Grant’s hand is on my shoulder, keeping me tethered to the here and now, an anchor in this wild storm. I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
And that’s when the pain starts.
Oh my God.
I never thought it would be like this. The contractions are brutal now, tearing through me in unrelenting waves. I cry out, unable to contain the sheer panic rolling through me.
“Grant—”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”
“But I don’t know—”
“You’re doing everything right. You’re in good hands. You’re safe. The baby’s safe.”
With my eyes scrunched closed, I can’t process how or when it happens, but somehow I’m on the hospital bed. The nurses hook me up to an IV, trying to keep me still as I writhe in agony. Grant whispers something about an epidural in my ear, and I nod violently.
I hear him speaking to the nurse, and a few minutes later, I’m informed that the anesthesiologist is here to administer the epidural.
Thank you, Lord.
Grant steps back at the nurse’s request, and I feel several warm hands turning me onto my side. I open my eyes, meeting Grant’s stormy gaze from across the room. He takes a deep breath, encouraging me to do the same. Together, we breathe.
In, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
Out, two, three, four.
And again.
When the nurses help me lie back, the epidural administered, I feel calmer. More capable. As Grant’s eyes lock on mine, I can see the complete trust and admiration in them. He stays by my side as the nurse checks my progress.
“You’re dilated to a seven already. Good job. We may be ready to push in another hour or two.”
I nod, unsure how in the world I’m going to do this. It’s all moving so fast.
Grant stays at my side, stroking my hair, murmuring encouraging things, holding my hand.
Suddenly, I’m so thankful that he’s here and not traveling for an away game. I always knew that was a possibility, and told myself I’d be fine with that, that I could handle it. But I know in this moment that was a lie I told myself. I’m so freaking glad he’s here.
A little while later, the nurse checks me again and announces that it’s time. The doctor is paged, and my hospital room buzzes with activity.
When the doctor enters the room, I don’t even have time to get nervous, because suddenly everything is ready and it’s go time.
“On the next contraction, I want you to start pushing,” she tells me.
I nod, anxious and excited in equal measure. I’m going to meet my baby. I’m going to meet my daughter.
Pushing is exhausting. I can’t feel anything below my waist, thank God, but these are the longest two hours of my life. I’m quietly sobbing with sheer fatigue by the end of it, sweaty and almost defeated feeling until . . . finally.
One last push, and my baby is here. A tiny, choking cry and an approving nod from the doctor tell me the same thing. We did it.
She’s placed on my chest, and when I blink away the tears, it’s almost impossible to believe this fragile little baby is really mine, that I’m a mother now.
Emotion wells in my throat, and when I look up to meet Grant’s eyes, his are overflowing with tears. I’ve never seen him cry, and the sight of him so emotional makes my heart squeeze. Watching this big, powerful man practically melt with emotion does something to me.
When the nurses take the baby to clean her off and swaddle her in a blanket, Grant leans over my hospital bed and gathers me in a hug. “You’re amazing, Ana. She’s beautiful.” His deep voice is filled with admiration and awe.
I swallow a fresh wave of tears. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you, Grant.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”
His statement makes me wonder if he worked out something with his coaching staff about not traveling for any more games until the baby came. But before I can consider it further, the nurse brings my daughter back, and I secure her in my arms.
Grant sits in the chair next to my bed, brushing his calloused fingers against her miniature, flushed ones.
My eyelids are so heavy, heavier than they’ve ever felt. But every time I drift away, I’m brought back to the faint lights and beeps of the hospital room when a nurse checks on me. I’m beyond tired, and Grant can tell.
He leans across me, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “It’s okay. You can rest now.”
• • •
When I wake from a dreamless slumber, it’s not Grant’s voice that rouses me.
“Hey, baby girl.”
My eyes crack open, just barely, to see my dad standing over me, holding a ridiculously elaborate bouquet. He lays the flowers across my knees and sits on the edge of the bed.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here,” he murmurs, and I suddenly feel like an infant again.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I check the room for the real infant. Where is she?
“Grant’s got her. Don’t worry.”
Relieved, I sigh, and my dad reaches with cool fingers to wipe my tears away.
“When did you get here?” I ask.
“Grant called after you told him about the contractions. I caught a flight in the nick of time. I’ve never cursed airport security more, though. Thought I was going to miss it, but here I am. How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”
“I’m good.” I smile and then let out a laugh. “I’m really good.”
“Good.” He sighs, clearly relieved. “My baby girl’s had a baby girl.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle wetly through my tears. “Weird, right?”
“Not weird at all. Does she have a name yet?”
I think for a moment, biting my lip. I’ve thought about names a lot. I’ve thought about strong names, names that will promise to carry my baby into a protected life. Names that will say, Don’t mess with me. My mother raised me to be a warrior.
“Don’t laugh, but . . . Hunter.”
My dad reaches for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to match the soft wrinkles around his smiling eyes.
“That’s a good name. Fierce.”
“Right? I think so too.”
• • •
Here I thought birthing a child was going to be the hardest part. Little did I know that breastfeeding was an entirely different beast.
Lucky for me, Grant has stayed with me every night since we got the okay to leave the hospital, alternating nighttime feeding duty like a real pro with milk I pumped during the day. If I didn’t know for a fact that Grant was a bachelor, I would have certainly guessed him to be a seasoned dad.
A really wonderful seasoned dad.
And even though I haven’t told him, I’m so grateful I’m not alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, but now that seems like the stupidest idea in the world. Of course I could if I had to . . . I’m just so glad I don’t.
“I’ve got this one,” he murmurs, when we both wake up to the sound of Hunter fussing through the baby monitor on the nightstand. He rolls out of my full-size bed that’s too small for him, and stumbles through the dark of the room.
“Thank you.” I sigh, nestling deeper under the covers.