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I didn’t know how long Luca and Zander fought over who had the right to dance with me. When one got comfortable with me, the other yanked me away. It was a game of tug-o-war, except I was smack dab in the middle, the knot pulled both ways.
I decided to take a page out of Shay’s handbook, and I pulled Zander close while Luca was behind me, sandwiching myself between the two. Zander had my front; Luca had my back. The three of us could grind together, couldn’t we?
Besides, Zander’s jealousy was only amusing now, after how turned on he’d gotten by watching me with Damian.
The three of us were locked together for what felt like forever. Sweat lined my brow, wetting my hairline. I was sure I looked awful, but I didn’t care, and neither did Zander or Luca. They were lost in me, as they’d been for so long.
The night was a long one. I danced with all my men. I even drank a little. The guys got to know Shay’s men and vice versa. It was a good bonding experience for all of us, and I think, once the night was over, I walked out of there with a few new friends.
I’d never had friends before. Not true friends. Not ride or die friends. It might be nice to have them.
It was about three in the morning when we went home. Even Ezekiel tagged along… mostly because he was our designated driver. He parked the car in front of the house, and we all filed toward the front door—but before we reached it, Gianna threw it open.
“Gianna?” I asked. My head was a little light, a bit fuzzy, but I could think clearly enough to see the way she stood, how she held onto her belly; something was wrong.
“I…” She panted. “I need—” Her face contorted in pain. “To go to the hospital,” she finished, once the pain from what I assumed was a contraction faded.
The guys froze, deer in headlights behind me. Ezekiel was the only one who could speak: “How far apart are they?”
“Less than five minutes now,” Gianna groaned out, and I went to help her walk down the steps. She leaned heavily on me.
“Five minutes? Why didn’t you call?” I asked as I brought her to the backseat. Ezekiel opened the door for us, and I helped her inside.
Gianna appeared guilty. “You were celebrating. I didn’t want to be a bother.”
“You should’ve called,” I repeated, and then I glanced to the others. “Call a taxi or an Uber. Meet us at the hospital.” I got into the front passenger seat while Ezekiel hurried around to the driver’s side.
Luca, Zander, Cade, and Damian watched us drive off. There was no way they could come in the same car. Coming home had been a cramped mess in the back seat. I had to sit on Zander’s lap, which wasn’t exactly the safest thing.
The ride to the hospital was filled with groans and heavy breathing. I knew it wasn’t my kid, but I’d promised Gianna I’d help her raise him. I’d do everything in my power to make sure she and her son were taken care of. I would be her Father Charlie.
I’d meant every single word… even if the thought terrified me.
We pulled up to the hospital. Ezekiel had to go park the car, but he dropped Gianna and me at the door. She held onto me as we walked in, and the moment I told the worker behind the desk that her contractions were less than five minutes apart, we were swarmed. Nurses came with a wheelchair and carted Gianna away. I was told where to go, and I texted Ezekiel and the others what area of the hospital she’d be giving birth in.
The same hospital I’d been taken to after I’d been shot. The circumstances tonight couldn’t have been more different.
The guys met me in the lobby near the birthing wing of the hospital, and we waited. We waited for what felt like forever. Cade and Zander got some kind of disgusting coffee from the cafeteria, but I didn’t drink any. I couldn’t. I was nervous, silly as it was.
I didn’t know how much time passed before a doctor came through the set of double doors and asked, “Which one of you is Giselle?”
I got up. “Me.”
“Gianna was hoping you’d be present for the birth.” The doctor’s words hit me like a slap in the face, mostly because I wasn’t expecting them. In the time I’d known her, we’d never… I mean, she’d never mentioned wanting anyone to be there, in the room.
I glanced at my guys. Shit. I had to go.
So I followed the doctor behind the doors. I put on what they said to: a mask, gloves, booties, and weird scrubs. Anything that could bring outside germs in got covered up.
Walking into the room, I found Gianna gripping the side of the hospital bed practically hard enough to bend the railing. Her tanned face was red from the pain, and when she saw me, she reached a hand out for me.
Cautiously, I walked to the bedside and took her hand. The fact that I wore gloves didn’t matter. She squeezed me like she hoped to break fingers. The hardest I’d ever been squeezed—but the pain I felt in my hand was nothing compared to what she was going through.
Her legs were up and open, a blue paper covering her lower half. From where I was, I couldn’t see anything, thank God.
The nurses helped guide her breathing, and I did my best to demonstrate, constantly reminding her as she pushed and pushed. The doctor said she was doing fine. The room was chaos, full of grunts and screams.
I didn’t know how long it took, but I knew everything went well when I heard the baby start to cry. That was always a good sign, wasn’t it?
