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“Yeah. Thanks,” I said sarcastically.
“Just doing my job,” Layla said with a grin, ignoring my eye roll.
“That was awesome, by the way. I totally would have done it if I didn’t think he’d murder me after.”
I scowled at Jamie and threw my hands in the air in surrender. “I can’t deal with you two right now. Or ever. I’m going back in.”
Surprisingly, going out and being slapped made it a lot easier to handle the drama inside the suite. I held Juliet while I still could and when the doctor finally announced that she had dilated enough to begin pushing, I stood by her side and held her hand.
“Squeeze as hard as you can. You won’t hurt me,” I whispered against her sweat-soaked forehead. “I love you so much.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” she tearfully whispered back.
“You can. I know you can, angel.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. And if you need any extra strength—you can take mine.” I kissed her one more time and quietly whispered, “Or I can beat the shit out of the doctor until he agrees to perform a C-section. Your call.”
Juliet laughed and though it was strained, it made my heart soar. She really could do this. She really would be fine.
“I think I got it,” she said as she squeezed my hand. “I-I’m ready.”
The entire process was... painful. I knew what I felt didn’t come close in comparison to what she felt, but it tore me apart. Trying to be strong for her by not reacting to her outright screams was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. Every time the doctor told her to push in that calm, almost monotone voice, I wanted to fucking strangle him.
And suddenly—her hand relaxed in mine and a soft gasp slipped past her lips. For that split second, fear sliced through me. Was she—
Then a loud wail tore through the silence and I looked away from her face to see our baby in the doctor’s arms.
“It’s a girl.”
As soon as the baby was delivered, Juliet quickly pulled herself together like she hadn’t just been screaming bloody murder and I guess that was my cue to fall apart. I’d deny it if anyone ever asked—but as she smiled brightly at the bundle placed into her arms—I cried.
In my defense, I didn’t sob, but there were definite tears streaming down my cheeks. Tears of relief and joy and everything else. My wife and my baby were okay. My girls.
“I told you,” I shakily whispered as I reached out to touch the baby. “I told you that you could do it.”
“Come here,” she said and I propped myself on the side of the bed. “Here.”
She gently placed the baby in my arms and I blinked away the tears and smiled down at her.
“She’s so tiny,” I said, concern making my voice waver. “What if I—I’m going to break her.”
“You’re not going to break her,” one of the nurses gently assured me. “And pretty much every first-time father has the same fear.”
“Not every first-time father is a giant oaf,” I mumbled.
The baby reached her tiny fingers out into the air and I placed one there, smiling when she grasped it and held on. She was just as adorable as her mother and I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to have me wrapped around her tiny little fingers.
I cooed softly at the baby and was so focused on studying her little movements and reactions that I didn’t think much of Juliet’s soft murmuring until she suddenly said my name.
“Ethan.”
I turned my head just in time to look directly into the flash of a camera.
The shocked look of wonder on my face didn’t detract any attention from my tears in the photo, but I still allowed Juliet to hang it up on our walls—the first of many family photos.
The End
