Page 76 of Real

“I have to pee,” I say. That’s another problem with being pregnant. I always have to pee.

Timothy busts up laughing because I can’t go to the bathroom. We’re stuck here with his knot. And this isn’t the first time this has happened.

“You have to go before we have sex, remember?” he jokes.

“Oh, sure. The next time you come on to me, I’ll stop everything and go to the bathroom. That will be romantic.”

“Well, you know I offered to keep a plastic bottle by the bed.”

“We are not doing that. That’s gross.”

He gives me light kisses on my cheek and jaw. “Just don’t think of waterfalls.”

“Oh my Lights, stop. Unless you want to lay in a puddle of my urine.”

“Sweetheart, it won’t be a puddle. Your bladder is too small to carry much right now.”

He’s lucky I love him because I feel very cross with him right now. And I’m lucky that his knot doesn’t last as long as it usually does.

I end up getting to the bathroom without any disasters.

32

Timothy

One month later…

Buddy doesn’t ever complain in front of the kids. His contractions begin as nothing but a clench of his jaw or a sudden grip for the counter or the armrest of the couch. I ask him if he’s alright, and he gives me a pained smile. It’s hard to be sure how much discomfort he’s in.

The doctor said not to come in until the contractions were close together. For days, they come and go. Buddy insists they’re Braxton Hixx contractions—that they’re not real.

I’m not sure about that.

On the second day, I call and tell the daycare I won’t be coming in. I still take the kids to school like I do every morning, but I also call Einar and ask him to be the one to pick them up.

The kids like Einar. He used to watch them every night when Buddy went into heat.

When I return home, Buddy is kneeling on the floor of the living room gasping for breath. “I… think I’m in labor.”

I kneel next to him. “I’m here. I already called in.”

Birth is a common thing on the compound. It isn’t hidden in a hospital the way it is in the city. I grew up hearing the screams of labor coming from the omegas in the birthing cabin. Those screams went on for hours or days. Unlike the comedies I’ve seen since being rescued from the pits, real birth isn’t sudden or quick. Pups take their time.

Buddy rocks back and forth, taking in the deep breaths he learned from the YouTube videos we’ve watched about birth. He grabs for my wrist and squeezes hard. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

I don’t argue with his pain. I don’t minimize it. That’s the thing about pain—telling someone it’s okay doesn’t make that true. I simply stay there with him and silently note the exact time the contraction ends.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

At that point, the contractions come quicker and quicker. Buddy removes his shirt and pants until he’s buck naked in the front room. That concerns me because we’ll need to get him to the hospital wearing something. He’s sweating and moaning, completely lost in his instinct and pain. There’s a part of me that wants to demand he put on a robe and go to the emergency room, but a bigger part of me recognizes that this moment isn’t about me. The pups inside him are in their wolf form. They have been since the ultrasound we did at eighteen weeks. That means Buddy isn’t at a heightened risk for complications, even though he’s carrying triplets.

It was the same on the compound. The omegas rarely had complications. The human skull and shoulders are far wider than the skull and shoulders of the pups red wolf shifters give birth to. The midwives helped them birth their pups naturally, and it was quite safe.

Buddy may be far along in his labor, but he isn’t in danger.

“It’s too much, Timothy,” Buddy wails. Then a flood of liquid rushes onto the living room floor.

---