Page 118 of Play the Game
Evan pushes through another contraction and then another, with barely a break in between. Her face is a mask of concentration, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her hand is wrapped around mine, and I have never been more present for a moment in all of my life. It’s like everything I have ever done, every choice I have made and every step I have taken has led me here, to this place, at this time, watching the woman I love with everything I am and everything I will ever be work to bring our baby into the world.
I am in awe as much as it tears me apart inside that Evan is hurting and I can’t do one damn thing to stop it.
Evan blows out a breath as her body bows forward with another contraction. I wrap an arm around her back, and when the contraction tapers off, she crumbles to the side, leaning heavily against me. I can feel her heart thundering,and her back rises and falls rapidly with the force of her breaths.
Her pain and exhaustion live and breathe.
“Evan, your baby is right here,” Dr. McCallister says. “One more big push on your next contraction, okay?
Evan lays her head on my shoulder briefly and then falls back onto the pillows, the sound she makes something between a moan and a sob.
“I can’t,” she mumbles, closing her eyes, a tear leaking out and tracking down her cheek. “I’m so tired.”
My heart shatters at the pain in her voice. The utter defeat in her tone.
Leaning down, I press a kiss to her forehead, then both of her cheeks, wiping her tears away. “Look at me, baby.”
She meets my eyes, hers teary and exhausted, her face pale. Sweaty strands of blonde hair that escaped her ponytail cling to her face, and I push them back behind her ears, laying a hand on her cheek and stroking her cheekbone with my thumb.
“I know you’re exhausted, and I know it hurts. I wish I could do this for you. I wish more than anything that it was me instead of you. That I could take all of this pain away from you and carry it myself. But you are Evan fucking Rhodes, the strongest and most amazing woman I have ever known, and there is nothing in this whole entire world that you can’t do. I’m right here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. Not now and not ever. One more time, Rhodes. Let’s meet our girl.”
Evan leans her forehead against mine, closing her eyes and inhaling a shaky breath, nodding just as her body tenses with the contraction, her face contorting in pain. I slide in behind her as best I can and wrap my arms around her, supporting her body with mine. Her hands grip mine as the contraction hits, and she bears down once, twice, three times. The sound that escapes her is deep and guttural, and I swear the air in the room changes, the shift palpable, the line between what was and what will be drawnindelibly as our baby rushes into the world, her cry filling the room almost immediately.
Tears of exhaustion and relief pour down Evan’s sweaty face as she collapses bonelessly back against me. Wrapping my arms the rest of the way around her, our hands still tangled together, I press a kiss to her hair, her cheek, whispering to her how much I love her, how amazing she is, and watching as the doctor cuts the cord and the nurse places the baby on Evan’s chest. I go to stand, to give her this first moment with our daughter, but Evan holds tight to my hand.
“Stay,” she whispers. “Let’s hold her for the first time together.”
Together. No word has ever felt more right.
Evan lets go of my hand so she can hold the baby, and I hold her. I swallow hard, my heart squeezing and tears running down my face as I watch the woman I love study our daughter. As she rests a protective hand over her back. As I stare into deep blue eyes that look so much like Evan’s and reach around to stroke a hand over downy blonde hair, tiny fingers, the smallest foot I have ever seen. My hand comes to rest over Evan’s, both of us holding our daughter together, my arms around both of my girls. Everything I need in the world is right here in this bed, in this brightly lit hospital room, as the evening light fades to dusk and the sun starts to set outside the windows.
The nurses are bustling around, and the doctor is doing whatever doctors do in the moments after delivery, but I don’t think either of us really notice. It all fades to the background, the air in the room seeming to still, the entire world going silent until it’s just Evan and me and this tiny, perfect baby who’s a little bit of me and a little bit of her.
It is the holiest, most sacred moment of my entire life.
I could live to be a hundred years old, and I will never, ever forget it. It’s burned into my brain and etched onto my soul.
“I’m so proud of you,” I murmur, skimming my lips overEvan’s neck. “You delivered this baby like a goddamn boss. I love you so fucking much.”
Evan turns her head, and I capture her lips with mine. She sighs, sinking into the kiss, before easing away and leaning back against me, both of our gazes locked on our baby girl. “You know how I like to be the best at things.”
“You’re the best at everything,” I say, stroking a hand up and down her arm and resting my chin on her shoulder, my head against hers. “Thank you for making the most perfect baby in the entire world and for keeping her safe for all these months. For letting me love you both.”
“I love you,” Evan says quietly. She’s talking to me, but her eyes are glued to the baby. “I love you so much. Thank you for being here with me. I never could have done this without you.”
I press a kiss to Evan’s shoulder, emotion clogging my throat at her words. “I only ever want to be where you are, Ev. You’re my family and the love of my life and my whole entire world. Both of you,” I say, my eyes bouncing between Evan and the baby, drinking them both in, unwilling to look away.
When the nurse comes to take the baby, Evan and I both let out noises of protest. “Just for a second,” the nurse promises. “We just have to weigh her and give her a quick check.”
True to her word, a minute later the nurse returns the baby to us, cleaned up and wrapped in a white blanket with blue and pink stripes. “She’s perfect,” the nurse says with a smile, settling the baby back in Evan’s arms. “Six pounds, ten ounces, nineteen and a half inches. Full ten on the Apgar score.”
“Hear that, baby girl?” Evan says. “You passed your very first test.”
“As if any baby of yours would be anything less than perfect,” I say with a smile, running a hand down Evan’s arm and then over the baby, unable to stop touching either of them.
Evan shakes her head, leaning down to press a kiss to the baby’s tiny head. “I don’t need you to be perfect,” she says quietly,her gaze glued to our daughter, who is looking up at her mom with wide eyes. I know intellectually that babies don’t see much right after birth, but no one in this world or any other could tell me in this moment that our daughter is not focused intently on Evan’s face, hanging on her every word. “I just want you to be you. I promise that all I’ll ever ask of you is that you be yourself. We’ll love you just the way you are. Today and every single day.”
Evan’s voice breaks at the end, tears spilling down her cheeks, and I know she’s thinking of how she grew up, forced by her parents into her brother’s shadow, spending her entire life being told she wasn’t enough. My arms tighten around her as I drop a kiss on top of her head. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Rhodes.”
