Breeding Clinic (Heatverse)

Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

KAT

“This is bullshit,” I groan, my teeth gritted. The contraction makes me pant. When I’m able to breathe at all, that is. They come together quicker and last longer each time, my entire abdomen tensing.

“Do you want to lie down?” Matthew asks, hovering.

“No!” I wave them both away and lean on the marble counter. We’ve moved the nest into the kitchen for easier cleanup. Childbirth is messy.

“It says that walking, moving, and dancing can all help the baby move into position,” Gabriel says, looking at his phone.

“What are you reading?” I ask him, frowning. The contraction passes and I suck in a deep gulp of air. I only have three or four minutes of sanity till the next one.

Gabriel shows me his phone. He’s watching a video about childbirth. “Look. She’s dancing between contractions to move the baby into place.”

“You’re gonna deliver our baby with a YouTube video?” I ask him, horrified.

“I am a medical professional,” Gabriel reminds me. “And I read my old obstetrics textbook from PA school. But this video has tips and tricks.”

Tips and tricks.

Matthew and I share a knowing look.

Where the fuck is Liam?

I glance outside the kitchen window. We’ve turned every single light on in the house so that it’s nice and bright. So that maybe if Liam gets lost, he can find his way back to us. It started snowing lightly again a half-hour ago. The wind blows snowflakes around, obscuring the view. How well can he see? The woods are dark. All he has is the light on the snowmobile.

I hate the idea of him out there. Alone in the dark. Maybe lost in an unfamiliar wood covered in snow. The landmarks we’ve come to know over the past few days have been obscured by snow and shadows. Only a small, weak light to guide him. What if he drives off the side of the mountain?

“He should be here,” I whine. I bend over the counter and press my sweaty face against the cool stone.

“I know,” Matthew says, rubbing my shoulders. “He’ll be back soon.”

Another contraction hits me. I lean against Matthew for support and press a hand to my hard, tight abdomen.

“Three minutes apart,” Gabriel says. “Kat, I need to check you to see how you’re progressing.”

I’m dreading what he’ll find. Part of me wants to pretend this isn’t happening. But I know I can’t.

They help me down into my shitty nest on the kitchen floor. Matthew supports my back by sitting behind me while Gabriel washes his hands again and checks the baby’s progress.

“You’re fully dilated,” Gabriel says. “There’s the head.”

“He needs to be here,” I groan.

Matthew moves his hands up and down my arms, soothing me. “I know, honey. He’ll come back soon with the ambulance. Then we’re gonna get you to the hospital.”

It’ll be too late by then.

The next contraction comes with the vague urge to push. I grit my teeth and breathe through the discomfort. I need to move. Need to find a better position or get on my knees or… God, I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, and nothing is helping. Something is different now. Instinct tells me we’re out of time.

“We’re not making it to the hospital,” I say through clenched teeth. “The baby’s coming. Right now.”

“Remember your breathing exercise we’ve practiced,” Gabriel reminds me.

“Help me kneel,” I tell them.

We shift into a weird but comfortable position where Matthew sits in a chair and supports my upper body while I kneel in the nest and rock. It eases my back pain. Gabriel gets his stash of supplies ready, moving everything into reach. When the next contraction hits me, I cry out and cling to Matthew.

“There were supposed to be drugs!” I complain loudly.

Matthew uses a damp cloth to wipe the sweat from my forehead and rakes the damp strands out of my face as I labor. “You can do this. You’re doing such a good job, Kat.”

“Push when you have the urge,” Gabriel says.

Tears prick my eyes. “I can’t. I’m too tired.” But the urge can’t be ignored. It comes with the next contraction. The need to push is all-consuming, but my efforts seem weak and ineffective.

I try. Again and again. Until I’m screaming and my voice is hoarse.

“If you push, labor stops and you get a baby,” Gabriel says.

I’ll do anything to make it stop at this point. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to have a warm tub to labor in. A giant inflated ball for positioning. A calm birthing suite full of friendly staff to help us. Drugs shoved into my fucking spine.

A stronger contraction hits me along with a burning sensation, like someone’s doused my vagina in flames. I let out a bloodcurdling scream through clamped jaws.

“Push!” Gabriel yells at me.

I’m trying. But there’s nothing about this that’s easy. My face heats from the strain, and tears collect at the corners of my eyes.

“I can’t,” I groan, my concentration slipping.

“Yes, you can,” Gabriel says. “You’ve got this, Kat.”

The urge to push wanes, and I get a minute or two to recover and breathe before the next one comes. I lift higher on my knees, resting my cheek on Matthew’s leg as he gathers my sweaty hair up from where it’s slipped out of its bun. The next contraction and urge to push is brutal. I can’t scream or moan or yell. The searing pain and sense of fullness, stretched to my body’s limits, muzzles me. My body shakes. And I push. Until my pelvis is a ring of fire. It’s an agony the likes of which I’ve never known before.

“Push!” Gabriel orders.

I need this to be over so I push. And then there’s relief. So welcome, I sob.

“I have the head. Push, Kat. One more and you’re done.”

One more. I can do it. But I’m so fucking tired. Giving birth is awful without drugs. How do people do this?

I push again and the baby slips free. The worst of the pain fades with her birth.

“I have her,” Gabriel says.

Sagging with relief, I sit on my heels and twist. She should be crying, shouldn’t she? Why isn’t she crying?

Gabriel wraps her in the blankets we’ve been keeping warm in a pile on the edge of the nest. He rubs her briskly, and then I hear it. She cries, and tears of relief roll down my cheeks.

“Give her to me,” I sob. I need to hold her. To make sure she’s warm enough and safe.

“Lie back,” Gabriel says. “And I’ll hand her to you. We still have to finish up here.”

Matthew helps me recline on pillows and Gabriel hands me our daughter while he deals with the aftermath of birth. I barely notice the lingering cramps and contractions while he works. I’m too busy staring at our baby to care. She squints and frowns, as if the bright lights offend her. I stroke her cheek and marvel at our daughter.

She’s perfect. My heart swells with a love so pure it floors me. I’m swamped with emotion and crying, which makes me laugh from the sheer relief of it finally being over. I’m delirious and completely overwhelmed.

“Hi,” I greet her. “You caused a lot of fuss, little girl.”

She works a hand free of her towel and I grab it, rubbing it with my thumb. Five tiny fingers with tinier fingernails. She’s chubby and perfect despite coming early. Her dusky coloring turns pinker with every cry.

Matthew wets a washcloth and wipes her down. She hollers at the injustice of being cold and wet and exposed to air. “She’s so tiny,” he says, his tone reverent as he palms her head.

I lay her skin to skin on my chest, then cover her with the towel so she doesn’t get cold. “She didn’t seem all that small while she was coming out of me.”

“I’ve got the cord clamped,” Gabriel says, wrapping the placenta in a towel and cleaning up the mess. “Want to cut it?” he asks Matthew and hands him the scissors.

“Where?” Matthew asks.

Gabriel shows him where to cut between the two pieces of kitchen twine he’s wrapped tightly several times and knotted. I wish Liam were here with us for this. I hope he makes it back to us soon.

Matthew cuts the cord, and once Gabriel says everything looks good, they start cleaning the both of us up.

Our daughter hates her warm bath, but once she’s placed on my chest again she settles down a bit. She ends up tucked into herself on her front, her little arms and legs pulled into her sides.

“You should feed her,” Gabriel suggests, petting her wispy hair that swirls from the top of her head. “It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” The sound of her crying has made my breasts leak. I reposition her and lift a nipple to her mouth. She latches on, suckling weakly, then gaining confidence.

Gabriel lays new towels down and presses on my abdomen. I’m cramping again. But it’s hard to care about the pain with our perfect baby girl in my arms. Matthew strokes her head and marvels at the shape of her tiny ear. Gabriel pauses in his work to stroke her back and adjust her covering.

The sound of metal scraping outside distracts me from her breastfeeding. My pulse leaps and I watch the back door, waiting. Where is he? If that’s the plow, then why isn’t he here? If something happened to Liam, I will never get over it. The scraping gets louder. Closer.

When the back door bursts open and I see Liam standing there in the open doorway, I burst into tears. He falls to his knees in our nest and stares, breathing heavily. His face is red and wind-chapped. His coat is covered in rapidly melting snow.

“You did it,” he says, his eyes wide.

“We did,” I say. “She’s perfect.”

He reaches for her, then notices he’s still wearing gloves. Liam pulls his glove off and lays his palm on her head.

She lets go of my nipple and cries .

Liam jerks his hand away. “What’d I do?”

I laugh and take his hand, noticing how cold it is. He was out there for hours. “You’re cold, she doesn’t like that.”

“Five minutes old and already bossing me around,” he says with a grin. “She’s gonna be a menace.”

She is. Our little rebel princess. Coming early and defying all our plans for her. Nothing about her conception or our courtship was normal. Why would her birth be any different? We don’t have anything she needs here with us. No diapers or wipes or clothing for her. No car seat either.

“Good job, Momma,” Liam says, dipping his head so his forehead brushes with mine. Gabriel and Matthew touch me too. A hand on my leg and another on my shoulder. I’m surrounded by my pack and it’s exactly what I needed.

Liam purrs, and our baby yawns, looking around with unfocused eyes and a frown on her adorable face. Now that she’s eaten and warm, she’s calm.

There’s a knock on the door that jolts us all from our tender moment. Liam goes to answer it, letting two female EMTs inside. One of them talks into the radio clipped over her shoulder, “We’re on the scene. I’ll grab the OB kit and the stretcher.”

The other one approaches us and kneels. “Seems like we’re late to the party. Hey, Momma. Is this your first baby?” she asks.

“Yes,” Gabriel answers for me. “She was thirty-seven and a half weeks. No allergies or significant medical history. She delivered the placenta intact and her bleeding’s slowed. She’s fed the baby once.”

“All right,” the EMT says. She’s older and a beta from the smell of her. “So even though this was a good delivery, we need to get you two to the hospital to get checked out.”

She reaches for the corner of the towel to check on the baby and a low growl bursts from my chest on instinct. My eyes widen and I choke the sound off, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.” The baby, startled, begins to cry.

“It’s perfectly natural,” she says, unflinching as she checks the baby out. “She’s nice and pink, and those are some good, healthy lungs. Here’s what we’re gonna do, Momma. We’re going to take the baby out to the truck and then we’re gonna bring you out on the stretcher.”

“I’ll take the baby,” the other EMT says after she returns with her kit.

It’s hard to hand over my daughter. All of my instincts tell me to keep her close and safe even though I know these emergency responders aren’t going to hurt us. I let them take her and watch her go.

“Let’s do blow-by until we get a sat,” one EMT says to the other. “Get a set of vitals. Bill can hold her and do the oxygen while we get Mom in the rig.”

They’re only gone for a few minutes, but it seems like an eternity until they come back inside. I’m transferred onto their stretcher and Matthew makes sure I’m covered with blankets. Then they strap me in and roll me outside through the path Liam cut into the snow hours before. The ambulance’s lights flash quietly, cutting through the darkness.

“We can fit one person,” an EMT says.

“Gabriel,” Liam says. “Go with them.”

Gabriel grabs his coat and shoves his feet into his boots, running after us and leaving Matthew and Liam to follow behind in the truck. After they load me into the ambulance, Gabriel hops in too and sits where they tell him to. They attach me to monitors and start an IV. Then they announce our departure to the hospital over their radio.

“Can she hold the baby while you drive?” Gabriel asks once we’re on the way.

“Here you go, Momma.” She hands our daughter to me and sits the back of my stretcher up a bit. “Now if you haven’t settled on a name yet, what about Lori?”

“Or Olivia,” the other one says with a smile.

“What’s the female version of Bill?” the driver asks from the front.

They laugh and bicker light heartedly. Each of them throwing out variations of their names that are more outlandish than the next as they try to come up with the best first and middle name combinations.

Gabriel holds my hand while we both stare at our little Christmas angel. “No, that’s not her name.”

Her name is Holly.

Jen holds Holly while the baby sleeps after a feeding. “I can’t believe you went and had the baby without anyone knowing.”

I chuckle. “It’s not like we planned it.”

She sighs and hands my daughter back to me. “Ugh. You’re making me want another one. She’s stinking cute.”

I fix Holly’s pink hat and move her to the crook of my arm, using a pillow to prop her up so I can watch her sleep. “She’s kind of perfect, isn’t she?”

Someone knocks and Matthew opens the door, checking first to make sure I’m not nursing before he opens it wide for the influx of our family. The hospital kept us for a few nights, but since we both have a clean bill of health and Holly’s feeding well they’re discharging us this afternoon. That didn’t stop everyone from driving up to see us, though.

“Let me see my granddaughter,” Liam’s mom whispers, leaning over my bed and smiling. One by one, everyone gets a peek and coos over how sweet she is. I’m not sure we can fit anymore people into this hospital room. It’s a good thing that Gabriel’s family doesn’t arrive from Brazil until tomorrow.

“What’s her name?” Margaret asks.

“Holly,” Matthew answers his mother proudly.

We waited until she was born to pick a name. Holly wasn’t on our list of potential names at all, but it fits her.

When the baby wakes up from her nap and starts to fuss, everyone heads out to get a cup of coffee from the cafeteria while I nurse her. Liam, Matthew, and Gabriel crowd around and watch, talking about what’s left on their to-do list.

“I think I got the car seat base installed correctly,” Liam says.

“Jen can double check it if you want,” I offer.

“I’ll finish baby proofing the house when we get home,” Matthew says.

“You have months to do that,” I tell him. “It’s not like she’s going to be crawling around anytime soon.”

Matthew shakes his head. “I’d rather have it done and not have to worry about it. I’m just glad we had the entire house tested for lead when they painted. Are we forgetting anything?”

I motion with my free hand to the mountain of gifts covering every horizontal surface. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s in there.”

Everyone went a bit crazy considering this is the first grandchild for all four families. And with the move and renovations, we never got around to having that baby shower.

There’s a knock on the door and then a nurse enters holding paperwork. “Hi. So good news, you get to go home. We got your labs back and everything looks great. Just call your doctors to make your follow up appointments. I put some extra supplies in here,” she says, handing us an enormous trash bag. It’s full of diapers, wipes, and cream as well as stuff for me like witch hazel pads and a peri bottle and dozens of mesh underwear. “You can take anything you want from the room except for the linens. It’s all gonna get thrown away, and I’d rather you have it than send it to the dumpster.”

It’s way more generous than I was expecting.

“Here’s your discharge instructions and a list of emergency numbers. If you need anything, call.” The nurse hands me a paper to sign, then takes out my IV and leaves me to change.

Gabriel holds the baby while I change into my clothes.

The drive back home isn’t too long, and I sit in the back so I can make sure that she’s okay in her carrier. I tuck the blanket tighter over her harness to keep her toasty warm.

Once we’re home, Waffles meows incessantly as we open the door. Matthew gives him one of the baby blankets to sniff while the others unload the truck. Chelsea left a note that says she’ll keep coming by to check on him until we call her and tell her we’re home. I make a mental note to call her, then carry Holly to her nursery.

I can’t wait to settle her into her bassinet. To unpack the rest of her stuff and use my rocking chair for the first time. We’ll move it from our room into her nursery in a bit, but for now I want her close.

Humming, I clean and change her and put her into the tiniest onesie she has. Gabriel helps me swaddle her, and then I settle into my chair and pull my sweater up and pop my nursing bra open. She latches easily, sucking down milk. It eases some of my fears. She’s lost a few ounces since yesterday, which they said was normal, but if her appetite is any indication then she’ll regain it quickly.

Matthew brings me a drink so I can stay hydrated while breastfeeding, and Liam watches me nurse, a dopey grin on his face .

“What?” I ask him, unable to hide my grin.

“You’re just so fucking beautiful,” he says.

I don’t feel beautiful. And I’m sure I don’t look it. I showered in the hospital, but it’s been an exhausting couple of days. My hair is up in a messy bun out of necessity because it’s snarled and needs brushing. And I don’t want to talk about the leakage. Or the fact that my belly still looks six months pregnant.

“How long before we can have another one?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Let me forget how much it hurt first.” But I sort of already have. The pain is a fading memory, soothed by holding our baby. Feeding her and petting her wispy soft hair and watching her do everything for the first time ever, like sneeze or touch her cute button nose.

“She won’t have a heat until she stops breastfeeding,” Gabriel says.

“So that’s… six months? A year?” Matthew asks.

“Yeah. You know, the doctor told me something really interesting,” Gabriel says.

“What?” I ask.

“That you didn’t tear or need a single stitch. I guess our massages and stretching exercises did the trick.”

I give him an unamused look. “My vagina is off limits for at least six weeks.”

Liam shares a look with the others. “That’s okay. I think we can keep each other entertained. But for now, how about Chinese food?”

“Yesssss,” I groan with excitement. “I want one of everything.”

“Then you’ll have everything you want,” Liam says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He stoops over me for a kiss, then brushes a hand over our daughter’s head and dials our favorite delivery place .

Waffles follows us into the room, sniffing curiously. He hops up on the side table next to my chair and stares at Holly. I pull the edge of her swaddling cloth down so he can see her face. “Here’s your new sister. What do you think?”

Waffles purrs, sitting regally, and watches me nurse my daughter. I like to think that means he approves.