Page 63 of Doctor's Baby: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

“Not yet,” Nate says. “You’ll feel like you want to push, but I need you to wait.”

“But why?” I complain.

“You’re not dilated enough.”

“You said seven centimeters!”

“And that’s not wide enough, honey. You have to get to ten. If you start pushing now, you might hurt yourself and the baby. Just hang in there. Keep screaming at me. Focus on me. Remember to breathe slowly, all right?”

“My legs are cramping.”

“I’ll massage them for you, dear,” Mrs. McBrindle offers, coming over to gently knead my calves and thighs.

“God,” I tilt my head back as a wave of nausea hits me like a freight train. “Why is this happening? Why didn’t I feel it coming?”

“Count yourself lucky, dear. You probably slept through the worst of it.”

“How is that even possible?”

“It can happen sometimes,” Nate explains calmly, pressing his fingers to my wrist to check my pulse. “Normally not to first-time mothers, but she’s right. Deep breaths, Eve. You’re doing fantastic. I think you’re at eight centimeters now.”

“You think?” I shriek. “This is torture.”

“Would you rather do a hundred piqué turns on each leg?”

This draws a weak laugh from the base of my throat. “Not funny,” I say, despite myself. “I’d do a hundred turns any day over this.”

Nate smiles encouragingly as he places a clean towel beneath me. He also dips a smaller cloth in the hot water, wringing it out as much as he can to wipe me clean. It comes away slightly bloody.

“That’s normal, right?” I ask him, urgency mounting in my voice. “Is that normal?”

“Yes. Totally normal. Focus on your breathing, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

“When’s the ambulance going to get here? I want an epidural.”

The pain that spikes through me is blinding, disorienting. I can’t tell which way’s up. It’s getting so bad that even the cool air against my skin feels like fire.

“They’ll get here as soon as they can, but I think the baby’s going to beat them to it. Do you want something to bite down on?”

I shake my head, my mind spinning. “Nate. What if I can’t do it? What if—”

“I’m here, Eve. I’m here.” He checks me over again before grasping my hand. “Okay. I think you’re at ten centimeters. It’s time to start pushing.”

I squeeze his fingers again and nod. I’m drowning in different emotions. There’s obviously the pain I’m contending with, but also excitement.

Our baby’s coming. He’s almost here.

And Nate’s going to be the one to deliver him.

“Okay,” I say as calmly as possible. I sit up a little more and brace myself. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Nate

I’m so fucking proud of her.

I have no clue how Eve’s doing this without the help of an anesthetic, but she is. Eve really is a force to be reckoned with. I always knew this, of course, but the fact is now cemented in my mind. I’m never going to complain about how badly my feet hurt after a long day at work. Not after this. Eve’s literally bringing a life into the world. Who am I to ever complain again when she’s going through so much to deliver our baby boy?

I might appear collected on the outside, but my thoughts are racing. I search every nook and cranny of my brain to remember my training. It’s true that I’ve delivered babies before as a part of my internship and resident rotations, but I’d always had a supervisor coaching me through the process. This time, I’m on my own. All manner of complications can crop up at any moment, but I remind myself to stay calm.

Now isn’t the time to panic.

Now is the time to step up.

When I spot the top of the baby’s head, everything seems to click into place. My body moves on muscle memory alone as I coach Eve through everything. Diagrams and instructions and all my hours spent in observational galleries comes flooding back to me. Even under all this pressure, my brain knows exactly what to do. It’s instinct at this point, my whole system operating on nothing but adrenaline.

It’s like I’m in the operating room, getting ready to help a patient in dire need. This is my wheelhouse, what I’ve spent countless years training myself for. The only difference is that this isn’t just some other patient. This is Eve. This is my son. This isn’t an operating theater with floors so sterile I could eat off them. I can’t risk making any mistakes. I can’t take any unnecessary chances.

I’m not going to fail them.

“He’s crowning,” I tell her steadily. “Push, Eve. Push with the contractions. Push for ten seconds, and then breathe in and out. Got it?”

Eve’s face crumples in, eyes sealing shut as she shouts in agony. I don’t know if she’s heard me. Eve pushes but doesn’t make a sound. She simply huffs, grits her teeth, does her absolute best. It amazes me how well she’s doing. I’m both surprised and unsurprised at the same time. Eve’s spectacular. She’s utterly wonderful. Even under all this pressure, she remains focused on the task at hand.

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