Page 18 of Property of Shotgun

He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “It’s perfect.”

Twelve hours later, I was finally able to meet my son. They couldn’t bring him to me, so I had to get clearance from my doctor before going to the NICU—something I wasn’t familiar with.

With my other pregnancies, I delivered vaginally, but due to the placenta abruption, I needed a c-section. And let me just say that the people who think having a cesarean is taking the easy way out of birth, are fools. When I delivered naturally, I was up and about an hour after I gave birth. I remember placing my breakfast order as I swayed on my feet, rocking Legend back and forth in my arms.

This was nothing like that.

The recovery was so much worse. Getting out of bed for the first time was excruciating. It felt like someone had taken a hot brand to my stomach. I couldn’t stand without someone’s assistance, and I had a pain in my shoulder that was so intense I thought I was having a heart attack. Come to learn, it was only gas.

Can you imagine? Who the fuck gets gas pains in their shoulder?

The mothers that are flayed open, that’s who. It’s a side effect from the anesthesia and fairly common from what I understand.

I took three steps before I dropped my ass into the wheelchair, and man, that hurt almost as much as getting up. But I was on a mission to see my baby. Shotgun wheeled me to the NICU, and that’s when I learned he let everyone believe he was my husband and Killian’s father.

“Why would you let them think that?”

“No one was giving me any information.” He leaned down, pressing his lips close to my ear. “That’s him over there. He’s a little jaundice so he’s got to stay under those lights.”

My eyes moved to where he was looking, and I saw him.

My little warrior.

He was smaller than his brothers, and he had paper sunglasses taped over his eyes, and a bunch of wires attached to his little body. Shotgun wheeled me over to where he was, and for a moment, all I did was stare at him. Then I leaned forward, ignoring the burning sensation in my abdomen as I outstretched my hand and touched him for the first time.

“Dad’s been doing a good job, but I think this boy is ready to have his Mommy hold him,” the nurse said. I didn’t correct her. In fact, the whole comment about Shotgun being his dad completely flew over my head. I was too consumed by my need to feel him… to kiss him and nurture him. Nothing else mattered.

“Yes, please,” I whispered.

Shotgun locked the wheelchair and stepped aside, giving the nurse room to maneuver Killian into my arms. When I was pregnant with Raiden, I wondered how it would be possible for me to love him as much as I loved his brother. I quickly learned when he was born that the heart grows in an instant, and the moment Killian was nestled against my chest, it happened again. My heart grew to the point that I thought it might explode. And for the first time in three weeks, I didn’t feel so empty.

I don’t know how long I held him, but after a while I noticed my hospital gown was wet. My milk was starting to come in. Unsure if he’d be able to feed from me while being hooked up to all the equipment, I turned to the nurse for guidance. She said I could try and see if he’d latch but warned me that I shouldn’t get discouraged if he didn’t.

I was aware that Shotgun was close by, but I didn’t care. At least not in that moment. I just wanted to feel the connection with my son.

With the nurse’s help, I pulled my breast out from my gown, and guided Killian to my nipple. He didn’t latch or make any attempt to, and despite the nurse’s warning, I became emotional. In turn, Killian started to fuss. Not wanting to cause him any distress, I handed him back to the nurse and wiped away my tears.

That’s when Shotgun came back to stand behind me.

“Do you need a break?” he asked quietly.

As much as I didn’t want to leave my baby, I nodded, and asked the nurse if she could arrange for me to see a lactation consultant. If Killian wouldn’t latch, I’d have to resort to pumping, and because my hormones were in disarray, that made me irrationally angry.

By the time Shotgun brought me back to my room, and helped me get back into bed, I was itching for a fight.

A half hour has passed, and he still hasn’t taken the bait. The man clearly has the patience of a saint.

“Biggie texted me. He wants to know if you’re feeling up to having the kids visit.”

“Of course I want to see my kids,” I retort, but as soon as the words leave my lips, I realize the last time Legend saw me, I was in bad condition.

I may be conscious and not lying in my own blood, but I definitely look rough. I need to make myself presentable for them. Take a shower and brush my hair. Be dressed in something that doesn’t reveal my entire backside.

The problem with that is, I didn’t anticipate going into premature labor, so I never packed a bag for the hospital.

“What’s that look for?” Shotgun questions, pocketing his phone.

“I don’t want them to see me like this. My hair is a mess, and I’m leaking all over the place.”

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