The baby. They were having a baby.
After the wedding, Tyke and Kenna went back to Chesterville to pack her things. Apart from her job, there wasn't anything or anyone keeping her there. They decided they'd remain in Baltimore together, close to Estelle and the rest of their friends, for a while.
It didn't take long before they wanted to start adding to their family. So they'd gone to a specialist and went through the process of finding a donor, and then Kenna underwent a procedure Tyke didn't know a lot about. He picked out some swimmers from a guy who fit a profile similar to himself, and the doc was going to do something with it that would make Kenna pregnant. He didn't want to hear the specifics. It was hard enough to think about another man rooting in and around a place that only Tyke should be in. Even if it was for a medical procedure. He was just relieved she didn't have to sleep with anyone to get it done.
And now here they were, nine months after, getting ready to welcome their first child into the world.
If she didn't kill the doc or Tyke first.
"Don't you touch me," she said through bared teeth at the doctor approaching the bed.
Dr. Sutherland lifted his hands in the air like she held a gun to his chest. "Just have to check your progress, Kenna."
"Let him check, hun," Sam said. "Once you reach ten centimeters, you'll be a lot happier."
Kenna squeezed her eyes closed, and her mouth contorted as an unholy growl erupted from her. "Drugs!" she screamed. "Give me the goddamn drugs!"
"Too late," the doctor said, pushing himself away from the bed. "Baby's on the way. Anyone who doesn't want to be here for the birth, I'd advise getting out now." He gave a nod to the nearby nurse, who scurried into the hallway. A second later, she was back with two additional nurses trailing behind.
Sam leaned over and kissed Kenna on the cheek. "You're so amazing. We'll be right outside."
"Good luck, man." Ash clapped a hand on Tyke's shoulder.
Estelle was bent over the hospital bed, her forehead pressed against her niece's. Kenna's eyes squeezed shut, a small stream of tears starting to spill down her cheeks.
"I can't," she said, breathy. "Aunt Estelle, I can't do this. It hurts too bad."
"Like hell you can't," Estelle said, clutching a hand to the back of Kenna's head. "You can do this and so much more. You push through now, and when the doc lays that baby in your arms, you won't even remember the pain. It'll be nothin'. But you gotta do the hard stuff. You can do it. I know you can."
Kenna nodded, the motion jerky as she sniffled. "O-okay. I'll try."
"That a girl." Estelle kissed her niece on the cheek. "I'll be right outside."
Tyke approached the side of the bed as Estelle started for the door. Passing each other, she reached up and hugged him. He held on a few extra seconds, drawing courage from the woman's tight hold.
They pulled apart, and Estelle gazed up at him with a smile and one tear rolling down her cheek. She patted his chest. "Take care of my girl."
Tyke gave a brief but reassuring nod before Estelle made her way to the exit.
The hospital room door closed, and Tyke finished his short journey to his wife's side. He offered his hand, and she gripped it with impressive strength.
The doctor, wearing a headband with a bright light on top, wheeled himself on a stool and stopped between her legs. "All right, Kenna," he said. "You ready?"
"Hey, doc," Tyke said, wrapping his other arm around his wife's shoulders. "Don't you need something? A basket? Baseball mitt? You know, to catch the baby?"
The doctor flashed his hands covered in latex gloves. "That's what these are for."
Tyke tried like hell to remember a lick of that shit they had learned at the baby birthing class. She could bounce on some ball. She could soak in that big tub in the other room. Oh, and she should inhale and exhale real hard.
"Kenna, breathe with me!" He tried to mimic the sounds the nurse made when she showed them a few months ago in class. All he got back was an annoyed look.
"What the hell are you doing?" Then she screamed at ear-piercing volume.
"That was a good one," the doc said. "Give me another one of those."
"She screams like that again, Doc," Tyke said, "and I'll do something to make you scream louder. You feel me?"
The doctor ignored Tyke's absolutely serious threat, and said, "That's it. One more. Come on, Kenna. You can do this."
She let out another horrific wail that made Tyke want to punch something until it broke every single bone in his hand.
And then he heard a cry. A beautiful, loud, full-bodied cry. And it didn't freak him out. Not one bit. In fact, when that doctor lifted a squirming little body into the air, and he saw a straight nose and strong jawline like his, Tyke's eyes went glassy and he had trouble breathing.
He stared at his wife who looked so radiant she should've had a halo. "You're incredible," he said. "You did it. You just endured all of that pain for our family."
Tears dropped out of her eyes. "No, we did it."
"Bryan," he heard the doctor say. "Do you want to hold your son?"
A son. He and Kenna had a son. He was theirs. Happiness like he'd never felt-joy that he'd never thought possible-bubbled up inside of him, making Tyke feel like he could take on the world.
"Uh, sure," he said to the doctor. After a few sniffles, he swiped a forearm across his eyes and blinked to clear his vision. "What do I do?"
"Just put your arms out and hold him," Kenna urged.
Doing as she said, he held his arms straight out.
"More like this." One of the nurses adjusted his arms in a way that felt completely unnatural. But he figured she knew more than he did about holding babies.
A little bundle of blankets with a head of soft, fuzzy red hair was placed into his arms, and all he could do was stare. "Little Spike," he said in awe.
Kenna laughed. "After the crab? Bryan, we are not naming him Spike."
He didn't care what they named him. Just as long as he was theirs.
"What do you want to name him then?" he asked, still not taking his eyes off the amazing little creature.
"We have time to decide," she said back.
They did have time. An infinite amount of time.
Tyke shifted his son into one arm so he could sit and wrap his free arm around his wife. She curled into his shoulder, gazing at their child, and he knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what happened from this moment forward, Tyke was going to do everything in his power to make sure his little family always knew how much he needed and loved them.
For as long as he lived.
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Acknowledgments
Always first and foremost, huge thanks go to my family. Keith, who always has my back, and my boys who love me even on my worst days. Thank you for supporting me and giving me the time I need to be sane and write.
To you, the reader of this story, On Her Six, and In Walked Trouble. You are why I do what I do. You are who I think about when I sit in front of my computer. I just want to make you laugh, smile, swoon, and gasp. Thank you for giving a newbie author like me a chance. I love you so much.
To my editor, Alycia. Thank you, thank you, thank you for believing in me and making this entire series shine. Your guidance has been invaluable. I'm indebted to you.
To Ninny. For sharing stories (both real and fictional) with us and encouraging our imaginations to run wild. Grandmas like you are one in million. I'm forever envious of the life you lead and the amazing experiences you had.
To my critique partners, Misty Waters and Laura Ward, for your honesty and encouragement. I'm blessed to have found you both. Your advice and time mean more to me than you'll ever know.
To the bloggers and social media gurus who posted about the Under Covers series. Thank you for your time, your reviews, and your passion. You help nobodies like me get noticed, so thank you for your help!
To Kim at Read Your Writes, who reached out and admitted to being my stalker. I'm so flattered!! Thank you for loving the words I've put on a page and for making my dream come true!
To Jillian, for dragging me to that Chris Young concert in Nashville. And for the raunchy messages about CY at two a.m. No one makes me laugh like you do. Thank you for your friendship.
Now seems a good time to thank Chris Young. I named this book after my favorite CY song, and it fit the essence of the story perfectly. You have an amazing gift of singing. Thank you for sharing it. "The Man I Want to Be" was on repeat while I wrote and edited this book.
To my first Chris love. Mr. Hemsworth. You, too, have a gift. A very special gift, which I'm not going to elaborate on here because my husband will eventually read this. Let's just say if you and Elsa don't work out and you ever wanted another set of twins … never mind. I have very high expectations. I'd like to think you'd live up to them, but I don't want to be disappointed for all eternity if you can't. My fantasies are extremely vivid. It would be hard to match. (Unless you bring home that Thor costume. The eye patch, too. Then let's talk.)