“So, are you two ready to be dads?” Gus asked as they entered the admitting area. She enjoyed how they both paled at the reminder that it was about to become a reality.
“Oh wow, this is really happening,” Andy said when Marco came into his arms. Andy held his husband tight. Forehead to forehead, wrapped in each other’s arms, they spoke in hushed tones.
“Ew, I’m feeling like a creepy voyeur, yet again. Cut it out, you two, I’ve got a long day and a lot of work ahead of me, I do not need that to be what I see every time I look your way.” They both stuck out their tongues like twelve-year-olds. “Real mature.” Gus sat in the lone chair in front of the counter.
“Would you rather see this?” Marco asked as he stooped on the side of her chair to baby talk her belly while making goofy faces. Andy joined in from the other side.
“On second thought, enjoy, because after tonight, you’ll be lucky to get two seconds alone.”
This was it, it was happening.
She couldn’t help but worry about John. Her mind had created a million different scenarios, each one worse than the last. However, as much as she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, that wasn’t an option. She had to put on a brave face.
Both men stopped being silly and kissed her cheeks. “We love you, Augusta, and this gift. This beautiful thing you are doing for us, with us, we can never repay you for.”
Marco whispered, “And don’t think I don’t see what you are doing for our sake. I know it can’t be easy for you. You are a brave soul, and I know John is fine, I just know he is.” Marco squeezed her hand.
A nurse dressed in rubber ducky scrubs came in to the area pushing a wheel chair. “I hear someone is having a baby today. Let’s get to it, shall we?” Her voice was lyrical and upbeat, lifting their spirits a little higher. The nerves were still there, but she knew she could do this, and she was trying to believe what Marco said.
She heard Marco on the phone with Erika while she rode down the hall toward the elevator.
If Operation Harvest went as planned, everyone, except John, would be here at the hospital anxiously waiting for Butterbean to arrive. Hopefully—in record time—Marco and Andy will be fathers.
And John will be home safe.
“Boy. I am not going to miss these fluctuating hormones. One minute, I want to laugh, and the next, I want to cry.” One minute I feel good, the next guilty.
“Yeah, neither will we,” Andy replied, tongue in cheek. Maybe it was all hormones that made this whole thing with John seem so hopeless.
The nurse had her set up in her room in no time. She changed in the bathroom and came out like she was walking the runway. Andy came to escort her to the bed, and Marco started announcing the amazing summer line.
“Here we have the latest in the haute couture hospital line.” Gus spun with Andy’s help, then sashayed, as best as an elephant could sashay, toward the birthing pool—not that she planned on using it, but it was part of the suite. “The industrial blue really makes those no slip socks pop.” Jutting her hip out, she gave her best blue steel. “And the open design allows for freedom of movement and a cooling affect.” She spun again then made to walk back toward the bathroom to both Marco and Andy’s applause when Erika arrived, sans Walker.
“Oh, my God, really? Y’all did a hospital fashion show without me? And you lady,” Erika approached Gus with a kiss for each cheek, “promised I would be a part of this pregnancy from start to finish. Yet here you are, working the runway without me.”
Everyone, including herself, appeared to be without a care, but it was a lie. John was never far from their thoughts, but this day deserved its own attention, too.
So, everyone was torn and acting. Acting like John wasn’t missing. Pretending that this birth was their only concern in the world.
This family was amazing in many aspects, but the fact that they could all pull together with a tragedy and a birth and still manage to make this celebratory—no matter the worry of the unknown, or pain they were feeling—was beyond anything most people got to experience.
If this is going to be the attitude of everyone involved, it’s going to be a unique experience, and not just because I am having a baby for two men and another woman.
The feeling of being roasted alive woke him. Where am I that’s so hot? He went to move but couldn’t. Why can’t I move?
“Ouch,” he mumbled as he lifted his head only to discover it hurt like hell.
Raising his hand to the source of the agony answered one question when it came back bloody. He was injured, but how did he get hurt?
There was some key information he was missing. It felt like it was right there, he could almost touch it, but yet, not.
Once his arms seemed to be attached to his body and under his control, he let them search his body for clues. Straps, no seatbelt. Car accident? No, that’s not right. Tracing the canvas strap to metal, he undid it and was finally able to move.
Opening his eyes proved to be more difficult. The sun was blinding…and hot coming through the windshield.
Windshield.
Plane.
“Yes, plane. I lost oil pressure, and I crashed. No, not crashed, I’m alive, so I landed. Just not ideally.”
While John spoke to himself, everything came flooding back to him. And as it did, he was grateful to be alive. Grateful, but worried. He looked at his watch; he should have reported in by now. They would have called the number on his flight plan already. “Oh shit, Stacy. She’ll think the worst…and Augusta.” John started to panic and search for his phone. The fact he was dehydrating in the cockpit and was a good twenty miles from the airport meant nothing in the face of those two thinking he was hurt or worse.
It was imperative they knew he was fine and that Augusta knew he cared. When he found his phone, or part of it, he was devastated. He had to get to a phone, it seemed so urgent to him to let Augusta know. Maybe because those were his thoughts before the crash. If anything happened to him, he wanted her to understand.
The memory of struggling with that in what he thought to be his final seconds must have changed something. He refused to take that chance again. John Roberts would tell people how he felt every chance he got if it meant never having to feel that helplessness again. Talk about out of control. Well, he would control those things while he could.
After a quick check of his limbs, he decided nothing was broken. Just bruises and cuts. And probably the mother of all concussions. “Time to start walking.” He extracted himself from his virtually unrecognizable plane and started down the road.
By his calculations, the airport was too far to hoof it in his condition, but there was one lonesome farm house maybe seven or ten miles south, if he remembered correctly, so he headed for that.
Luckily for him, a truck came down the road after just a few minutes. John wasn’t a praying man, but he sent up a silent thanks anyway.
The truck stopped next to him, and an old man stuck his head out. “That your doing?” he inquired and pointed back the way John had come from. He didn’t need to look to know what the old farmer was asking about.
“Yes, sir. You wouldn’t happen to have a phone on you, would you?”
“Yep, hop in, and I’ll take you down to the clinic to get checked out. Lucky I came this way to check on a fence, nobody else around here for miles.”
John didn’t hesitate to get in and take the offered phone, but he declined a clinic visit. He got Stacy’s voicemail. He left a generic message for her, not wanting to add details that were better told in person. She just needed to know he was safe and that he cared.
Next, he dialed the only other number he knew by heart, Augusta. He planned to leave her a message that he was safe and that he loved her, but her outgoing message threw him for a loop. It was Andy’s voice, specifically for him. She was in labor, and if he checked in, he was to get to the hospital immediately.
He would’ve called everyone else, but he didn’t have their numbers memorized. Now he just wanted to get back home and be there for the woman he loved as she had her baby.
John googled the airfield number. He had a friend there who had a plane and owed him a favor, so he hoped he could get back to Florida in record time. It wasn’t like his plane was airworthy or that he was either.
“Thanks for the phone and the lift.” John set the phone on the seat. “Do you mind taking me to the airstrip? I’ve got to get back home.”
John noticed they were already in front of the farmhouse. “Sure will, on the condition that you let my missus clean you up and have a look at you. It’s either that or the clinic, and if you’re in a hurry, I suggest you get inside and let her fuss over you for a minute or two.”
John agreed to the farmer’s terms. He tried to hide the worst of his symptoms. It took some concentration to keep from stumbling around like he was drunk. The dizziness and nausea weren’t easy to mask. He knew he had a concussion, but he feared if the old man or his wife suspected, he would end up at the clinic anyway.
True to his word, he was done and at the airstrip in less time than if he had gone to the clinic. He thanked the farmer, got in his friend’s plane, and they were off.
He didn’t like being in a plane and not flying, but he got over it, because it meant he would make it to the hospital. When they landed, John even let his friend drive his car to the hospital. John didn’t want to take any chances with not making it. He had taken enough.
“Thank God, I have a semi clean shirt in here,” he told Jason as they pulled up to the hospital. He swapped out his blood-stained one. “Thanks man, I owe you one big time,”
“You sure you don’t want me to call a cab and leave your car here? It’s no trouble,” Jason asked him yet again.
“No man, just lock the keys in. I’ve got a spare set and can catch a ride to the airport no problem. Thanks again, man, I owe you a bottle.” John exited the car and headed for the door.
It took him way too long to find labor and delivery and then the birthing suite. He opened the attached waiting room door and entered where he assumed all the men would be waiting.
They were all gathered at another opened door.
“Can someone get her number, I think I’m in love with her,” Augusta spoke on an exhausted exhale. It had been a very long day. Very. Long.
January barked a laugh, and Marco asked the masculine woman in scrubs, “I assume you get that a lot?”
The doctor had given Gus the intrathecal shot earlier and had returned to check on her. Gus was hoping for an epidural, but her labor progressed faster than expected and that option was off the table.
The doctor’s laughter was kind of bubbly and uplifting. Not what I expected.
“You have no idea. Everyone hates the lady with the needle, until they’re in labor and that needle has the good stuff. If I had a dime for every declaration of love I’ve been gifted…” she trailed off before turning her attention to Gus. “How are you feeling? I hate to ruin your image of me, but your shot will be wearing off soon.”
Another contraction hit Gus like a freight train, harder than before. Yep, it’s wearing off. It didn’t make the contractions fun by any stretch of the imagination, but it had taken the edge off for a while. It was still better than nothing, so Gus was grateful.
“Seriously, you are the love of my life, Sherry.”
Sherry appeared by her bedside and started fiddling with the machines with a smirk. “Really, love of your life, is it?”
“Um-hm. We should run off to the Bahamas together. As soon as I can wear a bikini again, that is.” Gus got distracted trying to figure out if that was an angel or a dragon fly on Sherry’s neck. “What is that?” Gus pointed and felt like she was slurring her words. Exhaustion was taking its toll.
“Are you asking about the snake doctor or the mushroom?”
“Snake doctor, what the hell is that?” Andy asked mystified.
It was Francis who answered, “It’s just what some southern people call dragon flies, but I haven’t heard anyone say it in forty years. And there is no way that lovely lady is a day over twenty-five.”
“Well, thank you. As a matter of fact, I am not over forty, but I was raised by my grandmother, and snake doctor was all she ever called them. I got the tattoo to honor her,” she explained to Francis with a smile before turning her attention back to Gus. “Well, Miss Thorne, my shift is over, and I hope by the time I clock in tomorrow, you will have given birth to a healthy baby. And hopefully realized that if had I actually been the love of your life, you would know my name is Cheryl, and not Sherry. So as appealing as the Bahamas sound, I’m going to have to pass.”
Right before she left the room, she turned back. “Y’all have absolutely made my day. That is one blessed baby to be born into this family.”
Everyone was silent, basking in the compliment. They were one heck of a family, and the baby would be blessed, but so would they.
There was a familiar glint in Francis’ eyes. One they all knew well.
“Mom. No. Seriously, no,” Tori commanded.
“First of all, I am your mother, and you will not be ordering me around like that. Secondly, I do not have the foggiest idea what you are talking about.” Francis was not as talented at hiding her intentions as she thought.
“Oh please, everyone in this room knows exactly what is going through that head of yours. Hell, anyone who has ever spent five minutes with you knows,” Erika argued.
It was obvious Francis was ready to adopt another adult into the family. Why she even bothered to deny it was something Gus didn’t understand.
Francis waved everyone off, “Pish posh. I’m not thinking of anything at all except meeting my newest grandchild.” Francis appeared next to January and instructed Gus to breathe through the contraction.
“Oh really, is that so? Well, let’s just see, shall we,” Stacy challenged as she threw open the door dividing their private waiting area from the labor and birthing room. It really was a great set up; Andy spared no expense. Gus’ room had two couches, an arrangement of chairs, a birthing pool, balls, stools, white noise machines, you name it. If a woman needed it for birthing, it was there. The waiting room was just as plush—plenty of room for a big family to stay the same duration as the mother, quite comfortably.
“Hey fellas, update.” Gus watched familiar faces and bodies appear in the doorway. “Gus had her feel-good shot to her back a while ago, so her pain is as good as it can be. Last time doc was around, she was dilated wide enough to drive a tank through, so it shouldn’t be long now. However, she thinks she’s in love with her anesthesiologist. You should have seen her, tattoos up to her neck, even one on her eyebrow. She looked like she had seen some shit in her life time. Raised by her grandmother, but she said it kinda sad, like she was gone now, even has a tattoo to honor her. Seemed like a good soul, just a little lost.” The door stayed open even as Stacy turned and glared knowingly toward Francis, arms crossed.
It was Frank’s booming voice that Gus heard laughing before he inquired, “Yeah, and what is our newest daughter’s name?”
It was obvious Francis knew the jig was up but refused to bow. “Show some respect, all of you. Oh, just hush.” Francis said something else, but as Dax and Walker shifted out of the doorway, Gus didn’t hear anything but the beeping of monitors and the beat of her heart. Even the pain seemed to completely float away when she looked across the room into the eyes of the man who had given her so much pleasure less than twenty-four hours ago.
He was here. John was here, and while he had some uncertainty swimming across his face, there wasn’t a profound sense of grief. Not like when he spoke earlier about Gus giving birth and about the child he loved.
Gus heard Stacy squeal and then her view of John was blocked when his sister hugged him tight. They spoke to each other. Gus assumed she was asking what happened. After they shared a moment, he took a few hesitant steps. As he got closer, Gus could see cuts and bruises marring his face and arms.
Her hand extended toward the door of its own volition. John took a few more tentative steps before looking toward Marco and Andy, who both dipped their heads in agreement—not before Gus saw the joy on both of their faces. Those rats, those beautiful, beautiful rats. They somehow got the message to him, even though she initially said no. She guessed she could forgive them since John didn’t look to be in agony over being there; instead, he looked…relieved.
Relieved, but beat up and tired, awfully tired. There were a few bruises blooming on his face as well as cuts and scrapes. He had a bandage at his temple with dried blood on it. Even with all that, he still looked happy to be there.
Gus didn’t know how she was going to make it through without knowing he was safe. Now she didn’t have to worry about that.
The next minute, he was there with her hand encompassed in both of his. Forehead to forehead, he whispered words of love. He offered no explanation, just words she had longed to hear, words that would get her through…
“Oh, my God!” The worst pain in my life. Gus shouted and people came running in all directions. She let go of John, and he melted back into the waiting room door.
Banging and clanging and voices and pain…unimaginable pain. “Are you ready to start pushing, Miss Thorne, because this baby is ready to make an appearance.” That was the doctor’s voice, she was sure of it because the next thing she felt, besides blinding pain, were her lady bits in the breeze.
“Oooooo,” Stacy exclaimed excitedly, clapping like a school girl. “It’s show time.” Then she stage-whispered, “Damn, hooker, you could’ve churched it up a little down south. Maybe splashed a little glitter on it, or at least gave it a little trim.”
“Fuck you, tramp. Bite me.” Gus didn’t have a chance to analyze her use of the F-word or how Stacy was no longer her BFF, because Butterbean was ripping her apart.