Page 83 of Hideaway Whirlwind
Epilogue
Teagan
The wind howls outside, sheets of rain driving across the windows, the delivery room solely lit by the emergency lights when the hospital’s generator kicks on after the power goes out.
“Figures you’d give birth during a hurricane,” Elliott says from his chair to the left of my bed. His chest is bare so he can have his turn at skin-to-skin contact with Killian, who fits perfectly within his papa’s large hands.
I snort, my lower half still blissfully numb from my epidural. Though we’re thankfully too far inland to be classified as part of the hurricane zone on the coast, the summer storm system is large enough to cause widespread flooding across Texas and Louisiana. It was an all too familiar and treacherous path getting to the hospital after dropping the kids off with their Aunt Layla, Uncle Russell, and new baby cousin, Rae.
Elliott’s eyes are bloodshot from crying so hard during my labor and delivery, throughout which he stood at the end of my bed and watched over Dr. Patel’s shoulder because he didn’t want to miss a second of his son being born. The nursesfound it highly unusual, not to mention somewhat disturbing. I didn’t, which is all that mattered, since his arm was long enough to still grip my knee, holding it in the stirrup. Dr. Patel had joked she’d never met anyone, much less an otherwise severely stoic man, who cries as much as Dolly apparently does.
“We’ll need to check the crawlspace under the cabin when we get home,” I tell him, pushing the button to raise the upper half of the bed so I’m sitting more upright. It’ll be another few days until we can leave here, since my tubal ligation is scheduled for later tomorrow, though I don’t know if the storm will end up pushing it back. I’ll stay my happily numb ass here for as long as it takes to make sure I’mfour and done.
Elliott swirls a finger through Killian’s crop of black hair, completely enamored with our newborn. “For what?”
“In case we were sent a few more hellhounds.”
He gives me a questioning lift of his brow.
“Three’s the magic number, right? So maybe fate was waiting for Killian to be born so you and Kendall can get your own hounds.”
“Superstitious now, are we?”
“How can Inotbe? This place…your tattoos…our life.” I raise my hands before I let them drop on the bed. “It’s nothing short of supernatural.” I snap my fingers. “Speaking of which…will you pass me my backpack?”
Elliott moves so slowly, as if worried Killian will break, when he stands to grab my bound-to-be-expensive, quilted black leather diaper-bag-backpack combo. It was my baby shower gift from Layla last month—the one and only shower I’ve ever received, everything done up in black and silver like our wedding. Truly, I couldn’t have picked a better sister-in-law.All the women, really, I now consider to be sisters of sorts, most of all Goldie, though Elliott and I still prefer to spend the majority of our time outside on our property with our kids.
I dig through one of the millions of inside pockets until I find the one with the present I have for him. When Elliott is safely seated again, skimming his lips along the top of Killian’s head, I try to hand him the matte-black ring box gone gray with time that he instantly recognizes.
He swallows hard, his brows lowered and shadowing his expression. “Where did you find that?”
“I stubbed my toe on it in the creek.” Elliott had excavated part of the bank to redirect some of the water to pool on the side, then lined it with smooth river rocks so we could cool ourselves in the stockpot-summer heat and teach the kids how to swim. Water safety is our top priority, after all.
Keeping one hand firmly pressed to Killian’s back and bottom, his other hand trembles when he finally takes the box. “I’ve been looking for that for years.”
“Open it,” I whisper.
When he does, he inhales deeply and drops his head back on his shoulders with his eyes closed. If I could feel my legs, I would go to him, but I have to settle for simply laying my hand on his knee. Once he collects himself, new tears making tracks down his handsome face, I motion for him to hand Killian to me, arranging our son at my breast when he mewls the tiniest of cries.
“Thank you,” Elliott says with a choked voice, closing the box as if to put it away.
I shake my head. “It’s for you to wear on your right ring finger.”
“It’s not going to fit.”
“Yes, it will.” I smile encouragingly. “I had it resized.”
“You did?” Elliott’s lower lip wobbles, and he gingerly pulls the yellow-gold wedding band, polished to a brilliant shine, out of the box. The inside engraving of Meredith’s name is clearly legible after who knows how many years spent among nature’s harshest elements. And when he slides the band onto his finger, he curls his fist over his mouth, crying once more. It’s then that he comes to me, scooting his chair close enough that his knees butt against my hospital bed, and lays his head on my lap.
I comb my fingers through his hair as Killian attempts to nurse but falls asleep, and I fight back my own tears, knowing I made the right decision instead of tucking the ring out of sight, out of mind. What I’m not sure of is if I’m going too far when I ask, “When you and Meredith were discussing having kids…did you pick out any baby names?”
He turns his cheek, sliding his left hand under my blue waffle blanket and my hospital gown to rest it somewhere on my thigh. “Sherry for a girl, Marshall for a boy.”
I give him a few more minutes when he buries his nose in my lap before I ask, “Would you—” I lose some of my nerve until he pushes his right arm between my back and the mattress, resting the entirety of his upper half on the bed now. “Would you like to use ‘Marshall’ for Killian’s middle name?”
“Killian Marshall Berenson.” He’s openly sobbing when the male nurse who was most nervous about Elliott’s behavior during my delivery enters the room.
“Can you give us a minute?” I ask quietly, and the nurse nods fast, his tablet held tight to his chest, quickly retreating.
