Page 133 of Things We Burn

He nodded. “You tell me what to do—chop, fry, whatever. I got you. You work your magic.” His eyes glittered as something unspoken passed between us. He knew I needed this. We were both standing there, on the precipice of a completely new life. After tonight, nothing would be the same. So the simpleness of being in a kitchen, cooking with Kane, meant everything.

“I need onions diced.”

“Yes, Chef.” His eyes held mine for a long moment.

Then we cooked.

Our last meal as Kane and Avery.

The next one we had, we’d be Mom and Dad.

An insane idea.

Yet somehow perfect.

I hadn’t wanted the epidural.

Not because I was some kind of martyr. I trusted modern medicine and firmly believed that women shouldn’t have to suffer through labor when they’d already suffered through a pregnancy and would be suffering through the recovery and whatever other demands society had for them.

I believed every woman had the right to experience childbirth in their own way, with as little pain as possible.

But I’d also read up about the more prudent, realistic parts of labor. And I wanted it to be as quick and as efficient as it could be. Statistically, labor could last longer if an epidural was administered.

Also, I might’ve been arrogant about my threshold for pain.

I’d endured my fair share of it. My training ensured that my power of will was ironclad and that I never gave up. I set the expectation for myself that I wasn’t going to get an epidural, and I’d intended to stick with it.

Which was an absolutely stupid fucking idea.

I had heard about people who said inductions were dramatically more painful than natural labor. I’d taken this into account, but I’d also thought that pain was pain. I knew logically it couldn’t kill me, and I had my breathing exercises; I would focus on those, and I’d be fine.

And I was indisputably wrong.

I was in the tub. Initially, I hadn’t planned on using the birthing tub. But it was one of the ways to help reduce the pain without drugs. Something I found to be pure bullshit after floating around in there, still three centimeters dilated after hours. After what felt like years.

Three centimeters meant that I had more hours ahead of me. Of that pain. Pain that felt like my body was splitting in two. My contractions had been coming every minute for … God knew how long.

Kane was at my side, as he had been the entire time. Massaging my back, holding my hand, brushing hair from my face. He’d been steadfast, calm, tender. All of the things you’d want in a birth partner. Yet I barely paid any attention to him due to the pain. Even Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes couldn’t manage to anchor me in that sea of agony.

“I need the epidural,” I ground out to him from the tub.

There was a nurse kneeling beside me, her hands in the water, holding the two monitors on my stomach to ensure the baby was still okay. She was. Her heartbeat was steady. Apparently, she was as calm as could be while her mother was fighting for her life.

Kane’s eyes were clear on mine, though I saw the edge of worry there.

We’d talked about this.

“If I say I need the epidural, you need to tell me no,” I’d said while rubbing oil onto my stomach.

“Me, tell you no? Absolutely fucking not.” Kane didn’t even take a moment to consider his response, the words rushing past his lips as he swatted my hands away so he could rub in the oil for me. It was one of his favorite tasks. “If you’re in pain that you can’t handle and there’s a medicine available that will make that pain go away, I am in full support of a professional administering it.”

“I can handle it.” I pursed my lips. “Women have been handling it for millions of years. But knowing that it’s available in the back of my mind, I may falter.”

“Chef, you won’t falter.” He paused so he could look up at me. “And again, asking for medicine is not faltering or failure, just so you know.”

I let out a deep sigh. “Yes, whatever. But this is my request. That you remind me of my birth plan and that I can do it without the epidural.”

Kane’s brow furrowed. “I’ll remind you.”

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