Page 42 of Saving Their Forever

“They’re fine,” Sampson says. “The whole family is doing just fine.”

* * *

Wren

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” I say when the elevator doors slide open. “It’s all of ten steps.” Ry has the carseat in one hand but was about to try to pick me up at the same time. “Just go slow.”

I’m sore everywhere. Giving birth isn’t easy, but doing it outside, on concrete, after being drugged, kidnapped, and locked in a bunker for hours, dialed the pain up to eleven. I’m bruised, swollen, and sitting down is so much worse than standing up or walking. I can’t wait to try out the donut pillow that came so highly recommended on the new mom message boards. And sleep in our bed—even if only for an hour or two, since little miss will need feeding again soon.

“They shouldn’t have discharged you this quickly,” he mutters.

“Horsepucky. The only thing nice about the hospital was the lactation consultant teaching me how to unhook this flippin’ nursing bra while holding the baby.”

“I would have helped with that.”

“Stop it. We are not having sex for at least a month. Maybe more. Mama’s gotta heal. Then figure out when I can go back on birth control.”

Ry finishes entering his passcode and presses his palm to the scanner. “You don’t have to,” he says. “I’ll…uh…take care of it on my end.”

“Ryker McCabe!” I stare up at him in awe. “Are you volunteering to get a vasectomy?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. I think the man would do anything in the world to keep me safe and happy.

“It’s a hell of a lot easier for me,” he says, his cheeks turning ruddy. “And you said you hated the side effects.”

The condo is so quiet. Pixel is staying with Ripper and Cara tonight so the three of us can have a little alone time without needing to walk or feed her. I miss her though. Maybe they can bring her up later for an hour or two.

Ryker leads me over to the couch and sets the carseat on the coffee table. Harlow is caught between asleep and awake. She blinks up at him and yawns when he unsnaps the harness.

I ease myself down onto the pillow with a sigh. “Whoever invented this thing should be sainted. Or knighted. Or something.”

My husband steps back, leaving Harlow in her seat and rubbing his hands together like he’s not sure what to do now.

“You won’t break her, you know.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “She’s so small.”

“She’s almost eight pounds! That’s not small, soldier.”

“She fits in my hands,” he says. “What if I hurt her?”

“You won’t. For all of your over-the-top protectiveness and muscles, you’re one of the gentlest people I’ve ever met, Ry. When you want to be. Pick up your daughter and hand her to me.”

I arch a brow and wait for him to melt. He blows out a breath, then scoops the baby out of the carrier. She coos softly, then lets out a wail. Ry flinches, and his expression shutters.

“She’s just hungry. There’s nothing wrong.” I settle back against the cushions, loosen the ties on the peasant blouse, and unhook the nursing bra. “Come sit.”

He hands me the baby like he can’t let go of her fast enough, but sits right next to me. I turn so I can rest my back against his chest, and he winds his arms loosely around my belly. Sitting like this, it’s like he’s feeding her too.

It takes her a minute to latch on, and I hiss. The ladies on the message boards warned me how much the first few days would hurt, but I wasn’t prepared. Not by a long shot. Still, once she’s happily suckling, I can relax and enjoy this new family the three of us have created. Together.

* * *

Ryker

Wren sleeps on her side, her arms curled around the body pillow. In the bassinet next to the bed, Harlow is swaddled up tight.

Eight hours. We’ve survived our first eight hours alone as a family. Multiple feedings, three diaper changes, and a lot of crying. Wren’s. Harlow’s. Even mine.

Everyone we know has called or texted today. Asking if we need anything. Offering to bring food. Diapers. But Wren and I needed to be alone.

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