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“Absolutely, we’ll cover that next,” the instructor beams at me, and I can almost feel Gail’s gaze, warm and intense, burning holes into my profile. “It’s nice to see when a dad is this involved.”
“Never knew you were such a teacher’s pet,” Gail teases under her breath, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
“Only when the subject’s worth it,” I shoot back without missing a beat, meeting her teasing with a grin. Though it’s laced with humor, it’s the damn truth.
Moving on to birth plans, more dads are asking questions and making observations. I chuckle to myself, knowing it’s because she praised me for doing it. But hey, at least it got people from just sitting here, to actually interacting.
During a hands-on demonstration of breathing techniques, I volunteer us as tribute. The instructor guides my hands to Gail’s shoulders, prompting me to help her practice. There’s nothing sexual about the touch, but my fingers tingle with the contact, the desire to protect her surging through me.
“Deep breaths, just like that,” I murmur, following along because hell, I need the calming effect just as much as she does.
“Look at you, getting all involved,” Gail whispers, her voice a mixture of amusement and something softer, warmer. It’s a sound that strokes over my nerves like a caress, soothing and igniting all at once.
“Wait ‘til I get to the diaper-changing demo,” I quip, trying to keep the mood light, even though part of me is dead serious. I want to master every shitty task that comes with parenthood—even the literal ones.
“Can’t wait to see that,” she laughs, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. But behind the laughter, there’s a shine of appreciation that wraps around my chest like a vise grip.
The determination to show her—show myself—that I can do this, is strong. I need her to trust that I can be the man she needs, the dad my daughter deserves. As we move through the class, every question I ask, every note I take, is a silent promise to them both; I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.
I’m kneeling on a plush, violet mat, my hands awkwardly cupping a plastic baby doll. Gail’s beside me, her laughter bubbling up as she watches me fumble with the tiny diaper. “Like folding a damn napkin,” I grumble, but there’s a grin tugging at my lips.
“More like origami,” she teases, reaching over to adjust my grip. “Here, let the pro show you how it’s done.”
Her fingers brush mine as she corrects the fold, and electricity dances up my arm. My pulse hammers in my ears, not just from the contact, but from the sight of her—so radiant, so fiercely focused. It’s like watching a piece of art come to life, and I’m struck by the thought that this, right here, is a masterpiece I want to be part of every damn day.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” I say, voice low as I master the diapering technique. I catch her eye, and there’s that spark again, that shared thrill of something new yet ancient as time—a bond forming, solidifying with each giggle and touch.
The instructor drones on about the third trimester, detailing the importance of everything on the list on the monitor we’re all looking at. Gail’s taking notes, her brows furrowed in concentration as she taps on her phone. I lean closer, whispering, “You’re gonna ace this mom thing, you know that?”
“Only if at least one of my two baby daddies is half as dedicated as he pretends to be while wrestling with diapers.” Her cheeky retort has warmth flooding my chest.
“Who says I’m pretending?” I shoot back. But the truth is, I’m dead serious. Every question I ask about birthing plans—from water births to epidurals—is me clawing my way through the fog of my past.
“Alright, let’s discuss breastfeeding versus formula feeding,” the instructor announces, and my eyes snap to Gail. She’s licking her lips nervously.
I shift discreetly in my seat, using my hands to hide my unbidden wood. Fucking hell. Who the hell gets hard during a class like this? Someone with a lactation kink, that’s who. I didn’t even know I had one until Gail left, and I started doing more research into the world of pregnancy. All the articles and videos about breastfeeding… yeah, the second I imagined Gail doing it, I had to rub one out.
“Both have their benefits,” the instructor continues, “and it’s important to choose what’s best for your family and lifestyle.”
We move on to parenting techniques—positive reinforcement, the dangers of shaking a baby, and the importance of skin-to-skin contact. With each topic, I find myself imagining scenarios, envisioning Soren, Gail, and me triple-teaming this parenthood gig, supporting each other through sleepless nights.
“Skin-to-skin is great for bonding,” the instructor says. “It helps regulate the baby’s heartbeat, improves oxygen levels, and promotes a sense of security.”
“Next, we’ll talk about the signs of labor,” the instructor moves on, and Gail’s hand finds mine under the table, holding on as we learn about contractions, water breaking, and when to head to the hospital.
“Scary stuff, huh?” I murmur, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze.
“Less scary with you here,” she admits, and my heart does a somersault. That’s all I need to hear—that I’m making a difference, that she wants me here, with her, with our baby.
“Always,” I promise, and it’s not just a word. It’s a vow, etched deep in my heart, as real as the growing anticipation between us, as tangible as the heat of her skin against mine.
The entire class takes almost four hours from start to finish. The website only said two-point-five hours, but with all the questions—and yes, half were probably mine—we almost doubled it. Oops.
As we start walking out, I get stopped by some of the dads-to-be, all of them congratulating me on the Sabertooths favorable place in the playoffs. One even wants to know if I can get him tickets. I mean, I could, but fat chance I’m going to do that for someone who’s stopping me and Gail from leaving.
Finally free of questions, we step out of the classroom, and the look in Gail’s eyes tells me I’ve nailed it. Surprise lights up her blue orbs like fireworks on a damn dark night. She’s floored, and it’s all because of me.
“Wow, Mickey,” she exhales, her voice a cocktail of awe and something deeper—appreciation maybe, or the beginnings of trust re-blooming. “I can’t believe you planned this.” Her hand rests lightly on her growing belly, a protective gesture that sends a jolt straight to my heart.
