Page 228 of The Single Dads Club
I pressed a small kiss to his mouth. “I love you.”
“Love you more,” he murmured. It was his standard answer ever since we became so open with our declarations. And even though it still felt a little strange for me to be so forthcoming, it also felt…good. Right.
Mason had opened me up, and under his unending love and gentle pressure, I’d blossomed. I was no longer afraid to love, no longer afraid to live. We got only one shot at life, and I wasn’t going to waste it anymore. Our close call with the pregnancy really opened up my eyes to a lot of things.
“I can’t wait until we move in together,” he added.
I’d dug my heels in and kept my own apartment, opting to keep living apart until we were married. We’d bought a house together last month and Mason had been living there alone, fixing it up. But I wanted something else to look forward to after the wedding. The truth was, I couldn’t wait to move in.
“We have a lifetime together,” I told him, stroking the stubble on his jaw. “Now shoo. Go. We have a wedding to attend.” I gave his chest a pat and led him to the door.
“See you out there, Mrs. Bentley.”
My mouth curled into a grin. “See you soon, Dr. Bentley.”
Epilogue
Mason
All afternoon, I’d spent my time either putting the final touches on the nursery or convincing Bren not to jump on a pogo stick to see if it would force the babies out. For weeks now she’d been taking walks around the neighborhood, trying to kick-start her labor, but so far it had done nothing but make her cranky and exhausted.
Not that I could blame her. Being overdue for ten days was hard for anyone, but being overdue with twins? As far as I could tell, that was a fate worse than death.
Dutiful husband that I was, though, I’d made sure the bags were packed and in the trunk, the doctor was on speed dial, and both nurseries were ready for the babies. Though we’d initially thought about a blue one and a pink one, Bren wanted something that spoke to both of us. So our son’s room had a little fisherman’s cottage and tepee for him to play in while our daughter had a safari-style room with a giraffe my mother had painted watching over her from her crib.
I adjusted our daughter’s mobile—all different colored parrots—then started as I heard the front door slam.
“Contractions!” Bren shouted and I rushed into the living room, my eyes wide.
You’d have thought that after the number of babies I’d brought into the world, I would know how to keep calm at a time like this, but no. Things changed in the blink of an eye when my own family’s safety was involved. My heart jumped into my throat and I clenched my fists at my sides to keep my hands from shaking.
“How far apart?” I demanded.
“Don’t know. Had the first one a few minutes ago.” Bren looked at me with wild eyes and I took her arm, guiding her back toward the couch.
“No, don’t. What if my water breaks?”
“Then we’ll get a new couch. I want you to be comfortable. Put your feet up and I’ll get you some water.”
“But if we go to the hospital now, won’t they induce labor?” she cried.
“You know we can’t go until they’re five minutes apart.”
“But what if we go when they’re five minutes apart and I get fully dilated and the babies fall out in the car?”
“You’ll be with someone who knows how to deliver them. Which, technically, I should be doing anyway.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah right, Dr. Big Shot. I’m not letting you near my hoo-ha unless it’s in prime condition.”
“You don’t think you’re being a little—?”
“No, I don’t,” she said, then clutched her stomach and began to moan in pain.
I hurried to grab her a cup and the stopwatch I’d kept in the kitchen since the seventh month of pregnancy—it never hurt to be too prepared—then rushed to her side and gave her the water.
“Thanks,” she breathed when she’d finished, and she leaned farther back against the overstuffed cushions before grabbing the cup and taking a long drink.
“There are some things I need you to do for me when we get there,” Bren said matter-of-factly.
