Irresistibly Dangerous : A Marriage of Convenience Romance (Irresistibly Yours Book 5), page 26
“Oh, thank the elves you picked up.”
“What’s going on?”
“So, funny, not so funny story. My water broke about two hours ago. No big deal as I’m just hitting thirty-seven weeks, except the road to the hospital is closed because there is a major accident there, and no ambulance is available to come to get me because they’re all at the accident. Apparently, it’s really bad. Like a thirty-car pile-up with a lot of injuries.”
Fuck.
She starts panting into the phone. “I tried calling Georgia, but she didn’t pick up.”
“We’re outside letting Alice do her thing. Hold on.” I move my phone away from my ear and set it on speaker so Georgia can hear. “Brooklynn’s in labor,” I tell Georgia. “Her water broke.”
Her eyes pop open wider than dinner plates. “Brooklynn, what was the fluid like? Was it clear or bloody, or did it have some green stuff in it?”
“Um, first of all, ew. Second of all, it was clear.”
Georgia rolls her eyes but breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good. How far apart are your contractions?”
“They were like fifteen minutes apart when this all started, but now they’re closer to three minutes.”
Georgia grabs my arm in alarm. “Why aren’t you going to the hospital?”
“There’s a massive accident,” I tell her. “The road there is blocked, and all EMS crews are stuck on the scene. Welcome to Maine.”
“Welcome to Maine?!” Georgia screeches incredulously. “Nu-uh. We’re on our way. Lenox just informed me he has a plow. We’re coming now. Whatever you do, do not push until I get there.”
“Right.” Brooklynn pants. “No pushing.”
“Good. We’ll be there soon.” Georgia hits the end button on my phone and then runs into the house, skidding on the hardwood floors in her wet boots and nearly wiping out, only to save herself at the last second and race for the stairs.
What the absolute fuck? Is she actually planning to deliver Brooklynn’s baby?
“Lenox, let’s go!” she yells from somewhere inside.
I guess she is.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and give Alice the whistle that lets her know she needs to get her ass inside. She comes skipping in, kicking snow and sending it flying behind her. I wipe her down with the towel I keep here just as she enters the back door, but then I’m quickly closing and locking everything up and gathering my shit.
“Georgie?!”
“I’m changing and gathering up my stuff. Thank God my friend sent me this box.”
I don’t ask. I just grab my own first-aid kit and gather things like internet boosters and mainstream laptops because I don’t know what sort of videos or internet access we’ll require. That’s how my brain works. Thankfully, Georgia doesn’t require a YouTube tutorial on delivering babies, and within minutes she’s flying down the stairs wearing scrubs with a large bag banging heavily against her side.
I snatch it from her and take her hand, leading her out to the garage and then down and around the corner toward the attached barn, where I keep things like a tractor, my motorcycles, and the large truck with the snowplow.
“How many vehicles do you own?”
“Several.”
“Several,” she mocks me in a deep voice. “Okay, Batman. We get it. You’re super fucking cool and sexy. How do you have so much money again? Something to do with your huge brain and stock markets, was it?”
I shake my head at her as I help her up into the truck, shutting the door behind her and racing around.
“So, the first rule of delivering babies is you do not talk about delivering babies,” she says as I start up the loud engine, pressing the button on the automatic garage door.
“What?” I murmur incredulously, my heart already hammering in my throat, and we’re not even there yet.
“You don’t. I mean, it’s almost bad luck. But I’m excited. I likely shouldn’t be, and I’m obviously nervous too since I’ve never delivered a baby outside of the hospital before and Brooklynn is on the earlier side of being full-term, but fuck do I miss this.
I throw her a side-eye as I back out into the snow, the large tires of this truck rolling over the deep bed of it, flattening it down. I close the bay door and spin the truck around, using the shifters to lower the plow and clear our way out so we can get to Brooklynn.
“If you love it and miss it that much, I will build you a clinic.”
Her breath hitches. “You will?”
I laugh, but it’s shaky. So are my hands. I’ve never been around a baby being delivered, and while I don’t love people outside of my people, Brooklynn is the second closest to them.
“Baby, I’ll build you a goddamn birthing center.”
“I have my own money, even if there is something wildly sexy about a man willing to do anything to make his woman happy. But I don’t know, you think?”
“I think.”
“Yeah,” she says dreamily. “Me too, actually. My clinic will be dope. We’ll do all the women’s health stuff.”
“With Georgia O’Keeffe images on your walls?”
She sputters out a laugh. “I never put that together until now. She painted flowers that look like vaginas, and I help vaginas bloom into flowers.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that didn’t come out as poetic as it sounded in my head. But she is my namesake, sorta, even if I’m named after my mother’s great-grandma Georgia.”
Waves of white flow on either side of the truck, like the parting of the Red Sea, as I plow through the path that leads us back to the road. “Georgia, I have no clue what you’re saying right now.”
“Samesies. I’m just amped. It’s adrenaline rambling. I wish my paperwork for my Maine license were already approved.”
She falls silent after that, a little tense as the truck digs through mountains of snow in the dark, scooting through trees in ways that make her breath hitch, but she doesn’t have to worry. I’ve done this drive so many times I could do it with my eyes closed.
Five minutes later, we hit the main road that hasn’t been plowed in at least the last few hours. I curse under my breath but push us along. Brookylnn and Max’s house is on the other side of town, and by the time we reach their house, I think Georgia is on the brink of her adrenaline rush.
The second the truck stops, she flies out and trudges up the front steps through the thick snowbanks that have settled there, then pounds on the door.
I grab her bag—the one she forgot in the truck in all her excitement—along with all my stuff and follow her up just as the door opens, and a harried Max greets us with the look of a man wandering through the desert only to spot an oasis when he sees Georgia. I can’t imagine how scared and helpless he must feel with Brooklynn in labor and not being able to get her to the hospital.
I follow past her, clapping Max on the shoulder. “Thank you,” he says and I give him a nod because he doesn’t need to thank me.
Brooklynn is in their living room, her head down on the arm of the couch, her body crouched, her face twisted in visible pain. Shit. This is really happening.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Scared out of my wits has a very new meaning in my vocabulary. Brooklynn is drenched in sweat, wearing a short, loose black dress, and bent over the side of her sofa with her forehead pressed down in the arm as she works through a contraction.
“The ambulance told us that they’re forty-five minutes out,” her poor husband Max tells me, his hands wringing in front of him. “I had nine-one-one on the phone for a while, and they were going to walk me through what to do, but I—”
I give him my best version of a reassuring smile, the one I give to all my patients no matter what’s going on. “I’ve got this.”
I hope. I’m honestly terrified, and I don’t know if I have this because I have no monitors, nurses, or backup help should I need it. I don’t even have a lot of equipment, practically none, actually. And when the baby comes, I don’t have a lot for him either. I throw on my stethoscope and reach the diaphragm around to Brooklynn’s chest. Her heartbeat sounds good, but I hate that I don’t have a blood pressure cuff.
I just have to pray that I won’t need anything beyond what I have and what I know.
Max blows out an uneven breath and collapses into a chair, his head dropping to his hands as he starts to shake. The poor guy thought he was going to have to deliver his child. I nod for Lenox to go over and comfort him, but Lenox isn’t catching my drift. His eyebrows pinch, and he gives me a quick head jerk, like he wants me to spell it out for him. I give him and then Max a pointed stare and a very obvious head bob.
Lenox is still confused and truly, that’s just so Lenox I can’t even.
I sigh. “Comfort him, Lenox. Get him a drink or give him a pep talk or do whatever it is guys do.”
“I’ve never in my life given anyone a pep talk.”
Brooklynn releases a wrecked breath. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“I don’t even know what to say to that, but I need to check Brooklynn’s cervix, and I’m guessing she doesn’t want an audience for that.”
“I don’t,” Brooklynn agrees, but her expression is very serious, and she’s not moving much, her position holding which tells me she’s at the transition phase, which could mean she’s close.
“Exactly. So please leave the birthing theater to us women, because this is what we do. Right?” I peer down at Brooklynn as I rub her back.
“Right,” she grits out as another contraction starts to take hold of her. I stand her upright and drape her arms over my shoulders, letting her lean into me.
“Hum, Brooklynn,” I direct. “Humming helps with the pain. Relax your facial muscles and shoulders as much as you can. Visualize a warm, bright light on your body. See it. Hum to it all the way through your contraction.”
“Ah! It fucking hurts.”
“I know. I know it does. But visualize that light and hum to it. That light is warm and feels good. That’s it. Keep leaning on me. Bend your knees. You’ve got this.”
I glance over at Lenox, who is paler than I’ve ever seen him. “When her contraction stops, I’m going to check her. Now is the time to go.”
“Right. Just.” Brooklynn pants, clinging harder to me. “Be here when it’s time, Max.”
Max rises off the chair and comes to us. He takes her from me and cups her face in his hand so he can look directly into her eyes. “There is nowhere else I will be. I will be holding your hand or your leg or rubbing your back or whispering in your ear or whatever you need me to do. But I will be here every second of you birthing our son.” He blows out a breath. “But I’m so fucking glad Georgia is here too.”
Brooklynn presses her forehead to his. “Me too.”
“Great. Me three. So now Lenox is going to take you out of here for a few minutes. I promise to call you back when we’re done. Lenox, you’re on Max.”
Lenox hauls Max away from Brooklynn and drags him off to the kitchen. Now that Brooklynn’s contraction has subsided, I guide her over to the chaise part of their couch, that is already wisely without the back cushions and is lined with a plastic tarp and sheets over it. I kneel down beside her, cup her jaw in my hand, and drag her dark eyes to mine like Max just did.
“Hey, babe. You hanging in there?”
She swallows, and a tear tracks down her face. “I’m scared. I didn’t want to say it in front of Max, because he’s already losing it, but I really, really am.”
“I know. It’s okay to be scared, but we’ll get through this with each other’s help. Got it?”
She pushes some of her sweaty hair back from her face. “Yes.”
“Great. I have a doppler and some basics that my friend sent me, and I’m going to check your cervix. Okay?”
She nods, but she can’t mask the overwhelming fear in her eyes or the way she’s barely hanging on.
“Women have been doing this for centuries, and I’m more than trained. But what I need from you is honesty. I don’t have monitors or anything else, so I’m going to have to rely on your accurate description of how you’re feeling.”
“I promise.”
I give her a bright smile. “Alright. Let’s do this. Is there anything I should know about your pregnancy?”
“It’s been normal so far. Healthy.”
Thank God for that. “Great.” I snap on gloves and use a large dollop of Vaseline that I brought with me on her belly since I don’t have ultrasonic gel. The good news is the Vaseline will also help when it’s time for her to push. Taking the probe of the doppler in my hand, I smear it into the Vaseline.
Loud static fills the room as I slide it around, moving lower, lower, and then to the right, before we hear the loud woosh, woosh of the baby’s heartbeat.
“That sound never gets old. One fifty-two. He sounds good and strong.” I give her a reassuring smile, and more tears fall. “He’s low though,” I tell her, considering the diaphragm of the probe is a little above her pubic symphysis. “Do you remember his approximate weight on your last ultrasound?”
“Um. I think they said he was six pounds and three ounces.”
“Fantastic. That will make this easier. I’m going to check you now, okay? I’m also going to use some of the Vaseline on your opening. I know this is TMI, but you’re going to feel my fingers doing things down there, and I want you to know why I’m doing this. The Vaseline will help smooth the canal and make it easier for the skin of your vaginal opening to stretch. That will reduce the likelihood of tearing and make it easier for your little man to come out.”
“I like the sound of all of that. Georgia Monroe, you’re my hero.”
I bark out a laugh. “You just Ferris Buellered me.”
“I did. But ah!” She tenses up, her face pinching up, her eyes scrunching shut as she fists the sheet beneath her. “It’s… a lot. A lot of pressure.”
“Do you feel like you have to push?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Okay. You’re doing great. Hum for me.” I have the doppler still on the baby because I want to make sure his heart rate doesn’t go low during the contractions. “The moment the contraction is over, I’m going to check your cervix.”
I continue to monitor her and the baby as best as I can through the contraction, and the moment it’s over, I reach my lubed and gloved hand inside her, wishing I had sterile gloves.
I don’t get far. I don’t even reach her cervix because there is something blocking it.
“You’re fully dilated because I’ve got the top of your little man’s head on my fingers.”
“That explains the pressure.”
“It most certainly does. I don’t have anything to give you for pain. We’re doing this au naturel.”
“Fabulous. Good thing I pierce people for a living and can handle pain. But I need to push.”
“Wait for the contraction to come and start pushing. Max!” I yell, and both he and Lenox come tumbling out of the nearby kitchen as if they were waiting by the entrance. “She’s ready,” I tell him, and I swear, the poor guy is about to pass out. “So, this is what I need.” I hold up the probe. “I would really love you to keep this on the heartbeat as much as you can. While she’s contracting and pushing, it will flutter out most likely, and you might lose it the farther south he goes, but as much as we can, I want to monitor him.”
Max shakes his head as if English is far from his first or even second language.
Lenox comes in and takes the probe from my hand. “I’ve got it.”
I blink at him. Holy shit. Lenox is kneeling beside Brooklynn, pressing the probe right above her pubic bone.
“Lenox, if you look at my—”
“Brooklynn, that is the last place I ever want to look.” He shifts so that his back is to the birthing field, his eyes trained only on her stomach.
“Brilliant. Now that that’s sorted, Max, you have two choices. Either you’re up by her head as her birthing coach or down here assisting. But I cannot have you passing out on me.”
“Birthing coach,” he says without missing a beat and climbs on the sofa, crouching by her head and holding her hand as he speaks in a low soft tone by her ear.
“Like this?” Lenox asks, pressing the probe in and moving it a little when he loses it for a moment. I didn’t think I could ever be more in love with him than I already was, but I was wrong. Because I just fell so in love with him all over again. Harder than ever. He’s a nervous wreck, same as Max, and Brooklynn, and even me, only he’s even more out of his depth here since he’s not the dad.
“That’s perfect.”
He gives me a wink. “So are you.”
Oh God. My ovaries are overfiring right now, but I manage to bring myself back to the task.
Brooklynn lets out a scream of pain, her body tensing up once more. “I have to push!”
“Push, Brooklynn. Push for a long three-count and break for one and start again until the contraction subsides. That’s it. Keep going. Add to it. Max, help her count. Keep her focused.”
“Ah!” Brooklyn screams. “It hurts. Fuck!” But she’s pushing like a champ, and when the contraction subsides, I tell her to rest. We do this three more times. Each time the baby is progressing nicely, and then on the sixth go, I manage to get my hands on his head, helping to position him as he moves and then his shoulders.
“Stop pushing,” I command. “Max, I need the towel. Bring me the towel.” Max rushes over with a pile of clean towels, and I pull the baby out and immediately cradle him with one. A wet, high-pitched wail hits the air and talk about a sound that never gets old.
I’m all breathless smiles as I place the baby on Brooklynn’s chest so she can hold him against her and keep him warm.
“Congrats, Mom and Dad. He looks great.”
Max is up by Brooklynn’s head, holding her, speaking to her as they both stare in wonder at their newborn son with his dark eyes and dark hair that so closely match his mother’s.
“Thank you,” Brooklynn cries. “Oh God, Georgia. Thank you so much.”
I suck in a shaky breath, overwhelmed. I don’t usually cry during deliveries, though the magic of bringing new life into this world is never lost me, but tonight I’m crying. I’m crying hard because everything turned out okay. Against all odds, we brought this baby into the world, and he’s perfect.
