by Shandi Boyes
Nodding, I snap my eyes shut while struggling to remember the breathing techniques taught in Lamaze class. It does me no good. The pain is too much.
When a scream shreds from my throat, Noah pulls his truck to the side of the road and clasps my hand within his. “Breathe, baby, keep breathing.” He rubs his thumb along mine while mimicking the noises I’m supposed to be making.
I attempt to copy him. It somewhat helps.
“That’s it. Just like that. You’re doing great.”
Once the contraction eases, which feels like a good ten or more minutes, even though it’s more like thirty seconds, I open my eyes. The first thing I notice is Noah’s alarmed gaze staring back at me. “They’re three minutes apart now.”
I smile. Three minutes is good. It means we’re getting closer to meeting our baby.
“Are you okay? Should I keep going?”
When I nod, he pulls his truck back onto the asphalt.
“You don’t have to pull over for every contraction. It’s sweet, but it will make our trip to the hospital twice as long.”
Noah’s eyes shift from the road to me. His brows are furrowed, his mouth ajar. “Yes, I do. There’s no way I can concentrate on the road and help you through the pain.”
I’m about to tell him I can handle it when another contraction rips through my body without notice. As I scream through the pain tearing me in two, Noah yanks his truck back off the road.
“Breathe, Emily.”
I hear the command in his snapped tone, but nothing can take away the pain. I’m screaming without mercy as tears stream down my face and snot bubbles in my nostrils. I’m certain I’m seconds from dying when Noah unclasps his seatbelt before sliding across the bench seat to cradle me into his chest, assuring me I’m not.
“It’s okay, Beautiful, you’re okay, just keep breathing,” he whispers in my ear as he soothingly rubs my back. "You're doing great; you've just got to remember to breathe."
“It fuckin’ hurts,” I cry into his chest. “I can’t do this; it hurts too much. I’m not strong enough.”
“Yes, you can. You can do this. I know you can.” He removes the sweaty hairs sticking to my temples before raising my eyes to his via my chin. “You are so strong and brave, so if anyone can do this, it will be you.”
Our eyes dart down in sync when a small pop sounds through our ears at the same time my nightie soaks through. My water just broke all over his red leather interior. With my eyes bugged, I return them to Noah. He appears as if he’s going to be sick at any moment.
“Is the contraction gone?”
When I nod, he dives into his seat, shifts into gear, then takes off down the road like a maniac. “You better not have made a promise you can’t keep, Em!” He flattens his accelerator to the floor. “Close your legs!”
I can’t help but laugh at his request. “Closing my legs won’t stop our baby from coming.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not funny.”
His face is as white as a ghost when he weaves his truck in and out of the traffic. I giggle even louder. I’ve never seen him so nervous. He usually oozes cockiness, but now, he just looks shocked and scared—nearly as panicked as he was when he told me what he dreamed about while in his coma. My heart broke for him during his confession.
Dr. Miller had theories on why he always clenched his fists when she mentioned me. Now I know her theories were accurate. Excluding the day I went to my appointment to ensure our baby was safe, I never left Noah’s side. Not once. I often whispered in his ear and snuggled into his side, but I thought the heavy sedation he was under was why he never acknowledged my presence like he did Jacob’s. I had no clue it was because he was trying to block out his pain because he thought he had lost me.
I wish I could block out my pain like he did when another contraction hits me full force. While my nails dig into the dashboard, I scream in pain.
“Hold on, Em; we’re nearly there.”
Noah’s truck pulls into the emergency bay just as my contraction eases. It’s the same hospital where he recovered. I haven’t been back here since he left a little over fifteen weeks ago. Seems more like a lifetime. His strength still amazes me. The fact he overcame his injuries and is living his life to the fullest makes tears spring to my eyes.
As painful memories flood into me, Noah helps me down from his truck. “Careful.”
When he scoops me into his arms, my eyes drift to the no parking sign next to his truck. “You have to move your truck, or they’ll tow it.”
“Let them tow it. You’re more important.”
Once we’re outside the locked double doors of the delivery suite, he places me on my feet before hitting the intercom button.
“Hello,” greets a voice over the intercom. “How can we help you?”
“My wife, Emily, is in labor.”
I’m in an immense amount of pain, but a smile still stretches across my face. This is the first time he’s called me his wife in public. When a loud buzz declares the door has been unlocked, Noah pushes it open before attempting to scoop me back into his arms. I assure him I can walk, but I barely make it three steps when another contraction buckles my knees.
Noah gathers me off the floor before running to the nurse’s desk in the middle of the delivery suite. One look at his panicked face tells the midwives everything they need to know. They usher us into a private room before directing Noah to place me on the bed.
He does so before spinning around to face them. “You need to give her something for the pain.”
A midwife with gray hair brings over a cart filled with scary-looking instruments. “After we’ve assessed her, we’ll discuss pain relief.”
“No, now. She’s hurting bad. Please help her.”
The plea in Noah’s tone is too much for her to bear, so she peers at me past his shoulder. “Do you need pain relief?”
Noah stares at me in shock when I shake my head. “Let them give you something,” he insists after pacing to my bedside.
I shake my head again. “No, I don’t want anything. I can do this. You said so yourself.”
He has overcome so much pain and heartache in his life. If he can survive that, I can handle the pain of bringing our child into the world. I’m strong too, and I want him to see that.
“Are you sure, Em?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reply just as a blinding contraction has me regretting every decision I’ve ever made.
Chapter 66
Noah
Emily rolls into a ball as she screams through the pain ripping through her body. I try to offer her comfort and support, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I can’t take her pain away, and she’s refusing pain relief, so I’m at a loss on how I can help her.
When her cries become too painful for me to bear, I hold her hand before reminding her about how strong she is.
The midwife who brought us into the room adds to my encouraging words. “Good girl, Emily. Just remember to keep breathing. Big breaths through your nose and out your mouth.”
As the midwife glances down at a silver watch attached to her chest, Emily’s wide, scared eyes lift to mine. “I… need… to… push.” She pants between each word, the pain in her voice unmissable.
With my panic at never-before-reached levels, my gaze snaps to the midwife. She’s rapidly gathering equipment from around the room. “Hit the buzzer.”
I glance at all the buttons on the wall. There are several different ones, so which one does she want me to push?
She rolls Emily onto her back before answering my silent question, “The call nurse one.”
While my finger jabs the button on repeat, Emily releases a long, penetrating scream. I’ve never heard a noise come out of her like that before. She sounds like she’s possessed.
As a pager announces assistance is needed in Room 22, I devote my attention back to the midwife strapping Emily’s legs into stirrups.
“Where’s her doctor?”
Emily has
seen Dr. Morgan weekly for the past six weeks. He advised he'd meet us at the hospital when I called him before I forced Emily into my truck. Thank fuck I didn’t let her stubbornness deter me from getting her to the hospital.
“There isn’t enough time.” After tightening a strap to Emily’s leg, the midwife peers at Emily. “Your baby’s head is crowning, Emily, so when you feel a contraction, I need you to push.”
A second young blonde-haired midwife joins us. “You need to calm down and breathe, Emily. You’re in good hands; you’ve done so well.” She scans paperwork coming out of a machine next to Emily’s bed before her blue eyes drift to mine. “Help her calm down. Your baby’s heart rate is very high; he’s stressed, so we need everyone to take in some big breaths.”
I nod, aware Emily needs me now more than ever. After placing my arm around her shoulders, I press my lips to her ear. “You can do this, Beautiful; you're strong and brave. I’m so proud of you. You just need to breathe like the Lamaze instructor showed you.”
I feel like a fucking idiot breathing as if I’m in labor, but I’d do it in front of millions if it has the same results. Emily’s screams diminish the more she pants.
“Good girl. You’re doing it.”
Her fingernails pierce my skin when she fights through another contraction.
“Okay, Emily, pull your chin in close to your chest, and push right down deep into your bottom.”
I repeat the midwife’s instructions to Emily. She nods before balancing her chin on her chest and pushing with all her might. Her torso raises off the bed as she squeezes my hand so firmly my bones creak. I endure the pain, certain it is nothing on the suffering Emily is currently experiencing. She bites her lip so hard during each push, she’s probably close to drawing blood.
She suffers through several contractions in the same manner before the midwife announces one last push should see our baby delivered. “Good girl, Emily. When you feel another contraction, push with all your might.”
While sucking in long, ragged breaths, Emily’s tired eyes lift to mine.
“You’re doing it,” I beam. I’m so fucking proud of her, my heart is beating out a tune I’ve never heard.
“You’re about to become a daddy...” Her words are pushed aside for a grunt.
“Okay, Emily, push again, right down low into your bottom. Take a big breath then push.”
Emily sucks in a huge breath before she bears down again. Just as her lips are freed from her teeth, she lets out a long, ragged scream.
“Stop pushing and pant,” the midwife instructs Emily.
“Pant, Emily, pant,” I whisper into her ear, recalling how imperative the Lamaze instructor said this part was.
Emily pants as requested, and not long later, we hear the tiny cries of our baby. Emily flops back onto the bed, relieved the pain is finally over, while our midwife lifts up our baby to show Emily her reward for all the pain she endured.
“It’s a girl,” announces the midwife as she moves our screaming bundle to the humidicrib located at the side of the room.
“A girl?” Emily mutters in disbelief. She was so convinced we were having a little boy, she only packed blue sleepers in her hospital bag.
“I told you it was a girl!” I press a kiss to her sweat-drenched head. “I’m so proud of you.”
My eyes float between hers when she drags her hands across my wet cheeks. I was so caught up in the miracle of childbirth, I hadn’t noticed the sneaky tears that fell down my cheeks. I quickly scrub my hand across my face, not wanting to look like a pussy, but in all honesty, seeing our baby girl being born was the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever experienced. She is proof that insta-love exists, because the moment I laid my eyes on her, I knew I’d love her for the rest of my life—just like her mother.
My heart beats in an unnatural rhythm when the midwife heads our way with a bundle of pink in her arms. When she hands our daughter to Emily, fresh tears burn my eyes. I wear these tears with pride.
“She has your dimples,” Emily gushes as she loosens the blanket wrapped around our daughter.
I smile when I spot two perfectly placed dimples in her cheeks. Her sprouts of hair are as dark as her mother's, but her eyes are currently blue. She has her mother’s turned-up nose, but the shape of my face. She is the perfect mix of us both.
I run my index finger down her chubby cheek before tracking it across her tiny hand, which has poked out from the blanket. When she snags my finger in her hand, my heart flips.
Emily sighs before teasing me, “Daddy will be wrapped around your little finger, won’t he?”
I don’t care what anyone says; anything my baby girl wants, she’ll have. I’m planning to spoil her and her mother for the rest of my life.
“What shall we name her?”
We never discussed baby names. Emily was so adamant we were having a boy, she picked the name Maddox. I liked the name, so we had no reason to discuss the matter any further.
“I don’t think Maddox will work for a girl.”
Emily ribs me with her elbow before lowering her eyes to our little girl. I do the same while striving to think of a name to match her adorable face. She is as beautiful as her mother; her cheeks are just ten times chubbier.
“What about Maddie? It’s strong but cute, just like her mommy.”
Emily’s eyes snap to mine. “Maddie,” she murmurs, testing out the name on her lips. “I like it.”
“Maddison Grace Taylor?”
Emily’s mom's middle name is Grace, so I think it’s fitting for her granddaughter to follow the tradition of having her grandmother's middle name. Emily has her grandmother's middle name, even though she hates it.
“It’s perfect.” Emily uses my shirt to pull my lips to hers. “You’re perfect.”
And just like that, our duo becomes a trio, and I have another little person I’m terrified to lose.
Epilogue
Noah
Two years later….
The waistband of my jeans absorbs the sweat gliding down my back. I’m not joking this time when I say I need to remove my shirt because the stage lights are roasting my skin. The spotlight following my every move makes it seem as if I’m standing on the sun.
When I lift the hem of my shirt to rub away the sweat descending from my temples to my chin, the crowd catches a glimpse of the tattoos I’ve collected the past two years. They let out a roar, closely followed by numerous requests to remove my shirt.
As I continue belting out the lyrics to “Hollow,” I glance over at my wife who is standing in the wings of the stage. She’s wrangling a feisty Maddie, who doesn’t want to wear the baby pink earmuffs required to ensure her hearing doesn’t get damaged while listening to her daddy’s band play. Maddie has attended every concert I’ve performed at; she’s never missed a show, and neither has her mother.
Once Emily wins the earmuff battle, she nods, encouraging me to remove my shirt. She’s not stupid; her job as the publicist for Rise Up is to get the band exposure money can’t buy. Sex sells, so she’s willing to let others “ogle my assets,” as long as she gets full access to those so-called assets after each concert. There’s nothing I love more than watching my wife’s eyes fill with lust from watching me perform, so I’m more than happy to fulfill her side of our agreement.
After whipping off my shirt, I throw it into the crowd. Several women in the front row fight over it, proving they haven’t become any less vicious in their attempts to capture my attention. Delilah’s concerns about me needing to remain attainable to our fans was nothing more than a crock of shit. My wedding photos were splashed on the front cover of every gossip magazine in the country, and I bear my wife and daughter’s names on my chest, yet I’m still propositioned at the end of every concert.
It’s lucky Emily trusts me, but there’s been a handful of times I’ve had to step between her and overeager fans. Most fans are respectful, but I’ve been caught unaware by groupies trying to ram their tongues down my throat when I
think they’re coming in for an innocent peck on the cheek.
Emily was on to them fast, telling them they’re disrespectful pieces of shit for attempting to steal a married man away from his family. She has said multiple times she can’t understand why groupies act the way they do. I personally don’t think they’ll ever be understood, but they are, unfortunately, a part of our industry.
Although I shouldn’t love Emily’s jealous streak, I do.
I can’t say the same for my annoying neurosis. I don’t just have to be cautious about the roadies hitting on my wife. I have to deal with the likes of men like Isaac. It became apparent after his debt was repaid that Isaac didn’t help the band for his brother. He did it for Emily.
An hour of dancing, and he was hooked. He’d never admit it, but I think he was hoping I’d succumb to my injuries, so he could fly in and sweep Emily off her feet. I fucked with his plan when I came back to her.
You should have seen the expression on his face when he learned Emily was pregnant. He looked like he was going to be sick. Isaac is a great guy, but he needed to keep his gray eyes on someone other than my wife. I told him exactly that when Emily went to fetch him a drink. He swore he wasn’t looking at her like I thought, but I didn’t believe him. There was something more than friendship behind his fascination with Emily. I just have no clue what it was.
My thoughts shift back to the present when Slater counts in our next song. Tonight, we’re performing at AT&T Park in San Francisco. It’s just as I dreamed it would be, although we’re no longer the opening act. We are the main event. We have over sixty thousand attendees at our show, and the vibe is electric.
Our second album, Next Coming, skyrocketed up the charts even quicker than our first. It didn’t stay in the number one spot as long as our first, but our single, “Eyes like Her Mother’s” went straight to number one upon its release. It’s the song I wrote for our daughter, Maddison. She’s the spitting image of her mother, except for her dimples and her attitude. She loves being in the spotlight and craves attention. Even when we’re getting hassled by the paparazzi, Maddie grins at them before giving them the peace sign like Jacob taught her. Everyone falls in love with her.
