Page 68 of His Unicorn Alpha

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I had not expected to feel this way. Though my pregnancy had not been all rainbows and lollipops, I had generally been happyand excited. I had even known that there was every likelihood our triplets would require a lengthy hospital stay as most triplet births were quite premature. I had thought I had braced myself for it.

I had been wrong.

“Come on,” Micah took my hand and led me down the short hallway to our bedroom. The door across from our primary suite was closed, and I was thankful that my mate had had the foresight to ensure as much. I didn’t think my heart could handle the sight of the empty cribs and other untouched items. “Let’s get you showered properly, sugar.”

It was his polite way of saying I stank. I hadn’t washed since he had assisted me into Eric’s shower in the early hours of the morning, shortly after the girls had been taken away to the neonatal nursery room. I had been mostly numb at the time, trying to process the night’s events. He had carefully washed away the blood and other remnants from the birth, had dried me and manhandled me into the first pair of maternity underwear (a horror no living soul should have to experience), and then into soft pajamas which had seemingly materialized out of nowhere.

It was those same pajamas he peeled off my body in our ensuite bathroom, and I cringed away from them when I saw the spots where the maternity pads had not held up. Embarrassment squeezed my insides, and unpleasant heat infused my cheeks, even though my beautiful mate said nothing about the stains.

“Eric said showers are better than baths while you’re still healing up,” he explained softly as he ushered me in to the large shower cavity. “But as soon as you’re cleared for it, I’ll run you a relaxing bubble bath.”

Tears slid down my cheeks, poorly disguised by the warm water cascading over my tender body.

“I…” I paused to clear my throat, my voice sounding gravelly and strange from the days spent in mostly silence. “I am sorry, darling,” I finally choked out, hating how unhinged and out of control I felt. I was a man of science. I prided myself on being rational. However, at that moment, I felt far removed from rational thought or behavior. “I have been—”

“Stop,” he interrupted me, pulling me into his embrace and holding me as I battled the urge to break down entirely. “You have nothing to apologize for. You gave birth tothreebabies only a few days ago. Not only was that a hell of a thing to go through, you’ve got all sorts of hormones in your system, you’re exhausted, and you don’t even get to cuddle your babies or bring them home. You’re allowed to hate that. You’re allowed to grieve the experience you wish you’d had.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my emotions in check. “But I knew this would be the likely outcome...and all three of our daughters are all thriving with care. It is selfish of me when other people in similar circumstances have not been so lucky.”

I knew, logically, that my feelings for my situation did not invalidate anyone else’s, but my emotional state was deteriorating, and I felt as though I was spiraling.

“I think you know you’re not being selfish,” my mate murmured into my ear as the warm water continued to cascade over us. “And I think if anyone else said those words to you, you would tell them they’re allowed to be upset at the situation, wouldn’t you?”

I considered Day and Ollie and Lena, and I nodded, choking back a sob.

“Honey, just let it out,” Micah insisted. “Bottling it all up is going to make it worse. And,” he swallowed, and I felt his throat working as he did, seeing as I had my face buried in the crook of his neck, “I’m hurting, too, Bran. Don’t shut me out. Please.”

The softly spoken admission and plaintive request were my undoing. I clutched at him as the gut-wrenching sobs broke free and I allowed myself to howl out the pain I was feeling. I had no idea how long we stood there under the shower’s spray, while I cried in a way I could never recall doing before.

Micah held me through it, but as I slowly began to calm, I realized that he was crying, too. Guilt threatened to overwhelm me, but he squeezed me tightly, denying the feelings I had to assume had transferred through our bond.

“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” he rasped out and nuzzled the top of my head with his cheek. “This is hard for both of us, and the bond is making the feelings more intense…but I appreciate it, because we’re going through it together, you know? And we are. In this together, I mean. I’m not going anywhere, Brandt. You’re not alone in this. I love you, and I love our girls.”

A rush of conflicting emotions washed over me. I was still upset that my children were not yet able to come home with me, but I was also flooded with warmth and love for my mate. His support and the reminder that I was not alone in this experience were bracing.

“I love you, too,” I said, realizing that I had not said those words since our daughters were born. “I am sorry that I—”

“Nuh-uh,” he interrupted my apology again, “nothing to be sorry for, sugar.” He gently pushed me back and cast his gaze over my face. I assumed I looked like a wreck, but he smiled softly and asked, “How are you feeling now?”

I had to admit that my emotional release had been cathartic. “Better,” I admitted. “Still sad, but…better.”

“Let’s get washed up and go snuggle on the couch, then. I’ll call in a favor with Beck and see if he can swing by the diner and grab us some burgers and fries. I think we could both do with something a bit greasy and carb-y.”

My stomach growled and, for the first time in days, I acknowledged that I felt hungry. “That sounds wonderful, darling.”

And, as we settled in on the couch a handful of minutes later, with the television playing a documentary about sea life, I finally felt myself beginning to relax. The sadness was still there, but it did not feel quite as unbearable with my alpha’s arms around me. I knew that I would still have my ups and downs, but for the first time in days, I began to believe that everything would be okay.

The day the girls were declared stable enough to be held was easily the best day of my life. They still had various wires and tubes connected to their tiny, wriggly bodies, but their lungs were strong enough for them to breathe on their own, and their vitals were good.

Micah and I both cried as we cradled them in our arms, each of us agreeing that we felt far too large and clunky for their fragile little frames.

“They’re like dolls,” he whispered, staring down at our middle child with love hearts in his eyes. Those same eyes rose to meet mine, shining with emotion and more tears. “We need to name them, sugar.”

I nodded and looked down at my firstborn and youngest, one carefully supported in the crook of each of my arms.

Gazing at my firstborn, the daughter who looked more and more like Micah as her wrinkled skin smoothed out and she slowly plumped up, I said, “Lucia.” Licking my lips, I added, “It means light.”

“Perfect,” he agreed. “And this little lady?”