Page 41

Sloan glanced at the mirror Dawn had positioned earlier. The crown of his son's head was visible, and his throat tightened as he stared at it. This was truly a miracle, something he never in his wildest dreams would have imagined becoming his reality. A strange weakness suddenly washed over him, leaving him slightly lightheaded.

What the fuck?

His gaze shifted to the chair, and he frowned. Maybe he'd best not look in that damn mirror again because if he fucking fainted, he'd have to pack up Becky, the baby, and himself and move out of the damn country. Yeah, that was not happening. Shaking his head slightly, he looked away from the chair.

“You okay?” Becky's voice brought his attention back to her.

“I'm good,” Sloan replied quickly, wondering if she somehow knew he'd gotten lightheaded for a second. His gaze snapped to Slade, but thankfully, the doc was too busy watching the monitor to notice. Getting his paranoia under control, Sloan focused on Becky. “Just thinking about how damn lucky I am.”

Before she could answer, another contraction began. Becky groaned, her fingers digging into his skin as she bore down.

“That's it, Becky,” Dawn encouraged. “You're doing exactly what you need to do. His head is almost here.”

Sloan supported Becky as she leaned forward with the effort, talking her through the contraction as if he'd been present for a million deliveries. He reminded her to breathe when she needed to and rest when the contraction eased, sounding like he knew exactly what the hell was happening, which was almost funny considering he hadn't had a fucking clue what that plastic puke dish was for half an hour ago.

But Becky needed him to be steady, and by God, that was what he was going to be.

“I can't do another one,” Becky cried when she finally leaned back against him.

“Yes, you can.” Sloan brushed the damp hair away from her face, making sure she was looking at him. “You're the woman who raised one hell of a young man on her own and the only person I know who can put me in my place without batting an eye. If you can handle all that, you sure as hell can do this.”

Sloan saw the spark in her eyes just before she groaned as the pressure built again. “Dammit,” Becky moaned, as Sloan helped her lean forward.

“Okay, Becky, listen to me.” Dawn's voice remained calm. “His head is right here. You're going to feel some burning and stretching. Give me a slow, gentle push when you're ready. I want to help you ease him out.”

Sloan's heart slammed against his ribs as Becky gripped his hand, following Dawn's instructions. He could hear the effort in her breathing and see the exhaustion on her face, but there was no mistaking the determination in her eyes.

His beautiful, stubborn mate wasn't about to give up now.

“That's it, Becky.” Sloan pressed his cheek against hers. “You're doing it. Our boy's almost here.”

“The head's out,” Dawn announced, her attention focused on the baby. “Beautiful job, Becky. Just listen to me now.”

Sloan looked toward the mirror again, seeing his son's tiny head, dark and damp. He couldn't begin to understand how something so small could make him feel so much. He glanced back at Becky, wanting to tell her what he was seeing, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Please tell me he’s okay,” Becky said, trying to lift her head, sounding like the protective mother she already was.

“He's doing fine,” Dawn assured her. “One more contraction, and we should have him.”

Sloan leaned close, his voice rougher than he intended. “One more, Becky. That's all we're worried about right now.”

Becky nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

With Dawn guiding her, Becky gave one final push, crying out as their son slipped into the doctor's waiting hands.

And suddenly, there he was.

For a brief second, Sloan couldn't hear anything other than Becky’s exhausted breathing. Dawn was saying something, Slade was doing whatever the hell he did, and Angelina was moving closer with a blanket, but Sloan barely registered any of it.

His eyes were fixed on the tiny, squirming baby in Dawn's hands.

Then his son opened his mouth and let out one hell of an angry cry.

Sloan actually laughed, the sound catching somewhere in his throat as relief hit him so hard, he had to fight the urge to pull Becky into his arms. Instead, he pressed a kiss against her damp hair, his eyes never leaving their son.

“Well, someone's got a set of lungs on him,” Slade chuckled, staring down at the baby.

“Wonder where he gets that from,” Angelina teased, wiping a tear from her eye.