She nods. “Right.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I’m hot. Can I wear one of your shirts?”
He smiles. “Of course. Emma, can you grab one from my room?”
It’ll give the kid something to do, and she’s eager to participate. He makes a mental note to try to give her more options. Boil some water or get the bassinet ready. Anything except sitting there and staring at her mother’s misery.
“Come on, let’s get you off the floor. Bedroom? Sofa?”
“Sofa for now.” She crumples on the way there, sagging so heavily he has to hold her up.
“They’re coming faster. Ain’t gonna be long.”
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“Let’s go for better?”
She huffs, letting him guide her to the sofa, where she leans forward to brace on the coffee table. “Sure. Let’s go for that.”
Emma returns with three different shirts that are all bound to be oversized on Addison.
He helps her out of her clothes and into his until she’s wearing nothing but that, the hem resting just above her knees.She seems calmer now, not fanning herself anymore, and quick to wave over Emma in between contractions.
“I don’t want you to be scared. This is a good thing that’s happening, it’s just different for me, that’s all. You already know the story of how you were born. This isn’t anything like that, so I’m….getting used to the idea. But I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not scared,” Emma says. “I’m excited. I’ll have a sister soon.”
“Or a brother. We aren’t exactly sure yet. You were telling me you had some name suggestions, want to give me the—” She cuts herself off with another wince, followed by a hand flying to her mouth as she searches the room in a panic.
Wyatt knows the universal signal for vomit and dives for the trash can across the room. Makes it back just in time to shove it in front of her before she loses everything she’d eaten that day.
She lets out an awful, keening noise, her body lurching with dry heaves. The nausea only confirms that this is happening now. Right fucking now. He ain’t no doctor, but if he were a betting man, he’d say there’s gonna be a baby in her arms in an hour or less.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Addison curses, sliding to the ground where she shoves the coffee table out of the way with impressive strength to kneel with her head on the rug. “My spine is being ripped out of my fucking back, goddamn it.”
Considering she told Emma not to be afraid, this may not be the description she’d want to go with, but hey, as far as he’s concerned, she can say whatever the hell she wants.
He gets down beside her to rub where she’s sore, hoping he won’t make it worse. She leans into him like a cat, groaning in relief. For a brief moment, everything is fine again, and then she gasps and flails for the trash can a second time.
After the third round, she looks him dead in the eyes and grabs him by the shirt. “I need the tylenol. I wanna hold the bottle.”
He sends Emma for it, and soon Addison is clutching the bottle as if she can absorb the medicine through the plastic.
“I think you can take some,” he offers. “It’s safe.”
“Can I, though? Can I really?”
“Yes. Really. It’s not gonna make much of a dent, but it’s better than nothing.”
Oh, that was the wrong thing to say, judging by the glare he receives, but she dry swallows three pills anyway before curling into herself like a kidney bean, begging him to rub her back while she shivers.
All the research in the world never prepared him for the emotional toll of watching the woman he loves in so much pain.
All at once, Addison can’t be still. She changes positions every few seconds, searching for relief that won’t come. When she doesn’t have her head in the trash can, any breaks have lessened so quickly that she hardly has time to recover before the next wave hits.
She collapses against him, curling her fingers around his shirt and muffling a scream into his chest. He can feel every muscle tense and release over and over again as he tries to hold her together, his own tears dropping onto the crown of her head.
