Page 37 of Reckless Encore

“What?” She reached for the bed rail, unsure if she needed stability due to the building throb or to brace herself against her husband’s stupidity. The pain overwhelmed her ability to speak. Instead, she glared. She glared her ass off as whimpers, moans, and other garbled noises escaped her throat.

He took a step back. And another. Then looked over his shoulder toward the door. “I’m going to get the midwife.”

She mentally cursed his name. His existence. She would kill him. Once this child was finished destroying her vagina, she would wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze.

“How are you doing, pet?” The midwife hustled into the room to stand at the end of the bed. “Are you ready for me to check and see if this baby is any closer to being born?”

She nodded, ignoring her husband, who returned to her side and began rubbing the lower part of her back. “Please tell me I’m close.”

Mitch faced away during the internal exam, his glazed eyes riveted on the wall.

“You’re almost there.” The midwife smiled from between Alana’s thighs. “I’m going to call the doctor and get this party started.”

A renewed burst of adrenaline kicked in, but it barely nudged her exhaustion. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Hey, I’ve got you.” Mitch grabbed a hair tie from the small set of drawers beside the bed and pulled her hair back. The gentle touch filled her with warmth. His comfort strengthened her. “You’ve done this before. You can do it again.”

“Fixing my hair doesn’t absolve you. You realize we’re going to be having a long discussion about whatever it is you think you’ve promised to Blake as soon as this baby is born?”

“I realize,” he muttered.

“Good. Now give me your hand.” She reached for him, bracing for another contraction. “I can’t do this without you.”

* * *

Six hours later, and Mitch still hadn’t sobered. He hadn’t slept either.

He sat in a chair in the private maternity room they had transferred to after the birth, watching his wife and newborn baby sleep peacefully. Their little girl had come into the world weighing a healthy six pounds, eight ounces, and had instantly become the sweetest thing he had ever seen.

If only he was allowed to touch.

His wife, the doctor, and all nursing staff had told him to rest for a while until the alcohol left his system. Apparently, he couldn’t walk straight, so holding his daughter was a no-go.

But he could wait.

He had years of cuddles ahead of him. Cuddles with the most precious bundle who already proved to be a clever cookie. She’d suckled straight away, much easier than Chase ever had, then proceeded to fall asleep. Now she lay peacefully in a plastic crib beside her mother’s bed, her tiny body swaddled in a pink blanket.

“Hey.” Blake’s soft voice carried from the door. “Is it too early for visitors?”

Mitch stood, alert and on guard. “Shh. They’re sleeping.”

His best friend hadn’t changed from last night. His shirt held a mass of crinkles, and the knees of his jeans were covered in grass stains as he tiptoed forward like a maniacal cartoon character.

Shit.“How drunk are you?”

Blake winked and stopped at the side of the crib. “We smuggled booze into the waiting room. It was all fun and games until Ryan passed out. He’s such a fuckin’ nancy.”

“You’ve been drinking all this time?”

“Until dawn. The nurses confiscated our liquor once they found the boss lady’s bitch boy huddled in the corner. We tried to hide him under a pile of magazines, but apparently, the disguise wasn’t as stealthy as we thought.”

“What time is it now?” Mitch patted his pockets for his cell.

“Just after eight.”

“Fuck.” Blake was still well and truly drunk. “You should go home.”

“I will. But I thought it would be a good idea to name your little bundle before I go. We don’t want your princess being called Blankety-Blank all day, do we?”

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