Page 84 of Dublin Charmer
The safe room door crashes open. Tag bursts in, his face streaked with blood and grime, eyes wild with panic. Behind him, his brothers barrel in equally battered.
“Laine!” Tag rushes to her side, dropping to his knees.
“Perfect timing,” I tell him, not looking up from my position. “Your daughter’s about to make her entrance.”
The other brothers get an eyeful and curse, rebounding quickly, turning to go back out into the tunnel. Finn’s the only brave one. He rushes to Laine’s side and shoves Tag toward me. “I’ve got Laine. You go welcome your daughter into this crazy family.”
“Hurry, wash up.” Harper grabs one of the towels we have piled up beside us, pours half a jug of water over his arms, andthen they towel off as much of the death and destruction as they can.
A moment after that, he’s kneeling beside me, his eyes wide with both panic and awe. “There she is. Christ, why isn’t she crying?”
“Her lungs are still compressed,” I say, pretty sure that’s true. “She’ll cry once she’s out and she can fill her lungs and wail.”
“Here comes another one,” Nora says.
I meet Finn’s gaze. “Help her sit forward, like a sit-up crunch. Push now, Laine.”
Laine bears down, Finn supporting her back, whispering encouragement, Tag trembling beside me.
I grab another towel and shift, so Tag is in catching position. “When the baby’s shoulders are free, she’ll come out quick. You’re going to catch her and then I’ll scoop her into the towel. Got it?”
“Aye, got it.”
To his credit, Tag is a rock in a pressure situation.
The next moments blur into a symphony of pain and wonder—Laine’s cry, Tag’s whispered prayers, and then, cutting through it all, the indignant wail of new life.
A tiny, perfect being is caught by her father’s waiting hands, slippery and miraculous. I scoop her into the towel and lay her on the foot of the bed to make sure her airways are clear. Then I wrap her in a clean towel, and place her in her father’s arms.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper, unexpected tears blurring my vision.
Tag opens his mouth to say something but no words come out. He’s lost in the moment, his emerald eyes overflowing with emotion and tears.
“Should we cut the cord?” Harper asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. We have nothing sterile. I think we’re supposed to leave the cord unless we have a sterile clamp or tie off.”
“What the fuck is that?” Tag’s gaze is wide and locked between his wife’s legs.
Yeah-no. Babies are not in my future. “Don’t panic. That’s the baby’s placental sack. It’s fine. Delivering that after the baby comes is normal and necessary.”
It also means this is over, and we can solidly call it a win.
I take yet another towel and collect the placental sack, placing it on the bed next to Laine, so the baby can be laid on her mother’s chest.
The baby’s cries soften as she finds her mother’s warmth. Laine looks down at her daughter with wonder, while Tag seems frozen in awe, one trembling finger stroking his daughter’s cheek.
“Hello, little one,” Laine murmurs. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
I step back, giving the new family space. Harper squeezes my shoulder, and Nora hands me a cloth to wipe my hands.
Finn moves to stand behind me, hugging me while watching his brother’s new family. “That was incredible.Youwere incredible.”
I’m unable to speak past the lump in my throat. In this moment, with gunfire still echoing in my memory and new life cradled before me, I feel something shift inside—like the tectonic plates of my soul are rearranging to create something new.
Finn hugs me tighter, his embrace warm and solid. “Are you all right?”
I dip my chin, watching Tag and Laine with their daughter. “Si, I’m okay.”
