Page 64 of Knotty New Year

“Pax… we’re gonna have a baby,” she panted. The monitors were beeping, the graph on it ramping up again.

“I know, angel, I know. As soon as the doctor comes back—”

“No!” she shouted. “NOW!” She hunched forward, bearing down, and I threw the gown back. A head capped with dark hair was already showing.

Where thefuckwas that doctor?

Candy screamed again, and I moved as fast as I could to the end of the table, yelling for the doctor, or the nurse, oranyone.Behind me, the door slammed open, and the room filled with qualified medical experts. I almost passed out with relief.

“My, my. Looks like your son is almost here,” the completely useless doctor said as she moved me to the side with one hand. Then she ignored me—as she damned well should—and coached Candy for the next few moments.

I watched in awe and wept as my son was born. I stared in wonder and wept some more when the nurse showed him to me. When the doctor offered me the scissors to cut the umbilical cord, I took them with shaking hands. Then I stood by patiently as the medical staff cleaned up the room and gave instructions, while the nurse laid the baby on Candy’s chest.

The nurse’s voice seemed to come from a long way away, as I took in the miracle before me. “We’ll be back to do the normal tests and measurements. But you three take a moment first. Say hello.”

Candy’s dark eyes were red-rimmed as she smiled at me. “Come here.” I perched on the edge of the bed, unable to look away. “Breathe, Pax. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

I’d stopped breathing? Yes. Yes, I had.

“He’s perfect,” I said once I’d followed her instructions. She nodded, tucking a finger inside his impossible small fist. “What’s his name?” We’d both agreed to wait until the baby was born to decide. I had a list of three names.

Candy had a list of thirty.

She chewed at her lip. “How many middle names can we give him?”

“Two,” I said with a grin. “So you get three choices. And nothing weird. None of that Jason spelled J-a-e-z-u-n-n nonsense.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re such an old fart.”

“Brat,” I teased, pressing my lips on the baby’s head, then on her lips, in a soft, slow kiss. “You can choose three names.”

“For now,” she agreed. “Three for you, and then three for the next. And three for all the little Paxsons who come after.”

“So you don’t want to choose?” I asked, half-amused, and half-stunned. “Together, we picked out thirty-three names.”

“Eleven babies too many for you, gramps?”

I blanched. “Eleven pregnancies. I… I can’t…” The baby let out a little cry, and began rooting around for her nipple.

“Not necessarily eleven.” Her dark eyes twinkled as she peeked up at me. “Twins and triplets, remember?”

“If that’s your choice,” I managed to say, though hysterical laughter threatened. “I’ll give you anything you want. Whatever you choose.”

With a smile, she whispered, “I choose it all. As long as it’s with you.”

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