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I want to kill him.
But I don’t.
He can do that, act animated in the serious moments and make me want to melt and murder him at the same time.
I laugh, cry, and will myself not to close my eyes against the exhaustion because I don’t want to miss this. The smile. The crying. The theatrics. It’s my Nutcase. The boy that sings to my soul, the man who has one half of my heart.
Too soon for this moment and too late for the previous, the ambulance officers burst through the door and drop down beside us, and I can finally relinquish my medical hat and let them take it from here.
I can relax.
While they check the bub.
While they check me.
I can relax.
My head hits the back of the booth again, and through hooded eyes, I watch Bronson show his boy off to the paramedics with a huge grin etched across his masculine face.
“Look what my baby made? He’s perfect. Another Butcher, alright.” He waves Stone over. “Look at your brother, Stoney. What do you think of all that hair?”
Stone peers over Bronson’s shoulder, almost disgusted by the gooey bub. “So hairy!”
Bronson laughs. “Like a werewolf!”
“Like a Butcher,” I whisper softly, and Bronson’s turquoise eyes lock on me. They scream, “I love you.”
A serene smile touches his mouth, the contentment running deep into his soul.
“Our boy,” he states, holding my gaze.
I smile. “Our boy.”
CHAPTERNINE
cassidy
9thMonth
I writhe in pain.
It’s been hours.
I always intended to have a natural birth, just like I did with Kelly, but the contractions are coming on hard and fast, and my cervix refuses to open.
I curl over, holding the outside of my swollen belly while convulsions tumble through my pelvis. I can feel Max’s dangerous energy on the edge of explosion, so I reach out and grip his hand. He drops to his haunches and kisses my face, lips, cheeks, eyes, all over the tears.
“It is time, Mr Butcher,” Dr Shen implores. “We have applied the induction gel directly to her cervix; it should have worked by now. She is not dilating, and she’s in pain.”
“No!” Max booms, snapping his head towards the doctors. They freeze up as Max rises, my hand slipping from his, his body towering over the staff. He cares little for them. I know this. He’s not a bad person, but he’ll do bad things if he feels cornered. This is the epitome of Max Butcher cornered. “Do you have a death wish? You’re not cutting my wife open!”
I reach out my hand and grip his tattooed forearm, capturing his attention like gravity. He’s ready to be there with his actions and attention. A position I can rely on.
I stare into his gaze. “It’ll be okay.” My voice is weak, but I’m not. I can endure this pain. I’ve danced on broken toes before, but it’s the unknown that frightens me. “I’ll be okay. Let’s get our baby outnow.”
Max is shaking his head at me, pain darkening his eyes, the dread of trusting someone to touch me with a knife carved into tempestuous grey depths. “I know, Menace.” I nod, understanding him. “Hold my hand,” I say, my voice choked with distress, my throat tightening against the threat of more tears. “Please.”
“If they hurt you—”
