Page 27 of Depraved Favors

“Shut up,” she hisses through her teeth. My phone vibrates, and I answer quickly.

“Marla, hey. We’re on our way to the hospital.”

Peyton gasps, staring at the dashboard. “Mom, where are you?!”

“We just landed, sweetheart. Your dad and I will meet you there, okay? You’re so strong, sweetie. You and Owen got this and we’re right behind you,” her mom says, the slight shake in her voice the only indicator to me that she’s as upset at potentially missing the birth as Peyton is.

“I’ll let them know you’re coming and let you back into the room with us when you arrive,” I say, and Peyton nods, her fingers curling around the door handle as another contraction starts.

“Oh god,” she groans.

“Take care of my baby, Owen. And then take care of my grandbaby.” Phil’s stern voice drifts through the car.

I smile, knowing how nervous he must be. “Always.”

I kiss her sweaty forehead, pushing her hair back. “You’re doing so good, honey. You’re so strong for us.”

Peyton groans, looking up at me with tired eyes. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“If I poop, don’t tell me. Don’t ever mention it to anyone,” she says. I can’t tell if she’s serious, but the dejection in her voice has me nodding. Her pain has lessened since the epidural.

“I would never.”

The nurse on her other side smiles, holding up a thumbs up as if applauding my response. The midwife between Peyton’s legs scoots closer and taps her thigh.

“A contraction is coming. Give me a big push, okay mama?”

Peyton grabs my hand, squeezing it as she drops her chin onto her chest with a grunt.

“Good. Again.”

I keep my eyes on Peyton’s straining face as I lean down and remind her to breathe.

“There we go. One more time, mama.”

My forehead drops against hers. Peyton’s nails are puncturing my skin from how hard she’s holding my hand. Her body shakes and then she collapses back onto the bed, panting. I look down as the midwife holds our son, and the nurse hands over a towel. The midwife rubs his back with the towel before his sharp cry pierces the air. Goosebumps slither across my skin, and my eyes water. The nurse lifts him and brings him to Peyton to lie on her chest.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Peyton soothes him gently as his shrieks continue, and I watch them with awe. They are my life now. My heart outside of my body, and I’m terrified that the world could hurt them. I lean in, running a knuckle along his soft cheek.

“Hey buddy,” I say softly, then look up at Peyton’s watery eyes. I kiss her, leaning my forehead on hers when I pull away. “I love him, I love you. Thank you.”

She inhales sharply, giving me a knowing look but the nurse steps up to keep wiping him off, so I step away.

“Want to cut the cord, Dad?” the midwife asks.

I nod, grabbing the scissors from her. Two nurses hold up the umbilical cord and direct me where to cut. My hands shake, but I snip and hand them back to the nurses. They beam at me, and one is holding a phone I didn’t notice. The relief of her capturing the moment means a lot to me. I hadn’t thought to ask anyone to take photos or videos.

I move back to Peyton’s side, staring down at our newborn son who is still grumbling, but at least his cries have quieted. A nurse is on the other side, wiping away some of the birth matter sticking to him.

“He’s perfect,” Peyton whispers. The awe in her voice reflects how I feel. “I love him.”

Rubbing his back, I kiss the side of her head. “We have a baby,” I whisper into her skin.

Peyton turns her head to kiss my lips once. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I know, honey. Thanks for saying it anyway.”

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