“Matthew?”
“It’s the baby.” A sob racked Matthew’s body accompanied by a new wave of pain. “I think we’re going to lose the baby.”
48
Damien
Six men bolted through the patio door into the house, five of them likely unaware why they did it. Damien didn’t waste time explaining. Matthew needed him—he wouldn’t spare a second for anyone else.
On the mad dash around the corner leading to the stairs, Damien lost a flipflop. He kicked the other one off on his way to the second floor. It shot between the gaps of the balusters, hit the wall, and ricocheted downward, striking TD in the head. Not even TD’s startled cry and dramatic, “Dad down!” distracted Damien from his goal.
He needed to get to his boy.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the top landing and flew down the hall, then flung open the bedroom door. Matthew was on the bed tucked beneath the covers. His face was pale. He lay on his side, legs bent, and clutched his phone to his chest like someone was actively trying to take it from him. When he noticed Damien enter the room, he dropped it onto the bedspread, then crinkled his face in pain.
“Matthew?” Damien shot to the bedside and took Matthew’s hand. It was clammy. “Baby, what’s wrong? You have to tell me so I can make it better.”
Matthew made a thin, labored noise, then sobbed. “It’s the baby. There’s something wrong with the baby.”
A deluge of Single Dads poured into the room. Damien didn’t notice them enter, but he felt their presence. Gwynn came to stand at his side and set a hand on Damien’s shoulder. TD took up a position at the foot of the bed and laid a supportive hand on Matthew’s ankle. Harley stationed himself by the doorway, and xV and Glit exchanged tense words under their breath. At last, xV came to stand by Damien. “Matthew, can you describe the pain? Does it feel like labor?”
“I don’t know.” Tears slid messily down Matthew’s cheeks. “It hurts so bad. It’s not like how it was with Emily.”
“Would it be okay if I looked?”
Matthew’s pupils blew out with fear, and despite knowing xV for years, Damien found himself puffing his chest and inserting himself between his frightened lover and his friend.
xV held up his hands. “I don’t mean anything untoward by that. I’m a doctor, Matthew—a reproductive endocrinologist and IVF specialist. I haven’t delivered as many babies as an obstetrician, but I’m not a stranger to a body in labor. If you let me look, I can help.”
“We can just as easily call an ambulance,” Damien argued. “You’re good at what you do, xV, I’m sure, but we don’t have the equipment here that a hospital does. Whatever’s going on, they’ll be able to figure it out and stop it.”
A vacant, eerily somber look flattened xV’s features. He whispered something into Damien’s ear that he didn’t want to hear. “If I can assess Matthew’s state of health, then Glit and I will be able to keep him as stable as we can on the way to the hospital. If you delay getting him medical attention, we can’t be certain what will happen.”
Damien’s blood ran cold. He blinked away the onset of tears.
“Call the ambulance now while I assess the situation,” xV continued in the same hushed tone. “Tell them there are doctors on the scene, but that additional medical assistance is required. Make sure you state that the patient is pregnant and two weeks away from delivery.”
“Okay.” Numb, Damien looked over xV’s shoulder at the door. Glit was speaking in whispers to Harley, who nodded and left the room. The part of Damien that had always deflected the most difficult times of his life with humor wanted to poke fun at the situation, but his soul was empty and his heart bled. “Where’s Harley going?”
“To find medical supplies. Glit and I need rubber gloves—nitrile preferably—and some other odds and ends. Harley went through basic medical training and knows what would work the best. He’s gone to get what we need. It would speed up the process tremendously if you went to help him.”
No more able to decide what he should do than he could solve cold fusion, Damien turned to Matthew for guidance. Matthew met his gaze and whimpered, and that was all it took. Damien’s heart made a choice—he would not part from his lover.
Damien sat by the bedside and took Matthew’s hand.
“My friends are doctors,” Damien explained. “I mean, not all of them, but enough that I should probably be asking the universe some hard questions. I’m going to call an ambulance, but until it gets here, they’re going to do everything they can to keep you and the baby healthy. Okay?”
Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face against the side of Damien’s thigh. “Okay.”
“Everything is going to be okay, kiddo,” Gwynn promised. He ran a hand affectionately through Matthew’s hair. “All of us are here for you.”
“And for you, too, Knot,” TD added. “We’ll get through this together.”
Tears blurred Damien’s vision. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he simply nodded. Seven years ago, when he’d accidentally joined the Single Dad chat, he’d figured that, if nothing else, it’d be a good time suck for the long hours he spent in the office. He’d never imagined that it would turn into something like this. These once strangers had become his confidantes, his best friends, and more than that, his family. He’d been there for them on some of the worst days of their lives, and now they were there for him, too.
“I’m back,” Harley called from down the hall. Damien wasn’t going to bother arguing over semantics—Harley barreled through the door a second later carrying an assortment of household items. There was the box of rubber gloves that Matthew kept under the sink, several bottles of water, hand sanitizer, a couple towels, dental floss, and the cooler of ice from the patio. It was going to be one hell of aMacGyverepisode.
“Scrub up.” Glit plucked the hand sanitizer from Harley’s hoard and pumped a pool of it onto his hands. He worked it across his palms, between his fingers, and down his wrists, then put on a pair of rubber gloves. xV did the same. While they prepared to help Matthew, Harley set the supplies on and around the bedside table, establishing a workstation. As they set up, Damien did his part—he dialed 911, explained the situation, and requested they send an ambulance. Years of schmoozing with the men who pulled America’s purse strings did nothing to help—Damien’s voice shook while he spoke with the dispatcher.
