I supposed wewereall some kind of pathetic, but I called that shit love. I called it loyalty and respect, which was something we’d all somehow adopted after meeting our partners. We weren’t the best men when we were younger when it came to dating, but I guess a good woman could create miracles.
“To our wives,” Ramses said, holding up his drink. Ramses bumped a laugh. “And for everything they put up with being with us over the years.”
Wasn’t that the truth. We’d definitely put the women in our lives through a lot.
“We can start with the births of our children,” I said, laughing. We all had some crazy birth stories. Royal’s wife went into labor on the subway. They were in New York City at the time for a babymoon. I mentioned that, and Royal laughed.
“At least I made it to the hospital, unlike Jax,” Royal said.
I’d forgotten about that. Greer had gone into labor at a dance class when she was pregnant with Bow. She’d wanted to stay active until the end, that crazy woman, but we had made it to the hospital. Even Ramses’s wife, Brielle, who’d been teaching a class at the time, made it to the ER. She was a professor at a university back then.
My firstborn, Thatcher, had a scheduled C-section, so he’d been at the hospital.
“God, don’t remind me,” Jax said, taking a drink of his bourbon. He shook his head. “I still have nightmares about that shit.”
He might, but, because of the interesting birth, he had a really special moment with his wife, Cleo, and, of course, his kid.
“It’s probably why Wells is fucking insane and extra as shit,” Jax said, and I rolled my eyes.
I pointed at him. “Your kid is you 2.0.” He was loud and a complete jokester. Wells never took himself too seriously, and I think that was why Thatcher was so easygoing: he and Wells were really close, and some of that obviously rubbed off.
I could actually never thank Wells enough for that. I wasn’t the most “happy-go-lucky” guy around, so my son needed some of that influence. He needed that light, and he got that from Wells.
I mentioned that to the table. Jax squeezed my arm. It was a nice moment before our sons came back. We didn’t have too many of these moments with our kids all grown up, but, today, we had. Today, we could be fathers and sons.
“I ever tell you about how you made your mother push you out on our bathroom floor?” Jax said to Wells, and Wells groaned. I was sure he’d heard this story a hundred times, and he was about to hear it once more.
We all were.
Jax
“This fucker put me on hold!” I growled, staring at my wife, who was literally in labor on the bathroom floor. Her water broke, and the 911 agent left to speak to a colleague about another call. Apparently, some major accident occurred on the highway, a thirteen-car pile-up or something, and his colleague needed assistance. I didn’t fucking care. My wife was going into goddamn labor!
Cleo’s eyes bugged out. She’d been going to the bathroom when her water broke. She squeezed her swollen belly. “Let’s just go to the hospital?—”
My wife’s screams cut into our master bathroom. Cleo’s face twisted into what had to be excruciating pain, her hair soaked from sweat, and I grabbed her hand. Something in my soul told me we didn’t have time to get her to a hospital, and I wouldn’t lose her or my son.
“Fuck this.” I hung up on the 911 operator and called a friend.
“Jax, who is that screaming? Is that Cleo—” My buddy Royal’s voice was cut off when Cleo screamed again. Violent terror lanced my insides at every bloodcurdling scream. This all had to be normal, but it didn’t feel good to hear it, see it. Cleo appeared to be in so much pain, and I couldn’t fucking do anything about it.
Royal sucked in a breath through the line. “That is Cleo. Is she going into labor?”
“Yeah, man. She is,” I said, then placed my hand on my wife’s cheek. I pushed her hair out of her face. “Baby, I got Royal on the line. I don’t think we have time for a hospital, and I’m going to ask him to help us.”
Royal’s wife, December, had gone into labor when they’d been on vacation. They’d actually been on the goddamn subway, and they both thought Royal was going to have to deliver that baby himself. They ended up getting to the hospital in time, but, on the way, the 911 operator walked him through what he’d have to do.
Cleo’s eyes bugged out again, but she nodded. Royal, on the other hand, was yelling into the line.
“What do you mean you don’t have time to get to a hospital?—”
“She’s fucking crowning, bro,” I gritted, my wife’s skirt up. I could literally see my son’s head, a full head a hair. That was something we knew about. Cleo and I had seen it on the monitors. “Royal, we don’t have time. I need help. I need?—”
“Okay, listen to me, Jax. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you both through this,” Royal said, being the best friend I needed right now.
I gripped the phone. “Royal?—”
“Jax, I swear to God, I’m going to make sure your son and Cleo are fine. I won’t let you down,” he said, and I’d never heard him so calm, collected. Royal was usually level-headed, but, in this moment, he sounded like a doctor.
