Page 26 of Reindeer in the Headlights
There were more hugs and more tears and promises that we’d call, text, and video chat while they were gone. Everyone patted my bump, which was a reindeer shifter tradition.
Ambrose placed the cradle in the back seat, but we hadn’t brought the cat carriers, so the prized gift got pride of place in the passenger seat while Tinsel, Mistletoe, and I snoozed in the back.
When my mate placed the cradle in the bare nursery, I ran my hands over it. Our baby would sleep in something that had been created by our family.
“I never had this.” I leaned into Ambrose. “My folks never shared the love and support with me that they gave one another.”
“I’m sorry that was how your life began, and though I can’t erase it, it’s in the past. Our little one will be surrounded with love from the moment they’re born.”
I cradled my belly. “Before that. They’re part of our family now.”
My mate asked if I wanted to let my folks know I was pregnant, and I couldn’t give him a yes or no answer. They hadn’t been in my life for years, but that tug, that instinct that told me we were still blood relatives, whispered I should tell them. But I owed them nothing. I’d been the dutiful son until I finished college, and they’d never reached out in the years since.
“I don’t know. Maybe as the pregnancy progresses, I’ll have an answer.”
The baby kicked, and I placed my mate’s hand on the bump, pleased to have my attention diverted from a difficult subject. “They like the cradle, but they’re saying hurry up and decorate the nursery.”
Ambrose chuckled. “You got all that from one kick?”
“Oh yes. I’m an accomplished baby-kick interpreter.”
“I love you.” Ambrose kissed me.
“Love you, too.” The baby started a kicking marathon. “Love you too, little one.”
16
AMBROSE
My poor mate was at the miserable stage of pregnancy. His belly was huge, his ankles no longer definable, and his back constantly ached. He couldn’t get comfortable—not sitting, not standing, not lying down. I felt horrible for him, but the doctor assured us everything looked great and that he’d have the baby in the next two weeks.
Two weeks. That might as well be forever in his current state. I didn’t know if he could make it that long with all his suffering. What I wouldn’t do to be able to take any of that away from him.
This morning, I tried to cheer him up, shifting for him as we walked through the woods… walking because the doctor said it was a good way to induce labor. We meandered slowly, weaving through the trees back toward the river, never straying too far from the house. The further along in the pregnancy he got, the more he liked to spend time with my beast.
As he walked, he always kept one hand on me, and he’d talk and talk and talk—sometimes about the pregnancy, sometimes silly antics about Mistletoe and Tinsel, sometimes something he sawonline that tickled his funny bone. It was a nice, calm, relaxing time for us, and that was what I hoped to give him today.
He waddled beside me, his hand stroking me gently, but today he wasn’t speaking. There were no anecdotes, no ponderings, not even a commentary about an animal we saw in passing. He was just silent.
I trusted him to tell me if he needed to turn back. We’d gotten great at our communication. At first, he preferred not to let me know when things were physically hurting, not wanting to worry me. But we both figured out quickly that it was heavy on both of us… him, because he didn’t like to keep it from me, and me, because I could always tell something was up.
We reached the river, and I looked to him to see what he wanted to do next.
“Frolic,” he said, his smile glowing on his face for the first time since we left.
He knew my beast loved the water. I ran through it, splashing him with my nose, loving the way he laughed and laughed as he attempted to splash me back, his fingertips barely reaching the water.
And then he righted himself. “Let’s go back.” That was all he gave me, but it was enough.
I climbed right out of the water, and we walked, or rather I walked and he waddled, to our cabin. I’d once teased him that I wanted to get a saddle so he could come out with me, riding on my back. He had rolled his eyes and asked where we could actually get a reindeer saddle. I responded by asking him not to dare me because I’d do it.
Now that it was coming close to the time we would meet our baby, the idea kept fluttering through my head. Yesterday, I’d looked it up. They existed, and in the back of my mind, I was going to get one. Not for Wyndham, he’d never attempt such a thing even if I had one, but for our child. We didn’t know if they were going to be a reindeer or a human. There was speculation, but until that first shift, it was never set in stone, and regardless, I thought a saddle would be a good way for us to connect.
I shifted back as we reached the clearing for our house. It was unseasonably warm, and the grass felt great under my feet. I took my mate’s hand and intertwined our fingers. “How are you feeling? Did that get labor going?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure our little one is going to take every single minute of those two weeks.”
The sun was high in the sky. We’d been out there longer than I realized.
