It’s one more thing I learned about during the countless hours I spent researching, hoping I might, in at least a small way, be able to help ease her suffering.
And my own.
I can’t stand seeing her in pain. Of any kind. So I do my best to make sure Mariah is as happy and comfortable as she can be. For her. For myself.
Once I replace the liner and help her dry off, I get Mariah back on her feet and lead her to the bed. Picking up one of the on-demand ice packs the nurse brought in, I snap the inner lining and give it a shake. After making sure it’s in the right spot, but not directly touching any of her delicate skin, I bring the babies back over.
“I think he’s hungry.” I brush a finger against our little boy’s cheek and he tries to latch onto it. “You ready for him?”
Mariah gives me a wobbly smile. “I guess so.”
Since the baby is safe where he’s at, I turn my full attention to the uncertain expression on the face of the woman who’s given me everything. Everything I was too afraid to want.
Everything I never thought I’d have.
“Hey.” I brush back the loose hair curving around her face. “Don’t worry. We’ll feed them one way or another. All that matters is that they eat, okay?”
She gives me a small nod. “I just don’t want to?—”
I shake my head, stopping whatever failure she’s decided might be coming. “You are the best fucking mother these two could ever hope for, got it?” I lean in, resting my forehead against hers. “We are all so lucky to have you.”
I can’t imagine what my life would be like if Mariah hadn’t walked into it.
Actually, I can. I’d still be hiding in my rooms. Certain life was better safer. That if I had nothing to lose I would have nothing to mourn. What was left of me would stay intact.
I thought I was better off. As close to happy as I would ever be.
I was so fucking wrong.
“We are lucky to have you.” Mariah reaches up, curving one hand against my scarred cheek. “I’m sorry I screamed at you in the car.”
A smile curves my lips. “To be fair, I probably wasn’t helping with my breathing exercises.”
Mariah snorts. “Yeah. That ship had sailed.”
I was prepared for a long drawn-out labor that would likely end in a C-section. Even if a vaginal birth was possible, Mariah’s doctor prepared us for a delivery that would be complicated and could still result in the second baby having to be surgically delivered.
Instead, we ended up with amniotic fluid to clean out of my car, a couple traumatized bystanders, and a custodial call to the triage area.
But both babies are healthy, Mariah is happy, and I’m the proudest fucking man in the goddamned world.
I scoop up my son, bouncing him while Mariah gets situated before helping her get his wiggly little body into position. The changes in her breasts are already evident and she winces a little as he latches on.
“I didn’t think something so little would come with so much suction.” She brushes one finger over the swell of his cheek. “Are you starving, Peanut?”
I scoop our daughter from her bassinet and settle onto the bed next to Mariah, soaking up a moment I thought was lost to me forever.
“I was thinking about names.” Mariah’s soft voice is hesitant, but I’m not sure why.
“You didn’t want to stick with Peanut One and Peanut Two?” I pick up the giant cup of ice water the nurse brought in and hold it out for Mariah to take a drink. “Did you come up with anything you like?”
She swallows down a few mouthfuls—enough I’m satisfied—then nods. “Maybe.”
Setting the cup back onto the rolling table, I ask, “What are they?”
Mariah’s honey eyes move over the twins. “I was thinking maybe Mary Elizabeth and Mitchell Ethan.”
The whole world stops. Time. Space. My heart. My lungs. Everything stills, quieting around the wound I will carry close forever.
