Chapter Nine
Roscoe
Adrenaline carried Roscoe through the woods. If he stopped even for a moment to realize what was happening, how stupid he had been, he wouldn't be able to stop hating himself. His mate and son were dying on his back, so he ran. And ran.
And ran.
Until the trees began to change. They grew closer together in this area and the air smelled differently. Odd, almost like a shifter, but not. He'd heard of coyotes out this way and had heard how they could mask their scent, was that was this was? He didn't have the time to figure it out.
Finally, Roscoe spotted a small house in the distance. Beside it was a large barn. He bounded through the huge yard and heard squealing and yelping along with no small amount of mooing and other animal sounds, as his presence was likely not going unnoticed. He didn't care. They could try to shoot him if they wanted to, as long as they realized his mate needed help beforehand. He bounded up the stairs of a wooden porch toward the voices he heard inside. Warm lights shone through the windows, and people spoke, up until they heard the wooden railing on the porch shatter apart.
Roscoe stood outside the door feeling like an unwelcome house guest, but he couldn't shift and use his words and Sawyer had passed out a half hour ago.
"Who is there?" a deep voice asked. Roscoe smelled wolf shifter.
He roared in frustration which only caused the people inside to move more quickly as if preparing for an attack. Roscoe put his head down and pushed forward, busting through the door. Debris and dust sprinkled from above him, but nothing large fell on his mate as Roscoe maneuvered his body so that the three men inside could see his mate. The movement was unnatural not just because he was so large in such a small area but because it meant baring his mate to possible danger from the two shifters and human.
"A bear!" one of the shifters uttered, quite astutely.
"Felix warned us, but holy hell I had no idea they were so huge. Look, something is on his back," the man said.
"Brady, stop!" one of the shifters ordered but the human, Roscoe guessed that was Brady, walked in front of the rest.
"You've made it," Brady said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Allow me to cut him loose."
Roscoe tensed as Brady approached his mate with a knife, but he forced his body to be still as Sawyer was cut loose and pulled off his back into Brady's arms.
"Shift and follow me. This can't wait for an explanation," Brady said as his mate lifted Sawyer, carrying him to the other room.
Roscoe shifted and threw his clothes on. He couldn't have been very long, but Brady still had Sawyer on a table by the time he joined them, bright lights shining down on his lower half.
"Your mate passed out likely from the pain and the pressure of your baby needing out. I've given him a local anesthesia, so he will not feel the incisions but will not give him any other relaxant until I am sure he will wake up," Brady said, never looking up to acknowledge Roscoe.
That was fine, Roscoe also only had eyes for Sawyer who lay flat on the table, his eyes closed, his skin much paler than Roscoe had ever seen it. He lowered down so that he was face level with the table and kissed Sawyer's cheek, wiping the tears away from Sawyer's face that he'd cried before passing out. Seeing his mate unconscious under bright lights had the power to flay his chest open. He wouldn't have been surprised if he looked down and saw the jagged edges of his ribs unable to protect his heart because his heart was on the table in front of him and if he didn't wake up, Roscoe's chest would never heal.
"Making the final incision now," Brady said. Roscoe got the idea he had been informing Roscoe what he'd been doing every step of the way and that he had only just heard him.
Moments later there was another sound, a soft, gurgle and then a cry. That noise had the ability to pull Roscoe's attention away, but only for a moment because Sawyer still wasn't awake. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This moment, when they met their first child was supposed to be full of happiness, joy, and hope. As it was, Roscoe could hardly look at his son because he was the physical evidence of what Roscoe had done to his mate, all in the name of love.
Guilt slammed into him, as hard as a freight train and he did look up, only to see a woman he hadn't noticed before carrying his son into another room. Roscoe got to his feet but hesitated, not wanting to leave Sawyer's side. "Where is she taking my son?" he croaked.
"That's my assistant Hazel. Don't worry. She has delivered more shifter children than I have."
"How many have you delivered?"
Brady did not answer right away. Instead, he continued working, his hands moved smoothly as he closed the incisions he had made. When he was finished, he pulled his gloves off and pushed at his nose, seemingly unaware that he had taken his glasses off. "Counting this one?" he said finally. "One. But, I have delivered thousands of animal babies."
At a different time, Roscoe may have been able to see the humor in that, but not now, while his mate still wasn't moving. Roscoe spotted the line of stitches before Brady covered them with a bandage and rearranged the blankets.
"Why isn't he waking up?" Roscoe asked.
"When us humans mate with shifters, you infect us," Brady began, and Roscoe felt like punching himself in the face. "Not like that, oh I'm sorry. I mean, you begin a change in our bodies that doesn't just make us able to conceive, but you give us some of your strength. Sawyer is stronger because of you. His vitals are steady, but he has been through something traumatic. Give him time. His body will wake when it is healed."
Brady's two mates joined them then, and together they moved Sawyer to a bed off the table. Roscoe took a seat in the chair next to the bed in what looked like a guest room. A single lamp was lit on the nightstand. Sometime later, Brady's assistant returned with a smile.
"Here is your beautiful baby boy," she said, depositing the infant into Roscoe's arms.
He looked down at his son's face, all squished up, his eyes closed. While his heart remained asleep on the bed next to him, Roscoe found he could have a different type of love for his son at the same time. Just as fierce, but not at all the same. He had secretly wondered how he could love anything while Sawyer held his entire heart, and this was how. It wasn't the same at all, but no less important.
"He should eat," Hazel said, setting a bottle down on the nightstand. She gave the three of them one last sad look before shutting the door and giving them privacy and quiet.
Roscoe could only imagine the somber picture they painted.
After a few silent moments, the baby opened his mouth and screamed. Roscoe immediately looked at Sawyer's face, hoping for a reaction, but none came. He picked up the bottle after the second scream and guided the nipple into his son's mouth. Instinct took over as the baby began to suckle. When the bottle was done, Roscoe burped him and then began to rock.
As he swayed back and forth, he began to speak. He told his son about his father, Sawyer, and about his home at the camp. Then, he told Sawyer about his childhood, the years in his old pack while his parents were still alive that weren't quite so bad. And he told him about his brothers and how eager Roscoe was for Sawyer to meet all of them. In that quiet room, he said everything he had been waiting to say until there was nothing left.
At some point, Roscoe must have dozed off with the baby still in his arms because when he woke, the light had changed outside.
"Hey," a soft, beautiful voice said, drawing his attention to the bed. Sawyer lay in the same position with one huge difference. His eyes were open, and he was smiling. "Last I remember that little guy was inside of me."
Roscoe almost didn't want to speak, fearing this was a dream. But, when he cleared his throat and Sawyer was still there with his eyes open, he gave it a shot. "He wanted out. And now, he wants to meet you." Roscoe bent over to set their son on Sawyer's chest. While bent over, he murmured in Sawyer's ear. "Thank you for waking up."
"Anytime," Sawyer replied, his eyes filling with tears as he got his first, clear glances of their son. "He's perfect. He doesn't even have whiskers."
"Were you worried?"
"I mean, I thought with who his Dad is, he might come out with a snout. Maybe some floppy bear ears."
Roscoe laughed and was struck by the sound. Two hours ago, he would have been sure that he would never make that sound again. But, that was what a few moments with his mate did for him.
"He doesn't have a name," Roscoe told Sawyer. "We could still go the bear route, Teddy? Bernstein?"
"No, no, he isn't those things," Sawyer said in clear awe of the little bundle. "I want to name him Roger, after your father."
"How did you know what my father's name was?"
"You told me, while I was sleeping," Sawyer replied, yawning. A moment later, their son let out the most adorable toot. Roscoe knew it wouldn't be long before they weren't so adorable, so he decided to enjoy this feeling while it lasted.
"Let me take him. He'll need a diaper change, and I want Brady to check on you. And I should probably make some promises about coming back to fix his door."
"His door?" Sawyer asked with confusion. "Never mind, promise you'll come back?"
"Always, baby."