Page 10 of Stowaway Whirlwind
Goldie says sheepishly, “Sorry. I haven’t been able to shave with my belly in the way.”
I whip my gaze to her face, her nose scrunched adorably. “Are you seriously apologizing about your hairy legs while you’re about to give birth?”
She drops her mouth open, no doubt about to apologize again, when Dr. Patel says with a cheery voice, “Good news, Marigold. You’re at ten centimeters, and the baby’s head is in position. Get ready to push with the next contraction.”
Goldie is rendered speechless when she’s directed to push after her belly tightens. I hold my breath throughout all of it. When it passes, she cries out, “Davis! Oh god, I can’t do this. You have to get me out of here. Please take me…take me somewhere else. I—” She’s immediately hit with another one that leaves her panting. “I can’t do this!”
With my right hand back under Goldie’s knee, I gently grip her jaw with my left and tilt her head back. “You can do this, honey. You’re so strong, and you’re going to get through this. I know you can.” Everything else fades away as I keep my eyes locked on hers, repeating how strong she is and how good she’s doing after each push, echoing the nurse so I don’t say the wrong thing.
It’s terrifying how red her face gets after thirty minutes of pushing without making much progress. And the sounds she makes have goosebumps breaking out over my entire body. I’ve never heard these kinds of primal noises before, and I shiver when she makes a particularly high-pitched keening sound.
“You’re doing so good, Marigold. The baby’s head is almost out,” Dr. Patel says with encouragement.
“It is?” I twist my head around to see, andholy shit. “I think I’m—”
* * *
“Davis! Oh my god, is he ok? Davis, wake up. I can’t do this by myself!” Goldie shouts, followed by an impossibly long, guttural groan, then deep, heart-wrenching sobs.
Alarmed by my position on the floor, the pounding in the back of my head, and the sobs pouring out of Goldie, I jackknife up. “I’m up. I’m here, Goldie.” I push away a male nurse who tries to get me to lie back down. I also push away the lightheadedfeeling that made me pass out in the first place as I stumble to my feet to stand at Goldie’s bedside. I meet her blood-shot stare, and my head instantly clears.
I’ve never seen a baby’s head crown, and that shit looked so painful and shocking that my blood drained, and boom—I was out like a light. But I’m back now, and I resolve to do better. If Goldie can be strong enough to bear the pain of childbirth, then I can be strong enough to watch her do it.
Goldie latches onto my flannel and yanks me closer with surprising strength so that I’m leaning over the bed’s railing. She twists sideways to cry into my chest, then keens in pain.
I palm the back of her head, holding her close to me. “Shh, it’s ok, baby. I’m ok, and you’re ok,” I whisper into her hair to soothe her, kissing her crown between each word.
“Dad, support her leg. She needs to push again,” Dr. Patel says.
Her right leg must have slipped from the stirrup when I passed out, so I slide my hand under her knee to lift it back up.
At some point, the hospital gown must have worked its way up, or someone must have pulled it up because her full, rounded belly is completely exposed, along with the entirety of her bottom half. Her body is a work of art, and I’m entranced by it, especially when her stomach ripples with the next contraction. When Dr. Patel instructs Goldie to push again, I trail my eyes down past her stomach to the V between her thighs and watch as the rest of her baby’s head is born. It’s a battle not to pass out again, and I cling to Goldie as hard as she clings to me.
“Oh my god, Goldie, the baby’s head is out!” I smile so wide my cheeks ache and look away to kiss her forehead. “You’re so amazing.” She smiles, and this time, the tears pooling on her lower lashes are ones of joy. I kiss the tip of her nose, then give her space to breathe when another contraction steals her attention.
Dr. Patel tells her, “One more push, Marigold, and the shoulders will be out.” I follow the nurse’s example and help her lean forward as Goldie bears down, then collapses back on the bed, breathing raggedly. She lets loose what sounds like a cry of utter relief, and the doctor says, “Congratulations, Mom and Dad. You have a beautiful baby girl.”
I catch myself panting along with Goldie, and I clutch my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’ve never experienced or witnessed anything so extraordinary. Life changing. Beautiful.Fucking terrifying.
Before I can think better of it, I do what I’ve wanted to since I held her as she labored—I kiss her square on the lips. “You did it, baby.” When I remember who I am—who she is andis not—I back up, a little afraid of looking her in the eye to see her reaction to the impromptu kiss given by the strange man she met the day before.
“Dad, do you want to cut the umbilical cord?” Dr. Patel holds up a strange pair of scissors and waves me over.
I peek at Goldie and silently ask her what she wants me to do. She gives me a slow nod. Thrilled with her permission, I shift to the end of the bed next to the doctor. I cut between the clamps, ignoring the fluids that have spilled out on the bed so I don’t get lightheaded again. The baby is whisked away before I get a chance to properly look at her.
I can’t believe it. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even know Goldie existed, but here I am, playing the role of husband and father. I palm my chest over my heart, feeling it beat wildly for Goldie, for the baby…a baby that—with a sudden pang in my heart—I have to remind myself for the thousandth time isn’t really mine.
I rejoin Goldie at her side, gaping when the nurse pulls down the top of Goldie’s hospital gown. I lose what little breath I had caught when her full breasts are exposed. I give myselfhalf a second to savor the sight of her dark pink nipples before mentally slapping myself for being a creep, forcing my eyes to focus on the baby girl placed on Goldie’s chest.
“Oh my god, my baby. Oh my—you’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Goldie clears away her tears and stares down at the infant squirming on her chest. She hugs her daughter close and kisses her forehead.
Then she turns to me and smiles so beautifully that I lose myself in the moment again, kissing for longer this time and slipping the tip of my tongue out to taste her. When I pull away a few inches, I keep eye contact with her instead of looking away like a coward. “Congratulations, honey.”
Goldie looks like she’s as swept up in the moment as I am and tips her chin further up like she wants me to kiss her again. The moment is broken when the baby lets out a piercing cry, and our attention is immediately diverted. A fine layer of wet, curly red hair covers the baby’s head, and she’s without a doubt the most adorable little thing I’ve ever seen—no offense to Dolly and Wyatt’s son, William—and there’s that ache in my chest again.
I’ve never given much thought to having children of my own since I was never interested in anyone enough to think about settling down and starting a family, not with so much going on with Dad in the last few years of his life. But now, with Goldie and her baby…the sense of responsibility and desire to take care of Goldie that started within moments of meeting her, which continued to build throughout her labor and delivery, grows exponentially when I place my hand on the baby’s tiny back. I marvel at how my hand spans the width and length of her and how I can feel her heartbeat under my palm.
My hand trembles when I remove it, and I stare in awe as Nurse Martina adjusts the baby’s position and shows Goldie how to nurse her for the first time. Goldie cries and laughs and smiles as the baby opens her tiny rosebud mouth and latches onto thetip of her mother’s nipple. The scene is so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at the two of them.
