My arm supported Rain’s back. Her hand gripped mine, and I raised her into a sitting position. The grunts and groans coming from her barely sounded human, and the louder she cried out, the harder my gut twisted.

Why would any woman in her right mind want to give birth?

“Okay, stop,” Dr. Hart ordered. “Good girl. One or two more good pushes and we’ll have ourselves a baby.”

I lowered Rain gently against the pillow. Strands of damp hair clung to her face. I brushed them out of the way and kissed her forehead. “You’re doing great, babe. Really. And if you never want me to touch you again after this, I’ll understand.”

She laughed. It was weak, but it was still a laugh. “Let’s see how it goes, and I’ll get back to you on that.” She squeezed my fingers. It was a far cry from the punishing grip of just a few moments earlier.

We’d made it to the hospital in record time—thanks to the early morning hour and the fact that we were heading away from the shore, not toward it. Rain had been calm the entire way, and had only started the breathing exercises we’d learned as we neared the hospital.

The pressure on my hand intensified.

“Again,” she said through gritted teeth.

I wished there was a deep-breathing exercise to calm my racing heart.

I helped her into a sitting position. “C’mon, baby. You’re almost there.”

“Make it count, Rain,” Dr. Hart said.

I didn’t think she was strong enough to break any of the bones in my hand, but the way she was gripping me, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had cracked one or two. She grunted and her body sagged against my arm.

“I see hair,” Dr. Hart said.

I didn’t move, not wanting to let her go, until Rain tilted her face toward me. I’d never seen her look more exhausted or more beautiful. I leaned forward, trying to peek over the top of Rain’s knee, but before I could actually see anything, she grabbed my hand.

“Are you ready to push again?” the nurse standing on the other side of the bed asked.

Rain nodded as I scrambled back into position.

“Deep breath now, and push,” Dr. Hart said.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it. Push.”

“Good girl, Rain,” the doctor said. “Keep pushing. Deep breath. And push, push, push.”

The nurse continued the chant, repeating what the doctor had started. I held my breath in sympathy as Rain pushed until her face turned beet red, and I thought she might burst a blood vessel. She released her breath in a rush of air and slumped back. I heard a low mewl, then a much stronger, much louder cry that sounded like it was being played on tightly strung rubber bands.

“It’s a boy!” Dr. Hart stood and placed our tiny, wriggling son on Rain’s chest. His pale lavender skin was about two sizes too big. His face was pink, but the more he howled, the pinker he became, until he was almost red. What little hair I could make out was wet and blond and plastered to the top of his head. A nurse briskly rubbed a soft blanket over his skin, cleaning him.

Rain smiled up at me, her eyes brimming. “What do you think, Daddy?”

“Can I touch him?”

Her laugh competed with the robust vocalizations of the baby she held tightly in her arms. “He’s yours. You can touch him whenever you want.”

I eyed the nurse to make sure. When she nodded, I trailed a finger from his shoulder to his tiny, flailing wrist. I’d never felt anything quite as soft, and I worried that my calloused, overworked hands would scratch him. My mind leaped back to high school English and reading Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Maybe I should do like Curley, and wear gloves with Vaseline at night to soften my hands so that I wouldn’t hurt him.

“Do you want to cut the cord, Chase?” Dr. Hart asked, lifting the long white rope that connected my son to his mother.

I took a deep breath. I’d done my reading, paid attention in birthing class, but I still wanted to be one hundred percent sure it wouldn’t hurt him.

“He won’t feel this, right?”

Dr. Hart held out the surgical scissors. “Not a chance. Don’t worry.”

My knees and my hands were shaking, and it took two tries to get through the cord, but I did it.

“What do you think?” Rain asked.

My grin stretched so wide, it almost hurt. “I think I’m in love.” I kissed her. Then I kissed my son.

My son.

Fuck biology. As far as I was concerned, this was my son, whether we shared DNA or not. I was here when he took his first breath, and he’d be my son until I took my last. I swallowed the lump that had crept into my throat and blinked back tears.

He’d been here less than ten minutes, and not only had he grabbed hold of my heart with that tiny fist, he’d turned me into a wuss.

“Name?” the nurse asked.

We had discussed it, but Rain wanted me to have the final say. I’d give her one last chance to change her mind, but without me even opening my mouth, she shook her head and gave me a tired smile. I didn’t even have to think about it.

“Zachary Storm Holgate.”

My son.