“I wish I'd known him better.”
“Me too.” My father placed a hand on my shoulder, and he had a faraway look in his eyes. “I failed you, Asher. I should have seen what my mate was and protected you. Or better yet, never allowed him into our lives.”
I thought back to the conversation with Zach. I’d wanted to confront Father about his shortcomings, but while he, like me, wasn’t human, we were all fallible when it came to trusting someone.
“But I'm grateful for the chance to know my son as a man.”
Returning to the den was a dizzy circle of hazy memories and tearful truth-telling, but before I could wipe away the wetness on my cheeks, the phone buzzed. Service was spotty here, but Weston’s name appeared on the display. Knowing I was with Father today, he said he’d only call in an emergency.
“Weston, what is it?”
“Don't panic.” That’s exactly what I was doing. “But I'm pretty sure I'm in labor.”
“Oh my gods.” I had to get home, but I was a ways away from my truck.
“Contractions started about an hour ago, and they're getting closer together. Ouch! That was a strong one.”
I was already jogging back toward where we'd parked the truck. My father kept pace beside me. He must have caught the gist of what was happening.
“How far apart are they?” I kept my voice calm though I was anything but, and I didn’t want my mate to panic.
“Maybe five minutes? I tried to time them.” There was a pause and more panting. “Asher, I need you to come home.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just breathe through the contractions like we practiced.”
Damn, maybe that was patronizing because he was the one who’d carried our baby and was now about to deliver our little one. I hesitated, wondering if I should remind him how to breathe, but Father took the phone away from me.
“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
I didn’t know what to say. Father, the Alpha with a stern expression and demeanor, was telling my human mate what to do during a contraction.
“I’m coming, honey.”
I hung up and broke into a run and had the engine started before my father yelled that he’d tell everyone in the den.
“They’ll want to know when the baby arrives.”
I hit the gas and snow sprayed behind the truck as I tore down the bumpy road that led back toward town. The baby wasn’t due for another two weeks, but technically, my mate was full term.
When I pulled up in front of our small rented house on the edge of Bramble Woods, my tummy was jumbly and my palms were running rivers of sweat.
I burst through the front door. “Weston!”
He was sitting on the edge of the bed with one hand braced on his enormous belly and the other gripping the bedpost. His face was flushed and sweaty, and he was breathing through a contraction.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” He grimaced. “This is intense.”
I was about to ask if he wanted a doctor, but he must have anticipated what I was going to say. We’d had this argument many times during the pregnancy. While I thought a human should have a doctor attend the delivery, my mate insisted on giving birth the shifter way with only both parents present.
I’d given in, but now seeing him in so much pain, I regretted not having a doctor on call.
I squeezed his hand. “Okay. We can do this. How far apart are the contractions?”
“Three minutes maybe? I don't know, I lost track.” He beckoned for me to help him stand. “I need to walk.”
We paced slowly around the bedroom, and Weston leaned on me. We stopped every few minutes when another contraction took hold of him. I murmured encouragement, rubbed his back,and tried to remember everything I’d learned about supporting someone through labor.
Weston's contractions became more intense, but he was so strong and determined to do this his way, even though he was exhausted.
