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Chapter Twenty-Four
Phoebe
“Holy shit, is it over? I’m about to split in two.”
“Stop being so dramatic. The little number thingy only went up a couple of degrees.”
Lifting a foot from under the covers, I shoved my heel into his ribcage. “It’s not a thermometer, Ryker! I’m not basting a fucking turkey!”
He shifted toward the bottom of the bed and leaned away. “Damn, Pheebs, don’t get all violent. I have no freaking clue what I’m looking at.”
I opened my mouth to spew a new round of insults when the second contraction knocked the wind out of me. The pain felt like a hand reached inside of me and crushed every internal organ I had.
“Jesus, Phoebe, breathe! Your eyeballs are going to pop out of your head.”
Air escaped through chapped lips as beads of sweat dripped from my forehead. “You’re not helping, Ryker.”
“Look, I’m like the pregnancy pinch hitter here. I’m totally pulling this coach shit out of my ass.”
“Just don’t yell at me. I need you to be nice to me because yelling at me makes me crazy…crazy, Ryker!” The vein in my temple throbbed way before the alarm on the blood pressure monitor started beeping.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It was supposed to be nine weeks from now. Julian was supposed to be here holding my hand. Instead, I sat with his brother, who I’d eventually stab with the forceps.
I’d been transported upstairs to the seventh floor and strapped to a cable box of wires. My impending emotional breakdown was inevitable. “I’m all alone.”
A timid hand slid over mine. “You’re not alone, Pheebs. I may be freaked out, but you’re not alone.”
“Ry…”
“I never expected to be in this room. I’d planned to be in a bar down the street getting drunk.” A small laugh migrated through my tears. “Okay, maybe not a bar. I may’ve been planning stealth shots in the men’s room, but I knew I’d be here. I wanted to see the look on my brother’s face after he became a dad.” He audibly swallowed. “I don’t know anything about labor, or delivery, or babies, but Julian would expect me to man up. So, here I am, manning up.”
My mouth turned up with affection. “I’m sorry I called you a ball-less douchebag when they put my IV in.”
“Douche dick.”
“Excuse me?”
“You called me a ball-less douche dick.”
“Oh, sorry.”
An amused twinkle centered in his eyes. “Don’t be. Ball-less douche dick was creative. I mean, anyone can call someone an asshole.”
I chuckled and wiped my eyes with my free hand. “Thanks for being here. Whatever I say in the next few hours, I swear, it’s the pain talking.”
“Did you just give yourself a license to abuse me, Mrs. Bale?”
“You know?” Shock stilled me.
“You’re a terrible liar. If you wanted to hide something like that…take off your wedding ring, dumbass.” He reached over and tapped my finger.
Moments passed with his hand still tightly wrapped around mine and no desire in my heart to remove it. I needed his strength. I sensed the same thing resided in both of our heads, and, eventually, I voiced it. “Ry?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s never going to forgive himself if he misses it.”
He glanced at our joined hands. “I know.”
