Page 247 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

By the time they get me into labor and delivery and confirm that, yes, my waters have broken, and yes, the babies have apparently chosen today to make their appearance, I’m too overwhelmed to even notice the panic properly.

I just keep breathing.

Just keep looking for them.

And every time I do, one of them is there.

Wayne at my side with his hand wrapped around mine and that wonderful steadiness in his face.

Fletcher hovering half a step back, ready to give me anything before I even know I need it.

Rex brushing sweat-damp hair off my forehead and telling me the nurses are all secretly terrified of me because I have main character energy.

That one gets him a swat and a laugh.

Hours pass.

Or minutes.

Or years.

Time stops making any sense.

There’s pain and pressure and exhaustion, and too many people telling me to breathe when all I want to do is bite down hard.

I cry once, then apologize.

Wayne, in a tone suggesting I’ve deeply offended him, tells me that I’m not allowed to apologize while in labor under any circumstances, which only makes me cry harder.

At some point, someone says we’re close.

Shortly after, they say something about the first baby’s position, and I stop hearing anything except blood rushing in my ears.

Then Wayne’s mouth is at my temple, Rex is saying you’ve got this, darlin’, and Fletcher’s hand is braced firm at my back, and suddenly there is no room left in me for fear because effort takes all of it.

I push.

I scream.

I cry.

I swear I’m dying twice and mean it both times.

And then…

A cry.

High and thin, shocked and furious, and utterly perfect.

The whole room changes shape around it.

My entire body empties in one impossible rush of relief and disbelief and love so huge it’s almost painful.

“Oh wow,” I sob.

Someone says, “You have a daughter.”

A daughter.