Page 46 of Wicked Things
If looks could kill, I would be eviscerated by the hateful glare Sloane fixes on me. “Go, Zeth. Seriously.Leave.”
Slowly shaking my head, I look to the nurse standing by the heart rate monitor. “She’s trying to call this in, isn’t she? Has she never delivered a baby before? I thought she had. Must have been wrong, though. She doesn’t seem to know how this thing works.” The nurse looks horrified, like she wants to wrap her own hands around my throat and strangle me herself. She doesn’t agree with me, but she doesn’t need to. My carefully designed barbs have the desired effect. Sloane roars with effort the next time a contraction hits her. She screams, and she fights, refusing to allow her exhaustion to claim her. She keeps on pushing, keeps on railing against the pain.
“Pathetic,” I say.
“GET THE FUCK OUT!,” Sloane hollers, but her hand holds onto me like her life depends on it, her nails breaking the skin, drawing blood.
“There she is.There’smy angry girl,” I whisper. I kiss the back of her hand again, my jaw locked, my pulse thumping at my temples. I can see what this is costing her, and my heart feels like it’s swelling in my chest. She’s doing this for us. She’s doing this for our child. This is the reason I called her my angry girl in the first place. I was teasing her back then, but the truth of the matter is that she impressed me. She blew me away with her strength of character and her fire. She’s not just angry. She’s fierce. She’s determined. She’s strong. She’s brave as fuck. She is everything she needs to be in order to withstand being in love with a man like me, and I am eternally fucking grateful for that fact.
“Come on, Sloane. You’re doing it. You’re doing it. Two more big pushes,” Ramesh says. Sloane gives him what he wants. It doesn’t even take two more pushes, though; she manages it in one.
A look of shock travels over her face, and then a thin, reedy cry splits the air in two. A vice tightens around my chest, preventing me from breathing. That sound…
“Nice, healthy lungs,” Ramesh says, as he works between Sloane’s legs, and then…
And then…
God.
Sloane’s hand is shaking in mine. A frightened sob comes out of her as she looks from the bloodied, tiny little form Ramesh is holding up in his hands to me. So small.Sofucking small. “Is he…?” she asks.
“He’s fine. Good color. No fluid on the lungs. His eyes are already open.”
I bolt of adrenalin fires through me, sending me reeling.His eyes are already open.Hiseyes… He’s real. He’s here. And we were fucking right: he’s a boy. The sound of my son’s urgent, terrified crying sounds out again, and I feel like I’m going to slide off my stool and sink to the fucking ground. Ramesh cuts the cord that still connects the baby to Sloane, and then he hands him to the nurse.
“Please,” Sloane whispers, holding out her arms. “I need to see him.”
The nurse doesn’t waste a second in handing him over. She places him on Sloane, gently tugging her gown down so that he’s lying on her bare chest, and the two of us just stare down at the tiny form we created together, neither of us knowing what to say. We’re both silent, awed and fucking terrified as we take him in.
Two eyes.
The tinniest, slightly upturned nose.
A perfect cupid’s bow, and full, flushed lips.
Dark, almost black wisps of hair marking the crown of his head.
His tiny hands flex, fingers clawing reflexively against Sloane’s skin.
He stops crying, his face suddenly serene, as if, after all of the panic and trauma and strain of being born, he finally realizes he is here and he is safe. With us. He is safe with us.
His eyes open, barely cracked against the bright lights, and a moment follows where I’m looking into my son’s eyes for the very first time.
I break down, and I fucking cry.
Sloane cups her hand against the back of his head, a deep and unfathomable love transforming her face, washing away her exhaustion as she looks into his eyes, too.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god, he’s perfect.” A tear slides down her face. “Thank god he looks likeme,” she says.
I huff a single laugh, my voice cracking.
“Here.” She scoops him into her arms, and she lifts him. His arms jerk in the air, his little body trembling as Sloane holds him out to me.
“I can’t. I—” I’ve never felt fear like this before. It digs its claws in deep, raking them across my very soul.
“It’s okay,” Sloane says softly. “You’re not going to hurt him. You’re never going to hurt him. You’re his daddy.” She’s saying so much more with those words. She’s telling me that I’m worthy of the role. She’s reading my mind and seeing the paralysing doubt inside—the doubt that I’m good enough for this. The doubt that I’ll be a good influence in this little boy’s life.
“You’re his lion,” she whispers. “You’re his protector. His best friend. His father. You’re going to be his everything, just like you’re my everything. Take your son, Zeth.”
