Page 66 of Uxpectedly Ever After

A flash of panic crosses her face as she looks up at me. For all her bravado, all her insistence that she can handle anything, I've never seen her look so scared.

"I've got you," I whisper, pressing my lips to her temple. “I’m not going anywhere."

Three months ago, we stood in front of our friends and family as Clover became my wife in a small ceremony in our backyard. She was seven months pregnant, glowing in a simple white dress that showed off her belly, and I thought nothing could ever make me feel more complete than that moment.

I was wrong.

Because now, as Clover grits her teeth and bears down with another contraction, cursing my existence with every curse word in her arsenal, I'm watching her bring our son into the world. And holy shit, there's nothing more badass than that.

"I can see the head," Reed says. "One more big push, Clover."

"You said that three pushes ago!" she snaps, but then another contraction hits, and she crushes my hand with a force I didn’t know was humanly possible.

“That’s it,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady. “Almost there, baby. You’ve got this.”

A primal sound tears from her throat—half-scream, half-grunt—and then suddenly there's a new sound in the room. A tiny, angry cry that stops my heart mid-beat.

"It's a boy!" Reed announces with genuine excitement breaking through his usual doctor cool. He lifts our son up so we can see him, a tiny, red-faced, screaming miracle covered in God-knows-what and absolutely perfect.

My vision blurs, the world going watery as the ground shifts under my feet. I've run into burning buildings, felt the floor give way beneath me, seen death up close—but nothing—nothing—has ever rocked me like this. This tiny human Clover and I made, half her, half me, and somehow already his own person.

“He’s here,” I manage, voice wrecked. My hand shakes as I reach toward him but pull back, suddenly terrified of how breakable he looks. "Look what you did, Freckles. Look what we made."

"He's perfect," Clover whispers beside me, her voice raw with emotion and exhaustion. "Banks, look at him."

As if I could look anywhere else.

The tears I've been fighting spill over, streaming unchecked down my face. I don't bother wiping them away—can't even find the coordination to try. Every wall I've ever built crumbles at the sound of my son's cries.

"I know," I whisper, bending to press my forehead against Clover's, my tears mingling with hers. "You're incredible. I don't—I can't even—" My words fail completely, a sob breaking free from somewhere deep in my chest.

She reaches up with a shaking hand to touch my face, her eyes bright with tears and exhaustion but filled with a love so fierce it's almost blinding. "We did it," she whispers. "He's really here."

"I love you so much," I tell her, though it doesn’t come close to what I’m feeling. "I always thought I was brave because I fight fires, but you—what you just did—that's real courage."

Reed personally brings our son over instead of having a nurse do it, carefully placing him in Clover's arms with a gentleness that reminds me why we trusted him with this in the first place. The awkward guy who once rattled off statistics at our engagement party is the same one who's now sharing one of the most important moments of our lives.

“He scores a nine on the Apgar,” Reed says quietly, clearly proud. "It’s an excellent score."

Clover looks down at Noble with such wonder that my chest physically aches. Then she looks up at me, tears tracking down her flushed cheeks.

"Want to hold your son?" she asks.

My hands tremble as I reach for him. I’ve held babies before—but never my own. Nothing prepares me for the feeling of holding my own child for the first time. The second his tiny body settles into the crook of my arm, the entire universe tilts. His face scrunches up as he squints against the bright lights of the delivery room.

"Hey, little man," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I'm your dad."

His eyes crack open at the sound of my voice, and even though I know newborns can't see clearly, it feels like he's looking right at me. This tiny person knows he's mine and I'm his.

"Noble Jensen Priestly," I say, testing his name out loud for the first time. It fits him—strong but not overbearing. A name he can grow into.

"I think he looks like you," Clover says, reaching out to touch his tiny hand. "Poor kid."

I let out a laugh, still unable to tear my gaze from him. “Nah, that chin’s all you. And that little nose.”

“Well those are definitely your ears. Plus, he’s got the same hair color as you do."

We're both crying and grinning and staring at this miracle we created during a thunderstorm almost a year ago. I lean down to kiss Clover’s damp forehead.

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