Page 129 of Pucking the Enemy

Cormac’s next words were cut off by the nurse and Roman entering the room. “Let’s see how far along you are!” The bubbly blonde nurse took a seat between my legs.

I was flushed, the size of a house, and grunting like a hippo. The nurse had no right to look so stinking pretty in my presence.

“The contractions are a few minutes apart,” I muttered as she did the check.

“That’s good,” she said, nodding, “because you’re at a ten! I’ll go grab the doctor. I think it’s time to have a baby!”

“Oh, thank god!”

“On the next contraction, I want you to push, okay, Miss Giltbrook?” the doctor asked from her seat between my legs.

I had been pushing for over fifteen minutes, and everything hurt. Seb was behind me, cycling between rubbing my back and rubbing my shoulders. Phillip was to my left, holding my hand.

When the doctor had come in, she had instructed Cormac and Roman to help hold my legs open. They had done so without complaint—or in Cormac’s case, not even a dirty joke.

“Baby’s crowning, it won’t be long until you have them in your arms!” the doctor said. “Dads, are you holding it together? This one’s looking a little queasy.” She jerked her head toward Roman, who shook his head.

“I’m fine!” he insisted, but she was right—he wasn’t looking the best.

“My nurses are here to help Mama. They are not here to help you if you pass out. Swap places with one of the others, we need leg support,” she instructed in a no-nonsense tone.

“Swap with me,” Phillip said, leaning down to quickly kiss the top of my head before moving off the bed.

Roman joined me a second later, his hand clammy in mine.

It was almost cute how badly the guys were dealing with the pain. “I thought you guys were meant to be manly athletes who play a game with blades taped to your feet, not babies.” I laughed breathlessly.

“We are.” Roman nodded. “This is some next-level shit.”

“Remember that when you ask for another one.”

The doctor made a noise of surprise, and I glanced away from Roman just as Phillip’s grip on my leg went slack.

And he promptly passed out.

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Phillip asked. He was sitting in an armchair, an ice pack on his forehead, where a rather impressive bruise was already forming.

“No way in hell.” Cormac laughed, his eyes never leaving me.

And our son.

Henry Kingswood was born after twenty minutes of pushing, and only three of his fathers got to witness the birth.

Phillip had been passed out in the corner of the room, completely unable to cope.

“I think we’re one and done.” Seb nodded. “As much as I love this little guy already, I don’t think I can watch you in pain again.”

I snorted lightly. “You’ll survive.”

Our son was perfect. When they placed the squishy, slimy ball of baby on my chest, something deep within me changed.

I was a mother.

And I was going to do everything to ensure my son had the best upbringing, full of love.

It wouldn’t be hard in a pack like mine.

“I still think Frodo could have made a good name,” Cormac said, gazing lovingly at Henry. “But I do like the name we picked.”

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