Page 25 of His Perfect Little Heirs

I wriggle my knickers down. Bronson grabs them and stuffs them into his back pocket. I’d curse at him—I’d demand these ones actually get returned, but I’m in too much pain.

Gritting my teeth, I reach between my thighs and push my fingers inside. I widen my legs and thrust upward to find my cervix. I moan through the pain of being in this position while birth spasms roll along my spine.

Finally, I feel my end.

I’m already dilated.

One finger, two fingers, three, four, five, I keep counting and measuring the space until my pulse ignites on the final number. My fingertips skate over the top of our baby’s scalp, and…

Fuck.

He's coming.

Soon.

“I’m going to give birth here.” I grab Bronson’s arm and pull him between my legs. “Help.”

“Fucken, ay. Okay, baby. I’ve got you.” He slides his fingers inside me, replacing mine. “I’ve got you both.”

“You need to guide him out.” I groan, my head rolling back on the booth wall. “If you can—” I clench my teeth. “Hold his body and protect him; he’ll be— Weak—"

“You remember when I felt you here for the first time? We were like sixteen. At the lookout,” he reminds me, distracting me. “You squeezed me, and I thought you were the most incredible creature. Your body. I was in awe of how it worked. Howyouworked.”

He keeps talking as a contraction rips a cry from me, damn near crippling me. I growl and push until it stops, feeling the birth happening right now into Bronson’s hands.

Holy, fucking, fuck.

The pain!

“I’m still in awe of everything you are, baby,” he says, green eyes shining bright and fiercely for me, for volatility. His emotions are always on display in the green hue of his eyes. “What you can do, my beautiful distraction. How you look after us— Stone, me.”

The pangs of pain are immersive, dragging me down and making his words hard to hear. Shooting up my spine, wrapping around my back, flaring through my temples, no.

“No. No. No.” I shake my head and cry.

Bronson cups my cheeks and kisses my tears away, demanding each one for himself. “You’re a warrior. You’re the toughest, most badarse woman I know.”

He looks down between my legs. The sensations there are conflicting and confusing. I don’t know what he sees, but he looks fucking impressed and excited, and I want to whack that childlike glee off his face.

And kiss him hard for it, too.

“You’re so close,” he says, his voice deep. “Push for me, baby. Push that little bit of me, and that little bit of you, out.”

My shoulders shake as I sob, remembering the seventeen-year-old version of Bronson Butcher bouncing on the mattress with his feet on either side of my body, calling out to the world with pride lacing his voice, “We are having a baby!”

“We made a life, Shoshanna!” He laughs, bouncing to his feet, planting them on either side of my body. “We made a life. And he won’t be angry or sad or broken.” His grin breaks his face, consumed by happiness. He starts to cry. “He’ll be perfect. ‘Cause you are. And I’ll learn to be, baby. I swear it. I’ll be better. A good citizen. Pay taxes and shit. I’ll get a part-time job or whatever. Fuck, I’ll work on bikes. I’d like that.” He stares into my eyes as I try not to cry. Not to join his wild happiness that isn’t rational or mature but instead hopeful, and so Bronson. “I’ll cook dinner for you every damn night,” he says. “We’ll never eat in front of the TV. We’ll sit at the table and talk about our day. I’ll sit at the head, and you’ll sit beside me, and he’ll make a mess on the floor, but the dog will clean it up—"

“The dog?”

“Yeah. A staffy. And it’ll be fucking perfect.”

The vision floods me, and I tense through my shoulders and squeeze my teeth together. Pushing hard until a flood of weight drops from my pelvis, I bear down.

The pain dwindles.

A gurgling cry draws me back to the moment, so I open my eyes to the most spectacular vision. A boy with a head full of dark hair. Tears stream down Bronson’s face as he checks the boy over while I reach down between my legs. I’m not bleeding too much, very little, actually.

He lifts the boy out in front of him, only slightly as the cord still joins us, and—oh my God—he bellows out the theme song forThe Lion King.

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