Page 107 of Paternal Instincts
I shifted to the edge of my seat, the rest of the world vanishing. “Breathe with me, Bryn. Squeeze my hand as hard as you have to. I’m here.”
Instantly recalling everything I’d read and watched on childbirth, I coached her through it, encouraging her to breathe and mimicking her pace to keep her focused. It was the first contraction we’d experienced together, so I had no basis for judging how strong it was orhow long it would last.
Aslan crouched at my side and rubbed my thigh. He watched me instead of Bryn, with a soft smile and love in his eyes. “You’ve got this,” he whispered.
And I did.
For the following hour, we sat with Bryn, chatting, laughing, and making predictions about the baby between contractions. Will he or she have hair? How much will the baby weigh? Will they take after me or Aslan? Since we’d used donor eggs and both of us had provided the sperm for fertilization, our baby would carry DNA from only one of us.
During the ever-worsening contractions, Aslan and I supported Bryn and coached her through each cycle. The nurse came once to check on her and said she was progressing well.
I got Bryn ice chips when she requested them and helped her find a more comfortable position when she got restless. Aslan mopped her sweaty brow and rubbed her swollen feet. When her discomfort made her need to move, we walked circuits of the room and up and down the hallways, Bryn supported between us.
At one point, back in the recliner, she took my hand and pressed it against her swollen belly. A distinct lump pushed back, and I grinned, calling Aslan over to feel.
“I think it’s a foot. The baby is moving lower and using me for leverage.” Bryn’s pinched expression told me it wasn’t the most comfortable thing she’d experienced. “At least it’s not my bladder this time.”
Arden and Iggy appeared, informing us that our parents had arrived. They offered to take over so we could wander to the waiting room and greet them.
Cellina Doyle’s voice traveled down the hall, boisterous and overpowering as always. She commanded the conversation, and anyonewithin a six-block radius must have known she was about to have another grandchild.
Aslan groaned and drew me to a stop before we got there. “Good grief. Give me a minute to mentally prepare.”
“She’s your mother.”
“You married me. She’s your mother now too.”
I chuckled. “She’s excited.”
“She’s exhausting.”
“Be nice.”
Aslan stared at me with the glossy eyes of a man overwhelmed with emotion. We’d been with Bryn for an hour, but it was an intense hour. A surreal hour. An hour that I wouldn’t forget until the day I died.
He brushed our fingers together before taking my hand and pulling me into his arms. “You’re really good with Bryn.”
“She’s putting her body through a lot for us. I want her to know how grateful I am.”
“She knows.”
“I wish I could take away some of her pain.”
“She’s a strong woman.”
“I know…”
Cellina’s honking laughter rang out from the distant waiting room, and Aslan snorted. “Good lord. I hope I’m not like that when I’m older.”
Before Aslan could decide he was ready to take on his family, I blurted, “I picked a boy’s name.”
His feet stilled, and his brows rose.
“Well, two, actually. In case you hate the first. You know me. I always have a backup plan. Overprepared. You can veto them both if you hate them, but if we have a boy, I might need another minute tocome up with something else. I don’t have three options. I’ve been kind of busy, and it turns out naming your firstborn is not easy.”
Aslan chuckled and pecked a kiss on my rambling mouth, stopping the flow of words. “Am I allowed to hear them in advance, or do I have to wait for the baby to be born?”
“You can hear them now. You should. You’ll probably hate them.”
