Epilogue
Lana
The ticking of the clock was irritating. The way every person in the room seemed to be breathing on me—at me—made me want to rip their heads off. I was pretty sure I could even hear Linc and Shane eating from the waiting room down the hall.
The door opened and a pair of squeaky shoes walked across the clean tiled floor, as the man wearing them came into view. The doctor smiled sweetly down at me, taking in my sweaty brow, my pale yet flushed skin, the killer glare shooting daggers at him from my eyes.
“So who’s ready to have a baby?” he asked as he rubbed his hands together in what I assumed was wicked glee at my pain.
Beside me, Drake was trying to be the peace-keeper, and I loved him for it. But he was breathing too damn hard and I wanted to smother him with the poor excuse for a pillow that was under my head. He did this to me. He put this baby in my stomach when he’d planned that sweet night out to give us both new memories. Memories weren’t all that sweet when I was almost nine centimeters dilated, with no drugs to dull the pain and a doctor who was amused by my suffering.
This pregnancy had been the hardest of all my others. I’d had morning sickness for seven months and then at thirty-two weeks I’d had some bleeding and contractions that had been bad enough to put me on bed rest.
This was the last time. The very last time. Drake had been the one to say it first, when I’d been first put on bed rest. No more babies. No more letting fate decide how many kids we had. I’d agreed because I’d been scared out of my mind. I couldn’t face another miscarriage and if I’d lost this baby too, I was pretty sure I would have lost my mind. Thankfully, bed rest had helped, but I’d had to stay on it for the last eight weeks.
Now here we were, in the private delivery room with all our family in the waiting room waiting on when the newest Stevenson daughter came screaming into the world. I hadn’t even needed them to tell me on the ultrasound if it was a girl or not. I knew it was, and even though I longed for a son, I was still thrilled to add another daughter to our happy family.
Two nurses came into the room, getting everything ready for the baby’s arrival. I tried to focus on them rather than the contractions that were tearing my body apart every forty-five seconds. I’d only been in labor for four hours, but I was exhausted. This baby, who was nameless because we had yet to agree on one for her, was bigger than any of my others. The last ultrasound I’d had put her at over nine pounds.
And I was feeling everything she was ripping apart inside me as she tried to force her way into the world. I couldn’t wait to hold her, but first, I had to survive this damn delivery.
The doctor moved forward, snapping on gloves and checking my cervix. “Well, well. Ten centimeters.” He grinned at Drake. “Would you like to deliver this one, Mr. Stevenson?”
Drake’s already pale face went gray, his blue-gray eyes getting a haunted look in them. He’d been so strong for me over the weeks that I’d been a prisoner in my own bed. When the first contraction had hit me that morning, he’d been my rock. Helping me breathe through the pain, wiping my brow, feeding me ice chips… More than anything he’d stood there and let me scream abuses at him and any other person who dared make the slightest annoying noise—which was everyone on the fucking planet.
I reached for his hand as yet another contraction wracked through my sore, exhausted body. “I need you up here with me,” I told him, trying to keep from yelling at the doctor who was trying to take away the last thread of sanity I had. “Please.”
He nodded his head over and over again. “Yeah, Angel. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The doctor chuckled and then started doing his thing as one of the nurses pushed a cart over to him that would help him deliver our last daughter. “Okay, Lana. You can start pushing anytime.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I growled at him as I started pushing.
Why had I done this naturally? I couldn’t help wondering for the thousandth time that day. Why had I thought this delivery would be easy and I could do it without an epidural? Because I was a damn idiot, that’s why. I’d had all my other girls naturally, although I’d questioned that decision repeatedly throughout those deliveries as well. But this time, it was so much worse. I could have been run over by a fucking Mack truck and it wouldn’t have hurt so bad.
“Almost there,” the doctor assured me three pushes later. “A little suction.” He was fucking talking to himself now. His hands were messing with something that was going to kill me if he didn’t stop soon. “Okay, Lana, an easy push. That’s it, a little more. Stop.”
Stop? I’d felt the head come out, so what was he telling me to stop for? It was physically impossible to stop now, damn it!
That’s when I felt it. The tearing pain as something ripped. Her shoulders were huge—making my pain-filled delirious mind think that she actually had angel wings and other crazy shit for a minute. Hell, I just knew I was going to have a sick scar when this was all over.
“Okay. We’re ready. One last push.”
“I fucking hate you,” I screamed at the man as I leaned forward, pushing with all my might. The pain only intensified. It was like being sliced open with a white-hot blade and I almost begged him for an episiotomy. The doctor cutting me couldn’t have possibly hurt as bad as the tearing that this kid was doing.
The cry that filled the room quickly made me forget the pain as the baby was pulled from me. Tears of joy filled my eyes and I dropped back onto the bed, shaking from the relief after so much pain. I felt Drake’s lips on my sweaty forehead, heard his whispers of praise and love, but I had eyes only for the squealing little demon in the doctor’s arms.
Through my tears, though, I was sure I was seeing things. Maybe I was having delusions or something, because…
No.
It couldn’t possibly be.
A shot of hope filled my chest and I reached out my arms for the baby. “A boy?” I whispered as my son was put against my chest. His head went over my heart and, at the sound of the heartbeat that had been his lullaby for forty weeks, he was instantly calmed.
“A boy,” the doctor confirmed, not surprised at all.
“But…” I didn’t understand it. We had four daughters. I’d been so sure this one was a girl too, that I didn’t dare let myself hope for a boy. There had been no boy names mentioned. No boy clothes bought. And Drake had always said he wanted all girls. His little army of angels.
My eyes lifted to him, his face alight with joy as he gazed down at us. “We have a son,” he said with awe in his voice.
The baby was already snuffling around my chest, looking for his dinner. I adjusted him so that he could latch on to my breast, and finally was able to see his adorable little face. What greeted me stopped my heart as love and wonder shot through me like a super force. He hadn’t been cleaned off yet, but that didn’t hide the shape of his face. He was a little replica of Drake.
“Do we have a name or should I just put ‘Baby Stevenson,’” one of the nurses asked from across the room.
My head shot up, my eyes connecting with Drake’s. “We don’t have much of anything for a boy.”
“Of course we do, Angel.” He ran a caressing finger over our son’s cheek. “We have an entire house full of little angels at home, but this is our little demon. Don’t you think?”
“I’m not calling my son ‘Demon,’” I told him, only half joking.
His eyes shone with amusement. “How about Damian instead?”
“Damian.” I tested the name on my tongue. “Damian Shiloh Stevenson?” Shiloh had been one of the girl names that we had been on the fence about, but I had to admit it suited our son.
“Perfect.” Drake lowered his head and kissed first his son and then me. “Welcome to the world, little dude. You’re gonna be the most spoiled boy on the planet with all your sisters to watch over you.”