Bedwrecker(92)

By the time I’m ready, he looks as exhausted as I feel.

Suddenly, a knifelike pain radiates from my hip bone to my pubic bone and I can’t move. I hold my belly and scream.

He grabs for my hand and squeezes it. “You got this, Maggie, you got this.”

I search for his eyes, which are already on me. “You’re right. I’m badass. I got this.”

“You are so badass.”

Laughing, I take a badass breath. “Okay, I’m ready. Are you?”

Keen finds my lips. “Never been more ready in my life.”

From the car I watch as he exudes control and calls Cam, his brother, and to my surprise, his mother too, asking them all to meet us at the hospital.

The joy only lasts so long because my insides feel as if they’re twisting inside out at this point. The lower belly pressure is insane. No one told me labor is the worst cramps you can imagine times a million.

At the hospital I’m quickly whisked to a room, given an IV, and asked if I want an epidural. Keen and I had already decided I would take the epidural.

Pain isn’t something I tolerate well.

And we all know that.

Emma is the first to arrive, with tears in her eyes as she squeezes my hand to help alleviate the power of the contractions. Brooklyn arrives just as my epidural takes effect, thank God, because I really didn’t want to be screaming in front of him. I’d never live that down.

Shortly after that, Cam and Makayla show up with my suitcase that I am certain contains absolutely everything I will need and more.

When the nurse calls the doctor and time approaches, they all leave and go to the waiting room. And it’s just Keen and me, and our soon-to-be-born son.

The doctor comes in and I begin pushing. At first I think there is no way I can do this—the pressure I feel everywhere is way too intense. But once it subsides, I push again and again. My hand is gripping Keen’s tightly, and he grips mine with equal ferocity.

Keen makes a small noise, and I look up at him and see amazement and wonder on his face. My eyes drop to where his are locked and I see our baby’s head crowning.

Intense stinging radiates from my core as I push harder and scream louder. Then, just like that, our baby emerges into this world.

His cries are hoarse but steady as if he’s having little tantrums, just like his father, or yes, maybe just like his mother.

“Do you want to do this?” the doctor asks Keen. He nods and cuts the cord.

“Can I hold him?” I ask with tears of pure joy leaking from my eyes.

The nurse lays him on my chest for only a brief moment, but long enough for me to feel the beat of his heart. The feel of his skin. The sound of his breath.

This little person is ours.

Our baby.

We made him.

“He has dark hair,” Keen says, his voice strained with emotion as he tries to hold back his own tears.

The nurse takes him from me. “The doctor just has to examine him and we will have him right back to you.”

Keen squeezes my hand and presses a kiss to my forehead before he follows her. When he returns he’s grinning ear-to-ear, holding our baby bundled in a blue blanket.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, unable to wait another minute.

“He’s perfect,” Keen says as he crosses back over to me and carefully places our baby on my chest.

I study his little face—the shape of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. Suddenly he opens his little eyes and lets out a loud cry. That’s when I see his perfect dimples and blue eyes so much like his father’s. With tears of joy, I look up at Keen and say, “Presley. Let’s name him Presley, after Elvis.”

Keen’s grin is wider than I have ever seen. “Presley is perfect.”

And as my eyes shift from the baby to Keen and back to the baby, I think some fairy godmother somewhere had a plan for me, and it couldn’t have ended any more perfectly.

Hours later when I awake, my eyes flutter open and closed, and within seconds Keen’s soft lips are on mine. Although he is barely skimming his mouth across mine, I can feel the heat that sears me every time he touches me.

Floating back from that place his kisses always take me, my eyes lift to find Presley safe and secure in Keen’s arms.

Seeing them together, observing the state of bliss on Keen’s face, I know a thousand times over that Keen was wrong when he said he didn’t know what love is.

And more than that, I know I was dead wrong when I said I didn’t believe in love . . . because I’m looking at it right now.



And Keen & Maggie live happily ever after.

The End



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