Page 111 of Shiver

“Will you two just shut the fuck up?” Arielle grits out, and when I look back over my shoulder at her, I swear I see steam pluming out of her ears.

“Giuliana, please don’t let me miss anything, okay?”

She nods, and I crouch down in front of Samara and our son. I rest my hand on the back of his head, his soft brown curls tickling my fingertips.

“What should we name him?” I ask her, my eyes welling with more tears.

She may not have gotten to grow these little guys in her belly, but she’s finally able to have this moment.

I’d have doneanythingto give her this.

I know she adores Gia, and they share the most special bond that will never cease to amaze me, but this part is just so freaking cool. It’s a first for us both.

“Ajani. It means ‘noble birth’ and is a traditional Jamaican boy’s name,” she tells me.

“Ajani,” I repeat, letting the letters roll around in my mouth. We’ve written a very long list of names but couldn’t settle on anything until we actually met them. Plus, not knowing if we were having two boys, two girls, or one of each made it even more difficult. “Something tells me you’d already decided on this name a while ago,” I tell her, my lips curving in a lopsided grin. “Ajani it is,” I say.

She smiles at me before looking down at him. “Happy birthday, Ajani,” she whispers to our son.

“I should’ve had another fucking water birth,” Arielle screams beside us. She had one with a doula and midwife for all of her other pregnancies, which we were totally on board for, but with the increased risk of complications and there being two of them, she said she wanted the epidural. Ultimately, it was her decision to make, as it’s her birthing experience, not ours.

“You’re almost there, Arielle. You’re so close; their head isright there, just give me another big push!”

I stand to let her squeeze my hand, and the RN comes around to take Ajani from us so the neonatologist can check him out under the warmer. Samara stands beside me, placing a cool cloth on Arielle’s forehead. “Come on, Arielle, you’ve got this. Get them out of there, and I swear to god, I’ll send you and D on the cruise of a lifetime,” Samara tells her.

Arielle’s eyes cut straight to her. “As soon as my coochie is back in working order,youare watchingallof the children so I can get dicked down by my husband,” she growls.

I can tell Giuliana is doing her best to hide her laugh but is failing miserably. Her face contorts, and her shoulders are shaking with the repressed laughter.

I look down and see the head poking through. My eyes are wide as realization cuts through me. “So much hair!” I practically screech, and Samara smacks the back of my head. Then Arielle grabs my hand and squeezes it so tightly I think she might have actually fractured something as pain sears up my arm, but I ignore it. She’s doing the hard part here. A few broken fingers are a small price to pay.

She screams as everyone in the room is cheering her on, and finally, the head is out. “Arielle, don’t push. We’ve got a nuchal cord,” Giuliana announces to the RN, who starts typing in the chart.

“What’s that?” I ask, feeling frantic, my heart rate bounding.

“Calm down, it’s alright. The cord is just wrapped around their neck. It happens all the time,” Samara assures me.

Giuliana nods her head, keeping her eyes trained on our kid. “Babies have a tendency to get a little tangled in there, but like Momma said, it’s completely fine.”

I watch as Giuliana skillfully slips her finger under the cord and reduces it before repositioning, placing her hands on either side of their head and curling her fingers under their jaw. “Alright, Arielle, one last big push and you’re all done!”

Arielle’s face turns bright red as she pushes our baby out, and the moment they burst through, the waterworks are back. “It’s a girl!” Samara shouts, turning her wide eyes on mine.

“Either of you wanna cut the cord?”

I press a kiss to Samara’s cheek. “Your turn, princess,” I tell her, and she gladly does after we wait for the delayed cord clamping—the same as we had with Ajani moments ago.

Once our little girl is all cleaned off, she’s in my arms and on my chest. I hold her snug to me as she wriggles around.

“Welcome to the world, Chiara,” I whisper to her and realize my mistake immediately.

“Chiara, huh?” Samara asks, a brow quirked at me, but there’s no bite to her tone. She’s fully smirking. “When did you plan to tell me you’d officially decided on a name?”

“Uh, right now?” I ask, giving her an apologetic smile as my cheeks burn.

“You’re lucky I’d decided on Chiara already too.” She laughs, and the sound fills my chest with those familiar butterflies I’ve grown accustomed to.

Samara wraps her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder.