Michael
––––––––
Two months later
I’M SURPRISINGLY CALM considering they are wheeling me into surgery in about an hour. We made it past the danger zone and now the C-section looms in my not-so-distant future.
If the crash of hormones goes well after the baby comes out, I’m in the clear. It gets tricky, and I’m not out of the woods, but we’re all optimistic.
And I’ll get to hold our son soon. That keeps me going.
Luke is pacing my room, and I’m trying to read the Knot Valley Tribune. Big Mac is selling the diner. Hale has been nominated for a citizen award for the help he gave during a bad crash on the highway. Pair-a-Dice Ranch is going up for auction soon.
My middle seizes in a tight squeeze, and my water breaks all over the bed.
Shit.
“Sunshine?” Luke takes one look at my face and runs into the hall calling for help.
The pain is blinding. I break out in a cold sweat as the room fills with people, and Luke gets pushed to the side. He emits a growl that gets everyone’s attention, and they let him into the circle so he can hold my hand. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Everything is okay.”
I squeeze his hand and he grits his teeth and winces, but the pain is sharp in my lower back and I am not going to worry about his giant hand right now.
Not many omegas survive actual labor, which is why we get C-sections most of the time. Human males were not meant...
The pain. My God.
I grasp the front of his shirt and pull him down to my level. “If you ever bring that knot near me again I swear I will untie it!” I yell. So help me, if those aliens ever do come back, I’m going to lead a pitchfork wielding gang of omegas to their spaceship door.
“Breathe, sunshine.”
“Don’t. Tell. Me. To. Breathe.”
I yell again, and Luke guides my face toward him. “Look at me.”
“Don’t. Tell. Me—”
“I said look at me.” The command is low and powerful, and my eyes go right to his like he pushed a button on me. “I am right here. You are going to be fine. Our child is going to be fine. You need to believe me right now.”
I nod, unable to deny my alpha anything at this point. But it makes me feel better. He’s got this. He’s under control.
“Now breathe with me like the way we learned in class.”
“We need to move him to the gurney,” one of the nurses tells my husband. He nods and picks me up like I weigh nothing at all. “Mr. Barker, you can’t—”
He stills her with a look and puts me on the gurney himself. All masculine grace and quiet power. I feel like a cattle prod gets me in the spine again. I’ve never felt anything like this pain. My organs are rearranging, and I taste blood in my mouth.
I start thinking about what it would be like to not feel pain. What if I just let go? I close my eyes.
“Fuck that shit, sunshine. You stay with me.”
I open my eyes and we’re moving. I close my eyes again, and when I open them, a huge overhead light shines about my head.
Go to the light.
I’m cold and disoriented. If this is death, it sucks. And then the pain stops, and I open my eyes and realize they are operating. The pain stopped because of the anesthesia. I’m alive. I hear my alpha’s voice, low and calm in my ear, and I drift off for just a short nap.
When I wake up, there are flowers everywhere and my husband is rocking a baby in the corner of the room. I’m so confused.
The nurse tells me they let me do recovery in my room, explains that I just had surgery, and that our son is healthy, and I can feed him soon. She adjusts my bed and Luke comes to me, carrying our boy.
“He’s perfect, Michael. He has your eyes. And my feet, I think.”
He lowers the bundle in a blue blanket to me and I lay eyes on my son for the first time. He blinks at me. He’s so serious. I’m not supposed to hold him just yet, but I reach out and touch him. The pull of milk to my chest engages the moment I feel his skin.
“He is perfect.”
“I love you, Michael. Thank you so much for loving me back.” Luke kisses my head.
“I’m sorry about the knot comment.”
“Babe that wasn’t even the worst thing you said.”
“That’s all I remember.”
He gives me a grin. “I think you broke my hand, but I’m not complaining. You did all the hard work. And he’s here. Our son.”
“Our nameless son.”
“It will come to us.”
“When can we go home?”
“You need a day or two in here. But soon.”
“Wyatt.”
“Huh?”
“That’s his name. Your mom’s maiden name.”
Luke kisses me, then kisses the baby. “I like that. Wyatt.”