CHAPTER ELEVEN
Scarlett
“Samson.”
“What?” Amy’s head whipped around, then the hand that had been holding mine squeezed it harder.
It was him.
How?
Why?
Where had he come from?
Why was he here?
“Dr. Kimbrough, this is Scarlett Adler, the nurse I was telling you about.” Melinda was talking, and I could hear her words, but they all seemed to be coming from underwater. “Scarlett, Dr. Kimbrough will be your doctor today. He’s filling in…”
Kimbrough.
Why did I know that name?
Why was that his name?
Why was he here?
Why was he wearing scrubs?
I didn’t understand.
And there was no more time for questions because another contraction seized on to me. As it took me in its grip, I looked only at him. I didn’t think two people in the history of the world could ever look more stunned.
He wobbled a little to the side but got his feet under him fast enough. Confusion was a living thing on his face as he took a tiny step in my direction.
“Aaagghhh!”
It was a scream of pain but it also carried my own confusion. And something else. Profound gladness. I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my life.
“Dr. Kimbrough…?” Melinda was tugging at his arm, her hands surrounding his biceps, one falling to trace the tattoo poking out from beneath the sleeve. “Is everything all right?”
He shook his head. Literally shook his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead, obscuring the line of tension I once traced with my finger.
Then he was in action, stalking across the room in my direction, eyes moving from Olivia, to Amy, to the monitors and back to me.
“Holy shit in a hand basket,” Amy said in recognition, and he looked at her again. Nodded.
“It appears that way,” he said, the words gritting out from between his teeth.
“What’s going on?” Olivia asked, taking a step toward him, her hand out like a stop sign to keep him back. “What the hell is going on?”
His eyes latched onto mine again, the amber color blazing into me. “That’s a fantastic question…” he glanced at her name badge, “Olivia. That’s the fucking million-dollar question, isn’t it… Scarlett, is it?”
I was overwhelmed. I was hurting. I was at nine centimeters, and so very ready to deliver my babies. But first, I had to know one thing. “What’s your name?”
His eyebrows drew together, a flash of confusion in his eyes. “Langston Kimbrough.”
I laughed. A little hysterical bark of a sound. In the dead of the night, so many times, I’d prayed to know the name of my babies’ father before they were born. I’d bargained with God or the universe or whoever watched over stupid women to give me that gift. It had felt so shameful not to know it, although I’d never uttered that out loud. I didn’t want the babies to hear it come from my lips. Didn’t want them to know I felt any shame at all where they were concerned.
And now I knew it. I fell back onto the bed, the contraction releasing me. The hand of uncertainty let me go too. I burst into tears, and his gorgeous face turned blurry as great heaving sobs made their escape.
Langston took another step toward the bed. “Stop!” Olivia said, her voice higher. “Don’t come another step closer until I know what is going on.”
I reached for her arm, trying to talk through my tears. “It’s him, Liv.” His eyes bored into mine as I confessed. “He’s… he’s the father.” I gave a small smile that held no humor, and not knowing what else to do, finished with, “Surprise.”
Behind him, Melinda hit the floor.
“Shit!” Olivia ran over to our fallen supervisor.
Langston just stood there, looking at me, much like Ross did in the show.
Another contraction sank its teeth — its fangs — into me.
Olivia shouted, “She’s nearly at ten. Can you please check her for me?” She ran for the smelling salts and waved them under Melinda’s nose, then pressed some gauze pads to the cut on the charge nurse’s jaw.
Langston just stood there, his eyes never leaving mine.
Amy yelled in her scariest voice, “Do something, dammit!”
That did it. He snapped to attention. I could clearly see the dazed look disappear, replaced with extreme focus.
Heading to the sink, he washed his hands, then pulled on a pair of sterile gloves. “Scarlett. It’s you. I don’t know what to say,” he said as he pulled down the sheet covering my legs and squirted some lube on his fingers. Then he did the kindest thing possible. He pressed his lips to my forehead as he inserted two fingers into my vagina, pressing in deep. “My god, Scarlett. I can feel it. This is really happening.”
I clutched at his arm. “I know. I’m sorry. I know. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t—”
He slipped his fingers out as another contraction assaulted me like a full body tackle.
“You’re complete.” He stripped off the gloves, tossed them into the nearby trashcan. “She’s ready to deliver,” he said to Olivia, who had gotten Melinda off the floor and into a chair. “Get the room ready.”
I started to cry again as the pressure burned between my legs. He grabbed my hand, not even wincing as I squeezed it. He pushed my hair back from my face with his other hand, color coming back into his cheeks.
When the death grip had passed, he leaned closer to me. “Scarlett, this is going to sound completely insensitive, especially now, but I have to know…”
I nodded, understanding the question before he had to ask it. “You’re the father, Langston. I wasn’t with anyone for months before you, and I haven’t been with anyone since. We’ll do DNA to confirm it for you if you want, but I don’t want anything from you. You can be as involved as you want.” Crap. I sounded like Rachel. “I was planning on doing this on my own. Just because you’re here doesn’t change that.”
His jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I looked at him, incredulous, but then my belly began to squeeze and the burning got worse, and nothing else mattered but surviving the next minute of pure agony.
There was a flurry of movement behind him, and I knew other nurses were coming into the room, pushing the cart with necessary implements, the warmers, all the thousands of things needed to bring these two little ones into the world.
“You’re doing so great,” Amy said, stroking a cool washcloth over my forehead and down my cheeks. She pointed at Langston. “You, on the other hand, need to pull your shit together. Get down there and do what you need to do. You two can talk later!”
Langston nodded and stepped away as nurses rushed in and adjusted the bed, getting it ready for birth. Langston still looked like he could be knocked over by a gentle wind, but he was pulling on his sterile gown, his cap, and eye protection. He was slipping on a new pair of sterile gloves as another contraction hit me.
I knew what was coming next. I could coach a woman on how to push in my sleep. But I was the woman now, and every single bit of that training seemed to have left my brain. When I was told to push, I did, straining as hard as I could, but my eyes never left the man between my legs.
“You’re doing great, Scarlett,” he said, his voice firm yet also soothing. “I can see the baby’s head.” He laughed, looking up at me, those golden eyes holding an expression of total awe. “Red hair. He’s got your red hair.”
“She,” I shot back, even though I really didn’t know which baby would be coming first. It made sense. My hair was red so I assumed my daughter would have red hair too. My brother’s hair had been the color of Langston’s. It seemed right that our children’s coloring would be the same.
“Here we go,” Olivia said and began to count.
The burn. The pressure.
“Head is out. She’s beautiful.” Oh my god, Langston was crying, our baby’s head in his hands as he suctioned out her mouth and nose. I looked down, panting hard, waiting for the next contraction so I could push out a shoulder and get this entire thing over.
“Okay, let’s get her out,” Olivia said, holding my leg up to my chest. “Push.”
She began to count, and I pushed with all my might, watching his big hands welcome our child into the world. “We’ve got a shoulder. Another shoulder.” He was doing it exactly right, calling out each visible part, and I wondered if he was an obstetrician. It was horrible that I didn’t know.
“One more push.”
I’d barely had to bear down when the baby slithered out in a rush and into her father’s strong hands. He looked up at me. “You’re right. She’s a girl. A beautiful girl.” He was talking but also doing the right things, suctioning before lifting her onto my belly then clamping off the cord and taking blood samples.
Olivia moved to assist, and I took the towel from her hands, stimulating my daughter with the rough cloth. There it was. The cry. A little whimper at first, but it began to gain strength as I continued to stimulate her, wiping the excess fluids off so she wouldn’t get cold.
Liv was calling out vitals, heart rate and Apgar score, but I didn’t listen. I already knew she was okay. She was perfect. I was in awe of this tiny little miracle on my chest. I pulled down the top of my gown so the baby could lay directly on my skin, then placed a blanket over her while Olivia slipped a little hat on her head.
Langston was laughing, cutting the cord himself. Amy was crying beside me, stroking her goddaughter’s cheek, and snapping pictures while Olivia did all the immediate assessments while we were still skin to skin.
Langston stood to get a better look. “She’s so tiny,” he said, and stroked her hand with his finger. At the touch, the sweet baby girl opened her eyes and looked straight up at him.
My heart squeezed.
“She’s four weeks early,” I said and watched him do the mental math in his head, nodding as he stroked a finger down her little cheek, smiling as she made a face, blinking with those big eyes again.
I wasn’t ready for the next contraction. I was too busy falling even more in love with the baby on my chest. I wanted a little more time with just her and me — and in some miraculous way, her daddy — but her brother thought differently. I grunted as pain slammed down on me. The baby startled, her arms flailing outwards. Olivia took my daughter, passing her over to Lorie, who had come in to assist.
Langston’s eyes grew wide as he looked everywhere at once. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
I stared at him. He didn’t know. The poor man didn’t know. “Twins,” I panted and gave him a look of what had to be abject misery. “Surprise.”
Like a balloon losing air, he sank onto the stool, his face growing pale as death. Olivia gave him a little shake and began yanking off his soiled gloves. He started blinking rapidly and managed to get the fresh pair on. He checked me automatically, nodding, but didn’t speak.
Olivia spoke for him. “Push, Scarlett.”
The unflappable nurse began to count as she and Amy held my legs up, and I began to bear down again. And again. And again.
“Head.”
It was the first word Langston had uttered since I’d told him he was about to be a father of two. But tears were streaming down his face as the shoulders delivered, and the second baby, already crying, came slithering out in a rush of amniotic fluid.
“A boy.”
A daze-looking Langston placed my son on my stomach and began the work of fixing me up. I took the towel from Olivia, cleaning and stimulating him myself, even though he was wailing quite beautifully on his own. I wanted him on my skin. I wanted him to know who his mommy was.
“Hey, sweet boy. Welcome to the world. You, me, and your sister are going to have lots of fun.”
Too soon, Olivia took him away. She was right to do so. They were twins. They were early. They needed a better assessment. Amy followed behind, taking pictures I knew I would cherish the rest of my life.
After dealing with the cord and delivering the placentas, the man who had haunted my dreams these past months looked up at me, looking a couple years older than he did when he walked into the room. “Any more surprises?”
I laughed and weakly shook my head. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at me as he sewed me up.
When it was done, he stripped off the gloves, then stood, appearing lost as he looked between me and the babies. It was like he didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Say. Be.
I couldn’t blame him.
Making his decision, he moved around the bed and sat down beside me. He took my hand, engulfing it between his big ones.
“I’m Langston,” he said, his eyes searching my face, the tiniest of smiles playing on one side of his mouth.
A little smile played on my face. “Hello, Langston. I’m Scarlett. It’s very nice to meet you.”
A baby cried, capturing his attention. He looked over at the warmers, slowly shaking his head. “So, I’m a dad, huh?”
I nodded and swallowed hard. “Times two, actually, but like I said—”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Shhh… we can talk about all that later. For right now, can I just sit here for a moment? This is a lot to take in.”
Lifting a hand, I smoothed the lock of hair away, then traced my thumb over the line of tension. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Really here. I thought I was dreaming when I saw you come into the room.”
He snorted a laugh. “Me too. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, or that this entire sushi thing had been a setup of some kind. An elaborate punk show with me as the star.”
“We’ll do DNA so you can be sure,” I said, needing him to never doubt for a second that I might be lying to him, or that there was some sort of mistake.
“Shhh… we’re not supposed to be talking about that, remember?”
He was right. There would be time for talk later. Time to tear one another apart with questions.
Right now was not that time.
I nodded. “I remember everything.”