Page 79 of Final Down

Dr. Mazel comes, and I introduce her to Wyatt. The Chance Hickory fangirl keeps eyeing him, too, but I don’t introduce them. She might think my husband is hot, but she missed her chance of me letting her into our bubble. She can hope she gets to deliver Chance’s baby someday.Pfff!

The doctor walks Wyatt and me through everything that’s about to happen. Because I’m early, I need a C-section. And because of my condition and the risk of messing with my spine, I’m going under general anesthesia. I’m scared. It’s something I’vebeenscared about, worried about.

“Are you ready to meet your baby?” Dr. Mazel asks.

My gaze flashes to Wyatt’s, and rather than reflecting the panic I know is contorting every angle of my face, he’s the epitome of calm. He’s ready.

“We can’t wait,” he says through his warm smile.

He leans over and presses a soft kiss to my lips, then wraps my left hand in both of his. I hold on tightly for as long as I can, until he must leave and I’m taken down a long hallway for surgery. I count the lights on the ceiling on the way. Fourteen. That’s how far away I am from Wyatt. Fourteen lights.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

Elev—

“Hi, Mommy,” Wyatt whispers.

His voice sounds miles away, and I cling to the peaceful dream I’m in. The ocean is lapping at my toes, foam tickling the tops of my feet. The water is cold, but the sun feels warm. I’d like to stay here.

“Want to meet our son?” Wyatt says.

He’s closer now, and I remember why I’m here. I blink a few more times, and Wyatt comes into view.

“Hi,” I say in a sleepy voice.

I’m becoming more aware by the minute, and the more my surroundings make sense, the faster the beeping sound is next to me.

“It’s the heart monitor,” a nurse explains. I hope that’s not the Hickory fan. I want a Wyatt fan.I may be a little fuzzy.

The beeping slows and eventually stops. A small bassinet, completely covered in clear hard plastic, is wheeled right to my bedside.

“Let me help you,” Wyatt says, guiding my hand through a sleeved opening so I can reach in and touch my son in his portable incubator.

My head rolls to the side, and my eyes finally focus, and there he is. My perfect little human. The most amazing creature to ever bless this earth. A piece of me and Wyatt, our families, our world.

“He’s perfect,” I say, my fingertips soft as I caress his tiny warm body.

“You can hold him soon. He’s very strong. He just needs to put on a little weight,” a new doctor explains. I don’t recognize her, but I’m guessing she’s our baby’s.

Our baby.

Our boy.

“He needs a name,” I say, turning back to Wyatt in a flash. “We can’t just keep calling him Baby, likeDirty Dancing.”

My husband chuckles.

“I like the one you picked. I think we should go with that,” I say.

Wyatt’s eyes soften, and his smile subdues.

“Are you sure?” he says.

“Positive.”

World, get ready to meet Warner Todd Stone. All four pounds and three ounces of him.

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