Now
Benchley and Michelle are not handling waiting well. As Susa approaches her due date and we cut back all of our public appearances, they’re over at our townhouse nearly every evening after work, and it’s driving Susa crazy.
She’s actually threatened to move in to the guest room at the Florida Governor’s Mansion, if they don’t back off. Meaning security would be there to keep them out.
Hey, my sweet little Hellhound is perfectly capable of dealing with her parents without my help. But Susa is their only child, and this is their only grandchild.
I can’t blame them, but like hell will I contradict my pregnant and very emotional wife.
#bastardextraordinairenotidiotextraordinaire
Owen’s actually stopped by tonight on his way home from the office, and he brought Chinese food with him because Susa asked him to stop and get it, knowing he’d be dropping by anyway.
Governor or not, our boy loves Susa, and like hell will he say no to the mother of his child.
The obstetrician we’re using schedules us after-hours appointments, and we always make sure Owen is there and inside first, his security detail vehicles moved and not visible before we arrive. So far, no one’s caught on.
If anyone does, we’re prepared to defend our decision to have Owen there, up to and including revealing he’s the baby’s biological father, if we’re forced to.
Hopefully we won’t need to go to that length. The video loop of Owen breaking down as he gave his statement when her plane first went down humanized him to his state. They saw the distraught friend, not their governor.
I’ll remind people of that, if we’re ever questioned. It’s no secret that Owen and I are best friends.
Susa hired a private Lamaze instructor who signed an NDA and came to the townhouse for our lessons so Owen could be a part of them.
Now it’s just a matter of waiting for Petey to decide he wants to join us.
Ofcourseour best-laid plans go to fucking shit. I’m out of the office and on the other side of town on a Wednesday afternoon at meetings with lawmakers from all over the state when I get a 911 text from Dray on my work phone.
I immediately excuse myself and leave the room to call his personal cell from nine.
“What’s wrong?”
He’s laughing. “Um, well, Governor Taylor literally just carried your wife downstairs, and we’re getting into a car to go to the hospital. Her water broke while we were in his office and they were on a conference call with Governor Forrester of Tennessee. He says congratulations, by the way.”
I hear her yell, “Giveme that,” and then she’s on the line. “Can youpleaseordersomeoneto let me walk?”
I laugh. “No. Give Dray his phone back, pet. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
She grumbles, but hands Dray the phone, because he’s back. “Do you want me to stop by your place and the mansion and grab clothes for all three of you? He literally scooped her up in his arms and carried her out to the elevator when it happened, so…yeah.”
He doesn’t need to draw me a picture. “Yes, please. Our go-bag is right inside the front door at the townhouse. I know Owen has one, too, ask him where it is. Meet us there.”
“Yes, sir.”
I dash back inside. “Sorry, gentlemen,” I say as I dump all my shit into my laptop bag, “but I’m leaving. I’m about to become a dad.” I grin as the room erupts in applause and cheers.
It takes me about twenty minutes to reach the hospital, and they quickly get me checked in and where I need to be. Someone’s given Owen scrubs to wear, and Susa’s in a hospital gown. He’s sitting in the hospital bed, behind her, letting her squeeze his hands as she breathes through a contraction.
When he sees me, he starts to move but I shake my head. “You stay right there,” I tell him as I start rolling up my sleeves and loosening my tie. I lean in and kiss her. “How are you, sweetheart?”
She glares at me as she growls, and I laugh. “Okay, then,” I say.
One of the nurses starts to talk to Owen, apparently realizes who, exactly, he is, and then turns to me. “Um…did you want to switch places with Governor Taylor?”
“No,” I say as I remove my tie and toss it onto my laptop bag. “I’m having a really bad pain day myself,” I lie. “She needs him there.” I pull a chair next to the bed and sit there, one arm on Owen’s leg, my other hand holding Susa’s hand. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
She starts crying. “Don’t let them make him leave,” she tearfully begs. “I need you guys,please.”
