“I’m two weeks late, Saint,” I admit, cutting across him. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, because we don’t do this anymore. Since we had our heart to heart, we have relaxed on all fronts. Where Saint used to force me to pee on a stick every month, now he just waits for me to mention my period. The fact it’s been this long and he didn’t even ask about it shows how far we have come. I’m not naive to think he doesn’t remember, but he doesn’t force the issue. Things are great between us again, but there is always this little niggle at the back of everything, and we all feel it.
“I’m scared,” he says, his voice sounding choked. “And excited,” he adds, his eyes lighting up.
“Me too, but this feels different.” That’s as close as I will come to saying it.
A look of steely determination washes over his face as he shoves the bag into my purse and takes my hand. “Let’s do this.” He leads me into the garage, and the guys wave and call out as we pass.
My chest heaves when I enter Saint’s private bathroom at the side of his office. Saint locks the door while I wipe my clammy hands down the front of my yoga pants, reminding myself to breathe.
“My queen.” Saint clasps my face in his hands. “Don’t be nervous. Whatever it says, we will deal with it together.” He rests his forehead against mine. “If it’s meant to be, it will happen.”
I press a hard kiss to his lips. “I fucking love you, Saint Westbrook.”
“Love you too, babe,” he says as I get down to business.
We hold one another after I’m done while we wait for the stick to show the result. It’s the longest three minutes of my life.
“Lo,” Saint whispers, glancing over my shoulder.
Keeping a hold of his hand, I ease out of his arms and pluck the digital stick up, reading the words through blurry eyes.
“You’re pregnant,” he rasps, taking the stick from me with trembling hands. He stares at it while happy tears roll down my face. “You’re having my baby.” Tears stream shamelessly down his cheeks as he sets the test down, gently placing his hands on my stomach. “We did it. My baby is growing in there.”
I fling my arms around him, half laughing and half crying, and he lifts me up, carefully swinging me around, dotting kisses all over my face. Setting my feet down on the ground, he pins me with a wide smile, pressing a loving kiss to my mouth. “I love you, Harlow. I love you so fucking much. You’ve just made all my dreams come true.”
Saint
Seven months later
“Congratulations,” the midwife says. “You have a son.” She hands our baby to me, and I cradle him to my chest, barely able to see him through the tears flowing down my face. My chest heaves with indecipherable emotion as I look at my flesh and blood for the first time. He has a fine layer of downy dark hair on his head, and his features are all scrunched up, his eyes closed, lashes fluttering, as he adjusts to life outside the womb.
He’s tiny. Barely weighing anything in my arms, and my protective instincts kick in, like they did with our other kids. I would kill for this child. I would annihilate anyone who sought to hurt him. I press a kiss to his temple, uncaring he’s still covered in bits of blood and fluids. The nurse gave him a cursory quick cleaning before wrapping him in a soft towel and handing him to me because she could tell I couldn’t wait a minute more before cradling my son in my arms.
The surge of emotion flooding my system is unlike anything I’ve felt before. “Welcome to the world, little man,” I whisper. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you.”
It’s not actually been that long even though it took over a year for Lo to get pregnant. That’s not long compared to how long other couples have to wait. But I’m an impatient prick, and those fourteen months felt like fourteen years.
We’ve made the most of our time since Lo got pregnant, remodeling the nursery to accommodate the twins, and fitting it out with everything they need. We even picked their names after the scan confirmed we were expecting a boy and a girl. We knew the chances of Lo giving birth early were high, so we wanted to be well prepared. Twins are usually born around thirty-five weeks, and with Lo having given birth to three kids previously, it was a pretty foregone conclusion we’d be welcoming the newest additions to our family at this time.
Holding my son, Soren, in my arms, is the best fucking feeling in the world. All I need now is my daughter Willow to be born, and for my wife to be okay, and everything will be perfect.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in the delivery room with Harlow. Galen and I were with her when Bishop was born, and Theo and I were with Lo when Luna was born. Caz and Theo supported her at Rora’s birth. It’s ironic, or kismet, that all of us ended up being there when our biological kids were born. We asked the others if one of them wanted to be with us today, but they declined, stating they wanted to be with the other kids, to help keep them entertained in case the labor was long.
I’m not sure if that’s the truth. Maybe they were letting us have this moment together because it’s the first time Lo has given birth knowing who the biological father is. Or maybe they are pandering to the possessive side of my personality. I’m not even sure if the medical team would’ve permitted anyone else in, as there is a higher risk when delivering more than one baby. Whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s just Lo and me. Fuck it if that makes me selfish. It makes it more special, especially after everything we’ve been through to get to this point.
Lo grunts, gripping the side of the bed, and I crouch down, bringing our son close to her, figuring she needs the incentive to deliver his sibling. I have never been more in awe of my wife than I am today. She’s so strong. So beautiful. A warrior. A queen. The love of my fucking life. The mother of my children. The owner of my heart and soul.
Lo is a fucking trooper, and I don’t know how she has the strength to keep going, but she doesn’t complain much. She is just getting on with it. I will never feel worthy of this woman.
“Say hi to Mommy,” I tell Soren, and a loud wail rips from his lips. I slide my finger in his hand, silently fist pumping the air when his tiny fingers curl around mine. Fresh tears prick my eyes, and I’m barely holding it together.
Lo breathes in and out, gritting her teeth as she looks at our baby boy. “Is he okay?” she asks in between pants.
“He’s perfect,” I say just as the nurse arrives to take him away to be bathed. “He’s got a fine set of lungs anyway.” Wringing the cloth in the bowl of water by the bed, I dab at Lo’s brow, wiping beads of sweat away and brushing sticky strands of hair off her face.
“Just another few seconds and then one big push, sweetie,” the midwife says from between her legs.
I slide my arm around Lo’s back and hold her hand, inhaling and exhaling with her as she prepares to bear down.
“Now, Harlow,” the midwife commands, and Lo grits her teeth, panting and groaning as she delivers our daughter.
Piercing cries ring out as our little Willow comes kicking and screaming into the world.
Lo slumps against me, and I press a fierce kiss to her temple while the nurse cleans our little girl and the midwife attends to my wife. “I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so much. You have made me the happiest man alive today.” I don’t hide my tears as I kiss and hold her.