Vincent blinked. He digested what he’d just heard. “Okay.”
“So I need to bring this poster, too.” Nikki nodded, determined. “Now we can go downstairs and see Mal. Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s going to be fine,” Vincent promised. “There will be lots of very talented medical professionals looking after him. He’s just going to be tired, that’s all.”
“Okay.” Nikki, contented by his reassurance, headed down the stairs. “Let’s go, Dad. Mal needs your help. We don’t want to keep the babies waiting, do we?”
“I’m sure we don’t.” Vincent grinned as he followed her downstairs. “We wouldn’t want you to be an only child for any longer than you have to be, right?”
“It’s been six long years,” Nikki said with a dramatic sigh. She jumped onto the landing, then turned around to face him, waiting while he descended. “But I don’t have to worry about that anymore, because we’re going to be a big happy family, and I’ll have my own babies to take care of, just like Matthew does.”
There it was. Vincent raised a brow, but said nothing. It wasn’t news to him that Nikki was head over heels with Gwynn’s teenage son, but he was surprised he hadn’t made the connection between Nikki’s insatiable want for siblings to Matthew’s child earlier.
“Can I go get your car keys while you get Mal?” Nikki asked. “I can unlock the car for you, since you’ll be carrying Malandhis bag, right?”
Vincent nodded. “You can do that.”
“Then I will.” Nikki sprang into action with a whooshed noise of triumph and took off across the room. She slowed at the doorway. “… No running. Sorry.”
“You’re being very helpful,” Vincent praised before she was out of earshot. “The babies are lucky that they have a good big sister like you to act as a role model.”
“I’m a role model,” Nikki whispered in amazement. “Just like Leah!”
Then, beaming, she headed through the doorway and was gone.
* * *
The tripto the hospital was exempt from the rushing waters of time—what should have taken no more than half an hour while traffic was at its worst seemed to take an eternity. Every now and then, Vincent glanced in Mal’s direction, expecting to see him hunched over, muscles strained and mouth opened in silent agony. Instead, Mal had closed his eyes and was focused on his breathing. From time to time, Vincent glimpsed discomfort or pain on his face, but the moment never lasted.
“How far apart are the contractions?” Vincent asked as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. The more details he had, the better equipped he’d be to stand in for Mal and answer the nurses’ questions while Mal was admitted. “What’s your pain level like right now?”
“About three minutes.” Mal opened his eyes as the car slowed, but there was a zen-like quality to his voice that suggested he was still lost in meditation. “Pain’s hovering around an eight. I’m pretty sure I’ll either have these babies quickly, or I’ll explode. I was preparing myself for a long labor, but… no. I know that’s not going to happen. I can sense it.”
As a man of science, Vincent didn’t necessarily subscribe to the notion that there were guiding forces in the universe that could be depended on for life-shaping matters like this. However, he didn’t disbelieve Mal’s instinct. Bodies, he’d observed, had a way of making their needs known, sometimes in nearly metaphysical ways. “It’s a good thing we’ve arrived, then. We’ll get you checked in and seen to a room. Are you ready?”
“Are you kidding me?” Mal laughed, but the sound was cut short when he winced, then exhaled forcefully through his nose. A contraction, Vincent was sure. Mal was handling them phenomenally well. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? These babies are on their way whether I’m ready or not.” He paused there, closing his eyes again. Was it another contraction? If it was, he conquered it effortlessly. “But even if I did have a choice, yes, I’m ready. If it means I get to sleep like a normal person again, that I won’t accidentally wet myself when one of them decides to kick, that I can eat something—anything—without getting heartburn, I amsoready.”
Another contraction contorted his features. A cry died in the back of Mal’s throat, and he sank back against his seat and closed his eyes again. When it was over, he turned his head to the side and looked at Vincent with earnest pale eyes that spoke of willingness. “Plus, if it stops this pain? I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
“You’re going to do great.” Vincent squeezed his thigh. “Only a few more hours and we’ll get to meet the twins. No matter how exhausted you get, no matter how much you want it to stop, remember that, okay?”
“Okay.” Mal’s smile was uninhibited, like at last, he’d shed the parts of him that made him doubt his worth. “When I’m breaking your hand in half, remember the same thing, okay?”
Vincent laughed. A push of his thumb undid the clasp of his seatbelt, and then he was out the door, ready to support Mal for the journey that lay ahead.
Epilogue
Vincent
On a cold December night, while a gentle snow blanketed the world in silence, Charlotte and Isaac Rhyne were born. Charlotte, born twenty minutes before her brother, had full, dark hair that Vincent imagined one day would curl, just like her father’s. Isaac, bald, was smaller, but the way he cried made up for his stature—his high-pitched wail reached across the room and plunged straight into Vincent’s heart.
“They’re healthy?” Mal asked, barely recovered from delivery. Sweat slicked his hair down, and his bare chest heaved from exertion. “Everything’s okay? They’re okay?”
“They’re perfect.” Vincent squeezed his hand, his heart brimming with adoration both for Mal, and for the newest members of their family. “You did a great job.”
Mal, depleted, fell back onto the hospital bed and sobbed with relief. Vincent held his hand while he wept.
Snow continued to fall. The night faded into morning. A new day dawned.
