The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(48)

“Elbow Graham in the ribs for me,” I shouted after she was already halfway to the door.



Two weeks later, we made our way to the hospital’s birth center at three in the morning after a sleepless night of contractions. My midwife told me to relax at home. There was no need to labor at the birth center any more than absolutely necessary. Still … this was our first child. We were a little nervous and a lot anxious. I’d heard too many stories about not making it to the hospital in time. And while I loved Ronin and trusted him with my life, it was early March in Colorado, and I didn’t want to have our baby in the back of a car.

“Call my mom and Lila.” I tugged on Ronin’s sleeve as he helped me follow the nurse to our room. My contractions were less than four minutes apart and lasting close to a minute. And they hurt. A LOT!

“I already did. They’re on their way.”

“We should have called them earlier. They’re going to miss it.”

“Maybe. But we won’t miss it. At least I’m not going to miss it. I don’t know what your plans are.”

The nurse giggled at Ronin’s remark.

To say we called it close was an understatement. By the time we made it to the room, my contractions were a minute apart, and I had a strong urge to push.

“Push whenever your body feels ready.” My midwife pulled on a pair of gloves as the nurse and Ronin helped me out of my clothes and into the soft birthing gown Lila bought me.

I cringed after a contraction that left me doubled over in Ronin’s arms. “I can’t push. It hurts too much.”

The midwife chuckled as Ronin helped me into the bed. The nurse suggested I relax in the tub a bit, but I just wanted to lie down as soon as possible.

“Look at me.” Ronin brushed my hair away from my face after I grimaced through another contraction.

I saw it … that look. He was going to say it.

“No. Don’t you dare say it.” I grabbed his shirt to hold him close to me, stressing my point.

He loved me. Why wouldn’t I just let him say it? Well, we’d gone over two years without saying the actual words. We said it with a look and a hundred other words strung together. But mostly we said it with a touch. Our bodies said it for us when he lost himself inside of me and when I found shelter in his arms.

It wasn’t our rainy day. Not yet.

The fact that it had been two years made it even more special, like an aging wine. One day, we would open that bottle, and it would be something very special to be savored.

“I wasn’t going to say it.” He grinned. “I was going to tell you that you have to push. I want to meet our son. He’s mine too. You’ve kept him to yourself long enough. It’s my turn. Give me my turn.”

Only Ronin could make me laugh during such physical pain. “Franz will be a mama’s boy. You know this, right?”

He kissed my lips, and as I started to moan with pain, he moved his mouth to my cheek while stroking my hair. Then he brushed his lips against my ear. “I love Franz with my entire being, as I do his mother.”

Sneaky … he snuck that in there without pointing the words directly at me. Real sneaky.

“It hurts!”

The midwife remained in chill mode with a smile on her face and her soothing voice repeatedly reminding me to “open up.” It’s not like I was trying to close my vagina. It didn’t have an actual door with hinges. It was like trying to put a toddler’s sock on an adult’s foot. Sure … it could possibly stretch that far, but probably not without tearing it. And the sock would never be the same.

However, as I knew in the rational part of my brain, my body was designed to do this. Eventually, it wasn’t up to me. I couldn’t not push anymore. When I made peace with that little biological phenomenon, Franz Benedict Alexander came into the world weighing six pounds, seven ounces.

Franz was Ronin’s German grandfather’s name, which had plenty of perfect meanings like Frenchman and free.

Benedict was my grandfather’s name, the lumberjack who built my home.

Lots of solid testosterone in our son’s name.

“He’s perfect, Evie …” Ronin almost made it. Almost …

A single tear escaped as he kissed Franz’s tiny head while I cradled him in my arms.

My tears were too many to count. A million was my best guess.

The midwife and nurse meandered around the room doing post-delivery things to me and Franz without actually taking him from my arms. Within minutes, a lactation consultant joined us to make sure he attached to his food source.

Everything … everything was perfect.

Several hours later, we had company, just family—my parents and grandma and Lila and Graham. Ronin’s parents were scheduled to arrive in two days. Franz insisted on coming out a week early just to mess up their plans of being there for the birth.

“Evelyn.” My mom tried to cry even more tears than I had cried. She wanted to live long enough to meet at least one grandchild.

I had no doubt she would live to meet all of her grandchildren and maybe a few of her great-grandchildren. My mom embodied the true meaning of strength and perseverance.

“Meet your first grandson, Franz.” After being alert for two hours following the birth and eating like a champ, he had drifted off to sleep in Ronin’s arms.