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“Fucking fuck!” I scream.
“That’s right, Precious! You scream your head off.”
What? How did—?
But it’s him. Xavier’s here! He’s not supposed to get out of the PTSD treatment facility for another three weeks but he’s here. In a fresh gown and ridiculous cap and mask they make people wear to be in the delivery room.
“How are—” I start to ask bu
t then I’m racked by another contraction.
“Push, Precious.” He comes to my side and grabs my hand. “I love you so much.”
Tears explode down my cheeks. With how hard I’m pushing, no body fluid is graceful at the moment. Is he really here or is this some pain-induced hallucination?
I haven’t laid eyes on him for three months. When his father tackled him, the gunshot went askew into the ceiling of the barn, thank God. But it was enough to convince Xavier to submit himself to a treatment facility his father had found in upstate New York.
After a few weeks, he had something of a breakthrough and got clear-headed enough to realize just how much he’d almost lost. Then he became so dedicated to getting better, he took the doctor’s suggestion to really commit to the intensive inpatient treatment program—one that had no contact with the outside world, to my dismay. In our last conversation, he promised he would come out and be the man that I and our son or daughter deserved.
“I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t tell you those words before. I love you and I love our son. Precious, we’re about to meet our son.” He laughs and sounds so young and free. I blink through my tears to look up at him. He’s never been more gorgeous to me. His blue eyes have tears glistening at the edges, too. “Because of you. Because of how fucking amazing you are.”
The doctor asks Xavier if he wants to take my other ankle. He looks to me and I nod.
I can’t take my eyes off him as I push.
“He’s crowning,” the doctor announces. “Keep pushing.”
I grit my teeth and push. Xavier squeezes my ankle. “Precious, he’s almost here. Holy Christ, you’re doing it! Our son. Our son!”
His eyes flip back and forth between me and watching for our son.
“One last big push,” calls the doctor.
“You can do it,” Xavier encourages. “I love you. I love you.”
I take a huge breath and then push with every bit of energy I have. When that’s gone, I borrow the rest from Xavier who’s infusing me with his strength through his touch.
And I push our son into the world.
Epilogue
“Dada, Dada.” Dean toddles across the stable to Xavier as soon as he comes in with Samson. “Horsey! Up! Up! Horsey!”
I laugh as I run forward and scoop Dean into my arms before he runs straight into Samson’s giant hooves.
All the horses are good around Dean. As soon as the baby was born, the first thing Xavier did when we got home from the hospital was immediately start doubling down on training the horses on their halt commands. He trained them in every conceivable situation with dolls and with recordings of baby cries, squeals, and shouts. Every hour that wasn’t spent with us was spent out with the horses.
He had loops of baby noises on repeat in the stable while he groomed them, rode them, put them out to the paddock or pasture for the day—you name it, there was a non-stop baby soundtrack on.
The vet, Tom, had helped out while Xavier was away and I was pregnant by lending us Carlos, his intern for the summer. Carlos stayed at the resort rent free and took care of the horses in the morning and evening after his rounds with Tom. He was still with us after we got home from the hospital and the baby-soundtrack about drove him crazy. He constantly wore ear plugs. I think he was more than happy to say goodbye to us when his time with Tom was done and he went back to the city for school.
At the facility where Xavier spent several months, they worked with him on his need to control every little detail of a situation. He continues to work on it but argues that training horses is still about constant repetition. He has biweekly calls with his doctor to discuss boundaries.
And if you think it means he’s given up his love of discipline in and out of the bedroom when it comes to me, think again.
Case in point:
“Mommy’s looking a bit hungry, don’t you think, big boy? I think it’s time to take her in and feed her.”
