurt like hell.”
“Are you sure they aren’t real ones?” he asked, his hands moving to my belly while everyone danced around us.
I nodded. “My due date is still a week away. And this baby had better not dare spoil Whitney’s day.” I pointed a finger at my bump. “Hear that, buster?”
As if in acknowledgment, the baby gave me a kick, right on the bladder, making me almost pee myself.
Ace was still looking at me in concern, so I forced myself to relax in his arms. We were beginning to draw attention, especially from Whitney who was mouthing are you okay?
I smiled and nodded at her, then murmured to Ace, “Dance with me.”
As he whirled — okay, waddled — me around the dance floor, my thoughts drifted to the old hotel Ace bought and was renovating for homeless vets. He’d strong armed every player to chip in, Rhett too, and when we went by to see it last week, it looked almost ready for the men to move in.
“Why was there a glass room in the courtyard?” I asked him.
“What?”
“At the Beast’s Den. There was a glass room. It didn’t look like a green house, and I’ve been thinking about its purpose.”
His smile was so sexy as he looked down at me. “It’s a room for Oscar. He’s a vet who can’t stand being in enclosed spaces. There will be curtains he can pull for privacy if he wants.”
“That’s really nice.”
Ace kissed my forehead, then kept his lips pressed there. “He’s a good guy.”
“You’re a good guy.”
I felt him smile against my skin. “Never thought I’d hear that come from anybody’s lips.”
By the time Whitney and Calvin ran through the flying rose petals, I was exhausted. I’d taken off my shoes hours ago because my feet were beginning to resemble little pigs. Ace brought me another glass of sparkling grape juice, then tapped his juice glass against mine.
“Love is blind,” he said, his grin growing broader, “marriage is the bifocals.”
I swatted him on the stomach, but couldn’t disagree. “But not us, right?”
“Honey, our eyes have been wide open for a long time now. We’ve seen everything of each other, good and bad.”
Another contraction hit me, this one like the force of a train. God, it hurt. I looked up at him. “I have a feeling you’re about to see another side of me… soon.”
***
“Breathe, Holly. You can do this.”
I looked up into Ace’s face and snarled. “Shut up, you asshole. This is your fault. Your fault! Aggghhh….” Then I was crying and begging him to forgive me for calling him an asshole. A minute later, I was cussing him out again.
Labor had turned me into a crazy person. Bi-polar mixed with homicidal tendencies with a splash of raging lunatic thrown in.
“Epidural,” I screamed. “Now!”
“Holly,” Ace said calmly, “You specifically told me you wanted to do this—”
I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down until we were face to face. “Now!” I hissed.
He looked scared. Good.
“Holly, I need to check you,” the nurse said. “You’re progressing really quickly, so an epidural might not be possible.”
Not possible?
Did she just say not possible?
I slapped my thighs closed. “Just call the anesthesiologist. I’m not progressing too quickly.” I smiled at her, and she backed away. “I promise.”
The nurse, Ginger, looked at Ace. “She’s having what we call precipitous labor, which means everything is happening very quickly.”
“That’s good,” he said, “right?”
Ginger shook her head. “It sounds great, but Holly’s body is transitioning so quickly that she’s having trouble keeping up. Also, her body hasn’t had time to release the pain-relieving natural endorphins that come with conventional labor. She’s experiencing this… raw.”
They stopped talking as another contraction hit me, both of them hovering like flies that I wanted to smack away. Finally, I could breathe again and heard Ginger say, “I’m seeing some fetal distress which isn’t unusual with this type of rapid labor.” She put her hand on my leg. “Holly, I need to check you. Now.”
Another contraction hit and I could hear Ace, but I couldn’t see him anymore. The pain was blinding. All consuming. Then it began to recede.
“Okay, open up,” Ginger said and told Ace to hold one of my legs. He kept murmuring encouragement, telling me how great and brave I was. I wanted to reach over and wrap his balls around his dick.
“She’s ready to push,” Ginger said just as Whitney came flying into the room. Her hair was still piled into her wedding style, but she was wearing yoga pants and what looked like one of Calvin’s sweatshirts. Calvin skidded to a halt right behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried out to them. “It’s your wedding night, and I’ve ruined it.”
Ginger said, “The doctor is coming. Don’t push.”
As if her words had penetrated my abdomen, the urge to do just that suddenly hit me. Another vice gripped my belly, and I screamed into the pain.
“Oh my God, is she okay?” It was Hannah, Jack right behind her.
“Get out!” Demons had possessed my soul, or at least that was how it seemed.
Whitney whirled around, shoving Calvin and Jack from the room while yanking Hannah farther inside.
“I’m sorry!” I started crying again, feeling totally out of control. My entire body was shaking, and I couldn’t make it stop.
“She’s experiencing a type of shock,” I heard Ginger say. “Also some minor hemorrhaging. I’m calling OR for a possible section.”
Strong hands clamped down on my shoulders and Ace bent down until we were face to face. “Holly. If you need to scream, do it. If you need to punch me, do it. I’m here, and I’m not leaving you. Do you hear me?”
My teeth were chattering. “Y-y-yes.”
The vice was back, clamping down. Someone else came into the room. People were talking, but all I could hear was Ace’s voice — I love you. You’re doing so great. You’re a beast. I’m so proud.
“We need to get this baby out.”
“She’s crowning.”
“Holly, push!”
I bore down with all my strength as someone started counting.
“Push!”
I bore down again.
“Push!”
Oh God, is that poop?
“It’s okay. It happens to everyone,” Ginger said as she wiped it away.
“One more push, Holly. Give me everything you’ve got.”
With Ace’s strong arm around me, holding me up in an almost sitting position, I pushed, and a rush of ecstasy ran through me as the baby’s head appeared.
“Good job, Holly,” the doctor was saying. “One more gentle push.”
I bore down, and watched the baby turn, then watched it slither out of me in a rush.
And it was over.
The pain was gone. The worry. The fear.
Nothing mattered but the slimy little creature in the doctor’s hands and the man crying beside me.
The doctor announced that we had a boy, a son, and Ace and I looked at each other, love in the form of tears streaming from our eyes.
“A boy,” I mouthed to him.
“A son,” he mouthed back.
And we smiled. And cried, together, including our new little man as they placed him on my stomach, goo and all, and I wrapped my arms around my son while Ace wrapped his arms around us
both.
***
Two hours later, the horror of my labor experience had faded away, like a nightmare does upon waking. The doctor had been able to get my bleeding under control without surgery, for which I was grateful.
I smiled, watching Ace walking our tightly swaddled baby around the room, telling him things I couldn’t hear. He was perfect, and I couldn’t have been happier.
Whitney and Calvin had gotten in their cuddle time before heading back to their wedding night. Hannah was the proudest aunt I’d ever seen.
I’d apologized to Ginger for calling her a heartless bitch, which I only vaguely remembered doing. I also apologized to the doctor for pooping on him, which I remembered clearly.
Now it was just us, my little family
“What do you think about Rip?” I asked Ace, and he smiled down at his son.
“Rip Newman, huh?” he baby talked, making my heart turn to jelly. “You like that name? You gonna rip a baseball outta the park someday, little man?”
The baby farted, and we both laughed.
“I think that’s a yes.”
Moving back to the bed, Ace placed him back in my arms, then climbed on the bed with me. He kissed my forehead, then my cheek, then my lips.
“You saved me, you know?”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I looked up at him. “You saved me too.”
I’m not sure how long we just sat there, gazing down at our son. Laughing when he scrunched up his nose. Panicking when he made a sound.
I didn’t know how to be a mother. Ace didn’t know how to be a dad.
As I gazed into the blue eyes of our baby, I promised him we’d do our best to figure it out.
It was like little Rip heard my promise and understood because one side of his little mouth lifted. A smirk. Just like his father.
When he closed his eyes, I closed mine too.
Safe in the arms of the man I loved.
THE END
Continue on to read the next book in this series, Hard to Catch, following Todd’s story!
Hard to Catch
THE BEASTS OF BASEBALL
BOOK 3
BOOK DESCRIPTION
This is the third sexy STANDALONE novel in Bestselling Author Alice Ward's brand new sports romance series, The Beasts of Baseball.
I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being traded from the Mets — until the day I’m traded to the Beasts. Now I’m catching for Calvin Malone, their star pitcher. Star pretty boy. Star pain in my ass. The tension between us is thick. All over a girl. Whitney. The woman I deserve. Not him.
If that’s not bad enough, I learn that my reputation as an adrenaline junkie, a daredevil, a risk taker has landed me a babysitter during spring training. I have to admit... Katrina Delaney is hot. Not only is she damn fine to look at, she’s the daughter of a baseball legend. And mysterious. She’s hiding something beneath that social media perfection. But what? I want to find out.
NOTE: The Beasts of Baseball series follows the sexy exploits of the players on the baseball team The Beasts, and the women they love. Each book can be read as a standalone and features a heart twisting HEA with No Cliffhanger.
CHAPTER ONE
Todd
“Higher!”
The buzz of the airplane’s engine sounded in my ears while the instructor, Hans, gave me the thumbs up. I shook my head and grinned. Not nearly high enough yet.
I sucked on the oxygen bottle, taking in what my lungs desperately craved as we made the climb past the eighteen thousand feet range my instructor had done his best to convince me was my “sweet spot.”
I wanted more.
Needed more.
My play time in the sky was going to last over a minute and a half, pushing two minutes if they’d let me. Not enough, but I’d take any moment of freedom I could get.
“We’re reaching twenty thousand feet,” Hans yelled in my direction.
The door of the plane was open, my parachute packed and tested by myself. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I wanted to go higher. “Twenty-five.”
Hans grinned, but shook his head, then looked toward the pilot and nodded. “You ready?”
I was born ready.
He checked my oxygen and gave me another thumbs up. I gripped the overhead cord, walked toward the opening of the plane, and felt the cold air pulling at me with an angry force. Adrenaline rushed through my veins like heroin. This was the highest I’d pushed my accelerated freefalls, and even though it wasn’t as high as I wanted, it was enough to create tiny pricks all over my skin and send blood rushing to my cock.
Another thumbs up near the door, a quick reach up to unclip myself from the plane, and I was sucked into the cool blue sky.
My brain calculated the time I needed before releasing the chute as I steadied myself into a superman position. I flew through the heavens, falling over a hundred and seventy miles per hour toward the earth. I spiraled, spun, glided, just like a bird, better yet, like a superhero. No wingsuit to slow me down, no instructors to hold my hand. I was on my own, class A baby.
My lungs tightened in my chest from the sheer speed and altitude of the fall, but I refused to reach for the oxygen bottle strapped to my hip. I wanted to feel everything, pain included. The view was spectacular. The earth looked like tiny grids as I busted through the clouds.
I checked my altimeter, and with great reluctance, pulled the rip cord. My body halted abruptly from the fast-paced fall and lifted high into the sky as I slowed, drifting for the last two thousand feet.
Peace.
The feeling of total oneness with nature, the silence so intense it almost had its own sound, were nearly as addicting as the adrenaline rush of the fall. I loved this part too. Floating, watching the earth grow larger beneath me until I extended my legs and returned to the hard ground.
“Whoowee!” the ground instructor called out as he ran toward me. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” I said as I began unclipping my chute.
The older man, Garett, was the owner of the company. He’d offered me over fifty jumps in the last year, all of which he kept under wraps. He always found a remote location where I’d be out of the media, and even though he knew he’d stand to make a fortune to sell the story of my rebellion against the Mets and MLB rules, I trusted he never would.
“How high did ya climb? It looked like you had a seventy-nine-second freefall at least.” He grinned, already knowing I’d pushed the limits he’d tried to set for me.
“Twenty thousand was sweet.”
He nodded, smiled, but didn’t reprimand me for going against his judgment and advice.
“I’ll get to twenty-five next time.” I smirked as he helped me push the last of my personal chute back into the bag.
“A lot of jumpers lose consciousness that high. That’s a sure-fire way to get yourself killed on a solo jump.”
“I can handle it. Didn’t use my oxygen this time.”
The old man shook his head, grinned, and patted me on the back as I pulled off my jumpsuit and changed shoes. “You got too much to live for to be so bound and determined to risk it all.”
Risk? What was life without risk?
The plane circled overhead before landing just a few hundred feet away from where we stood. Garret handed me the keys to the Harley Fat Boy I’d rented for the day and walked toward the plane. “‘Til next time.”
My legs straddled the powerful machine, chrome glistening in the sunlight, my fingers tightly surrounding the handgrips. My backpack securely tied to the back, adrenaline continued to race through my system as I kicked down, sending that familiar rumble between my legs as I yearned for the open road. I wanted one so bad, not this one, but a custom with a stretched out front end, high grip handlebars, and, of course, more power. That dreaded agreement made with the MLB to steer clear of dangerous — or what they considered dangerous — activities kept me from having one of my own. It was also the reason for the hour drive I had to get back to the city. If
it were up to them, I’d be surrounded by bubble wrap sitting at home waiting for the season to start. No thanks. They’ll never know what doesn’t kill me.
Vibrations shot through my thighs as the bike raced down the highway. My mind drifted to the jump. I was disappointed I didn’t push to go higher. Next time.
Shit!
Red lights shone in my face as vehicles in front of me scattered across the highway, trying to avoid something I couldn’t see. I hit the brake and jerked hard on the handles, barely missing a truck skidding across the lane. Its back bumper hit my rear wheel, tossing me like a ragdoll to the side. Then I was down, sliding out of control. My bike glided across the pavement on its side, my leg barely escaping being trapped beneath it and ripped to shreds. A slam into a white pickup truck brought the bike and me to an abrupt stop.
“Are you okay?” I looked up to find a tall, skinny man with a long beard over me. He extended his hand. I refused, getting up on my own. The bike was a mess. My leg skinned, some blood coming from my elbow, but I was okay. My head hurt like hell, making me grateful I hadn’t been stupid enough to ride without a helmet this time.
“Yeah, I’m good. What happened?”
“It’s a wreck up ahead, at least three or four cars involved.”
Twisted metal was everywhere with columns of smoke growing larger by the moment. People were screaming and tires screeching as more traffic halted to avoid the pileup. Running to the worst of the wreckage, I spotted a bleeding woman lying on the asphalt trying to crawl to a little red car turned up on its side, smoke pouring from the engine. She was crying and screaming, “My baby!”
Panic set in as I realized what she was telling me. I ran toward the car and looked inside the window. A little girl, maybe a year-old, was crying in the backseat. She was still attached to her car seat, which was now holding her inside, even though gravity wanted to drop her into the back door.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I pushed myself inside, stretching as far as I could reach and got a grip on the buckle that held her in place.
“Please help her,” the mother screamed.
“I’m trying,” I promised, feeling the pressure of the situation, and especially feeling the heat coming from the front of the car.
