His hands move quickly as we lie on the bed both still lightly damp from our shower. One chaste kiss on the mouth and before I know it his lips are sucking on one of my ni**les and his hand moves to cup my sex and I’m aroused all over again. I close my eyes as my body soaks in the pleasure of his touch. A loud moan escapes my throat and I lick my lips, but when he stops abruptly and jerks up, my eyes fly open.
“S’belle, there’s a lot of, um . . . water on the bed.”
I sit up and look. Oh my God, I feel it.
Ben is staring down—petrified.
Once I realize I haven’t lost bladder control, I almost laugh at how scared he looks. Calmly I say, “I think my water broke.”
He bolts off the bed and pulls a pair of boxers from his drawer. “You’re not due for two weeks.”
I shrug. “The doctor did say anytime now.”
“We have to call the doctor.”
I pat the bed. “Ben, sit down. Let’s see if I have any contractions.”
I try to be calm, summoning all my willpower to not crumble and have him rush me to the hospital, because I know what to do—what the classes taught me.
He looks at me as he lowers himself down onto the bed, his leg tapping up and down with his foot on the floor. “How long does that take?”
“I have no idea.” I laugh.
“What do you mean you have no idea? We went to all those classes.”
“You were there too.”
“Yeah, but I was always a shitty student.”
I have to laugh at that. How can I not? I slide my feet to the floor and rise from the bed. As I slip into one of his button-up shirts, I feel a cramp and I slump over.
Ben rushes over to me. “Let’s go to the hospital.”
“Let me call my mother and see what she says first.” I sit back on the bed, taking a deep breath.
Ben quickly hands me my phone from the night table. “Did you pack a bag yet?”
“No. I thought I still had time.”
He strides over to the closet. “I’ll do it.”
I call my mother.
“How far apart are your contractions?”
“I’ve only had one.”
“Jack and I are on our way. You should be fine until we get there. Just relax, okay, Isabelle?”
Isabelle? She only ever calls me by my real name when she’s nervous. Great. “Yes, Mom.”
I hit END and look up to see Ben standing in utter sexiness in the doorframe. He is disheveled and so handsome—his jeans are unzipped, his shirt, the frayed one that I love, is unbuttoned, and his feet are bare.
He lifts his eyes to me. “Do you think we made a mistake?”
My mouth drops. “Why would you say that? It’s a little late now.” My voice breaks.
He furrows his brow. “I mean that we didn’t get married before we have the baby. What did you think I meant?”
Relief courses through me at the same time as another cramp bites from my lower gut. I wince and he flies to the bed.
“What can I do?”
I grab his hand. “Just stay with me. I’m scared.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why are you second-guessing our decision?” I ask as I look down at the large radiant-shaped diamond that adorns my finger.
The sun shining in the window reflects against the ring’s cut edges. He proposed to me a week after we watched the white stick turn to a plus sign. It was so romantic—like a scene out of an old film. He took me back to Hearst Castle. No one was there—it was just the two of us. Before we entered the large exquisite doors, he dropped to his knee, called me his “Rosebud,” and told me he wanted to marry me. Whoever said he wasn’t romantic? He told me I was his missing puzzle piece—a guy couldn’t get more romantic than that. The gesture made my heart skip beat after beat. But later when the adrenaline rush slowed, we talked about it more. We agreed that we would get married . . . but only when the time was right. Plus, I would need time to plan the wedding.
“I don’t want to be that couple that gets married only because they’re having a baby,” I reminded him.
“Does my name still go on the birth certificate? Will the baby have my last name?” he asks.
His voice is full of concern. I muster all of my energy as another cramp hits. Once it passes I straddle his lap and take his face in my hands. “This baby is yours and mine. Yes, your name will be on the birth certificate and, yes, he will have your last name.”
He slides his lips to kiss my hand and takes them in his. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Then I know what he needs. “Ben, just so you know, I did put your name on the birth certificate that just read baby.” I can finally talk about the baby, our baby that I gave up, and feel that I did what was right.
His eyes glitter with tears, but before they can spill I let out a scream.
He takes my hand. “Let’s go. They’re coming too close. We need to get to the hospital.”
“Did you pack my bag?”
“S’belle, I can’t find shit in there. Tell me what you want to wear to the hospital and I’ll get it. We’ll worry about the rest later.”
“My white top with the . . .” I gasp for air.
He’s really in a panic now. He shoves his feet into his boots and zips and buttons his clothes.
When the contraction stops I stand up. “Let me show you.”
“Okay, but make it quick.”
“Ben, you have to put socks on.”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“You didn’t put socks on before you put your boots on. Your feet are going to smell.”
He laughs and grabs a pair from the dresser as I make my way to the closet. I can see what he’s talking about. Huge mess of clothes everywhere. I point to the items I want. Ben throws them all in a bag along with some of my toiletries. Then he helps me slide on my panties. Next I shimmy a pair of jeans on and decide to wear his shirt with no bra. I don’t really care at this point.
Once I’m ready he takes my hand, but a knifelike pain radiates from my hipbone to my pubic bone and I can’t move.
Sweat coats his brow.
I look around the room as I ride the wave out and spot the book with the blue spine. When my gaze swings back to Ben, his eyes are so wide with fear I can almost feel it. I take a step forward but stop again. “Wait, can you bring that book?”
He looks confused but grabs it and shoves it in the bag.
“So you can read to me while we’re in the hospital,” I tell him as we leave the house.
He looks down at me and stops to hold me; then he says, “You’re so f**king adorable.”
From the car I call my mother and tell her to meet us at the hospital. My insides feel as if they’re twisting inside out at this point. At the hospital I’m quickly whisked to a room, given an IV, and asked if I want an epidural. Ben and I already decided I would take the epidural. My mother and Jack arrive just as it takes effect. Shortly after that River, Dahlia, Ivy, and Xander show up. Ivy is three months pregnant and still experiencing morning sickness morning, noon, and night. They all pop their heads in before going to the waiting room. When the nurse calls the doctor and time approaches, my mother leaves as well. And it’s just Ben and me.
The doctor comes in and I begin pushing. At first I think I might throw up—the pressure I feel everywhere is too intense. But once it subsides, I push again and again. My hand is gripping Ben’s so tightly, but he doesn’t care. He wipes some hair from my eyes and I look up at him and see amazement and wonder on his face. My eyes drop to where his are locked and I see our baby’s head crowning. Intense stinging radiates from my core as I push harder and scream louder. Then just like that, our baby emerges into this world.
His cries are hoarse but steady as if he’s having little tantrums.
“I’ll do that,” Ben says to the doctor as he prepares to cut the cord.
“Can I hold him?” I ask with tears of pure joy leaking from my eyes.
The nurse lays him on my chest for only a brief moment but long enough for me to feel the beat of his heart.
“He has red hair,” Ben says, his voice strained with emotion as he tries to hold back his own tears.
The nurse takes him from me. “The doctor just has to examine him and we will have him right back to you.”
Ben squeezes my hand and presses a kiss to my forehead before he follows her. When he turns around he’s grinning ear to ear, holding our baby bundled in a blue blanket.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, unable to wait another minute.
“He’s perfect,” he says as he crosses back over to me.
I turn away for a brief moment with relief seeping through me to sip on the ice water by my bedside and catch sight of the book Ben had been reading to me just an hour earlier. Ben carefully places our baby on my chest and I study his little face—the shape of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. Suddenly he opens his eyes and lets out a loud cry. That’s when I see his perfect dimples and blue eyes so much like his father’s. With tears of joy I look up at Ben and say, “Finn. Let’s name him Finn.”
Ben’s grin is wider than I have ever seen. “Finn is perfect.” He smiles down, resting his hand over mine. And as my eyes shift from the baby to Ben and back to the baby, I think this has to be the single-most beautiful feeling in the world. It’s a feeling that reaches all the way into my soul and takes my breath away. And it’s a feeling I know will never leave me.
Hours later when I awake, I know Ben is nearby because I can hear the sound of his breathing, but this time my senses are heightened. As my eyes flutter open his soft lips are on mine, and although he is barely skimming them, I can feel the heat that sears me every time he touches me. My eyes lift to see Finn in Ben’s arms. In looking at them together, observing the bliss I see on Ben’s face, I know that what we have isn’t perfect, but it is our own version of perfect. And even though the edges of our relationship may be frayed much like the hem of his shirts, the framework is solid and in the end . . . that’s all that really matters.