Page 121 of Paternal Instincts
I glanced at Costa for reassurance, and he hitched his chin toward the door, mouthing,Go.
So I went.
Chapter 29
Aslan
Bryn’s perpetual good humor and sunny smiles had vanished. The contractions were happening so rapidly that she barely had a chance to rest. Her sweat-damp hair fell from her ponytail and stuck to her face. Not once in the past hour had she released my hand.
During a short lull, she opened her eyes to slits and watched me.
“Ice chips?” I rattled the cup.
Her lips were cracked from heavy breathing, but she shook her head and squeezed my hand. “He’ll make it.”
I wasn’t so sure anymore. The last time the nurse had done an examination, Bryn was seven centimeters along, and the nurse said it wouldn’t be long.
“Did you choose names?” Bryn asked in her half-asleep state.
I smiled. “I think so. Quaid has a few options for boys’ names. One is unisex, so if he doesn’t want to use the girl’s name I chose, we can go with his pick instead.”
“What are his boys’ names?”
“Hudson and Quinn.”
She hummed. “I like them.”
“Me too.”
“What did you choose for a girl?”
I shook my head, unwilling to reveal it to anyone until the baby proved to be female. “It’s a secret.”
She smiled, but the smile turned into a long moan as another contraction began. She rolled toward me, smothering her cries into the pillow as I braced her and rubbed her back, telling her she was doing great.
When it ended, she whimpered. “Oh, Mylanta, it hurts. I forgot how bad it can get.” She stayed curled against my arm, clutching my hand as she dozed.
On a few occasions, I’d asked if she wanted her brother beside her, but she’d told me no. This was our experience. We deserved to be present when our baby was born.
Ours. Us.Quaid and me. But I was without my other half.
I checked my phone, but there were no messages from Torin, Jordyn, Costa, or Quaid. Frustrated, I slipped the device back into my pocket as a hurricane in the form of Quaid Valor blew through the door and came to a screeching halt. He frantically scanned the room, I assumed looking for a baby that had yet to be born, when his gaze fell on Bryn, curled up in the bed. Still pregnant. Still in labor.
Relief washed over him, mirroring what I felt on his arrival.
He came to me, and with my free hand, I dragged him into my arms and kissed him. “I’m mad at you,” I mumbled against his mouth.
“I know. I deserve it. I’m so sorry.” Another frantic kiss followed, and I could taste his desperation and tension, yet unsure of its root cause.
He came up for air a moment later and peered down at Bryn, who remained oblivious as she slept and moaned. “How’s she doing?”
“We’re getting close.”
Another long whine of imminent pain left her throat, and she rolled toward me again, grasping blindly for my arm. I dislodged Quaid and supported her through another heavy contraction.
My husband moved to the other side of the bed and rubbed her back, offering words of comfort and praise.
When it ended, Bryn glanced over her shoulder, a weak smile filling her face. “You made it.”
