He leaned against me. “I hope I can do this.”
“You'redoingit. Andwe're together. You and me and our baby, and we’ll meet them soon.”
“Soon better be very soon because I don't know how much more of this I can take.”
It was another hour before he got the urge to push. He was on the bed, propped up against pillows. I was behind him to support him when he bore down with a grunt.
“You're doing so well.”
He asked me to move so I could see the baby’s head emerging. There were many more pushes before the baby crowned, and I urged Weston to place a hand on the little one’s head. He wept and pushed harder until the shoulders emerged, and then our tiny girl slid into my arms.
“We have a daughter!” I sobbed along with our screaming babyas I handed her to Weston and placed her against his chest. “She's beautiful.”
She was so small with a head of dark hair. And when she wrapped one hand around my finger, I became a dad and fell hopelessly in love.
Weston kissed her. “I’m sorry your entrance was so dramatic.”
She must have recognized Weston’s voice because she quieted. I leaned in close and breathed in the scent of my family. Twenty years ago, I'd been left to die and been brought up by wolves. I believed I was an outsider in every world I inhabited.
But now, holding my mate and my daughter, I finally understood. I was a bridge between the den and the pack. And this little girl in our arms would be a bridge too, between the human and shifter worlds.
EPILOGUE
WESTON
I woke to see the sun shining through the shears and bolted out of bed, running to the bassinet to see that Sorenna wasn’t there. My heart was pounding a thousand beats a minute. I hadn’t slept that long since before she was born, and my first reaction was that something was wrong.
Asher walked in, rocking her back and forth in his arms, and I could finally breathe.
“We were just coming to get you for breakfast.”
“I was so scared.” I reached out for her, and he placed her in my arms. “She always wakes me up multiple times, and when she didn’t… Didn’t she fuss at all?”
“You were exhausted. You needed the sleep. I took the overnight shift.”
So far, for the night feedings, we’d been doing a routine where I’d get up and sit in the rocking chair, nursing her back to sleep. It had been working well for us. I hadn’t expected him to take over. I should’ve. He was the most amazing father.
“But I did use all the milk you pumped yesterday.” He looked at me as if I’d be upset, as if I could ever be disappointed that my mate had been a good dad. “And as I was saying before, breakfast is almost ready. Why don’t you give Sorenna back to me, and you can hit the bathroom on your way in?”
I did, and when I came out to eat, there was a huge Belgian waffle on a plate with a lit candle in it.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Weston, happy birthday to you.”
“You remembered.” I hadn’t. Not until I saw the waffle. People weren’t kidding when they said the first month being a father gave you dad brain. I rarely knew what day it was.
“Of course I did. Now hurry and make your wish before your waffle is covered in wax.”
I leaned over it, closed my eyes, wishing that I could always be as happy as I was right now, and then blew it out.
“Thank you. It smells wonderful. Where did you get it?” There was no place near the den that came close to pretending to make waffles, and it was still warm.
“I ordered a fancy maker for you as one of your gifts.” He pointed to the counter. How had I missed that?
I thought back to all the Christmas reels on social media about the reasons you shouldn’t get your significant other appliances, and they always boiled down to the fact that you were just giving them work. My mate must have seen them and said, “Bet,” because he’d not only made the waffle in front of me but had a whole bunch of batter to keep them coming.
Breakfast was fabulous. It had already been my best birthday ever when the phone rang. It was Stevenson, video-calling.
“Happy birthday!” he said. He was standing with his Uncle Frank.
