When he’s halfway to the door, Tessie gasps.
He rips around. His heart trips into his ribs and crashes down into his stomach. “Tess? What is it?”
Tessie looks up at him with wide, horrified eyes. Across her blanket spreads a dark stain. “My water broke.”
The wave crashes down, and Tessie lets it take her. Lets it sweep over her in long, reassuring flushes of warmth.
Birth is wild. And she surrenders to the ride.
She wants to be worried, but she’s too happy. Giddy with realization that it’s happening, that Bear will soon be in her arms. Her son.
Their son.
She paces the room. The nurses let her walk, and where she goes, Solomon follows.
For hours.
Bear’s heartbeat is strong on the monitor. Tessie has a plan, and Solomon’s there to make sure she gets what she wants. Though nothing’s gone as planned tonight, she is going to birth her baby her way, the best she can.
She breathes, focusing. Resetting. She isn’t in a small-town hospital. She’s in Chinook, in aspen and pine and cool air and nature. Her body is opening, flowering, readying to bring her son into the world.
She can do this. She trusts her body with all her heart.
She trusts Solomon.
“You got this.” He strokes her hair as she breathes. “Tess, my brave girl.”
Draped across his broad chest, she feels his heartbeat in lockstep with hers. His broad, muscular arms band around her waist, roping her to him. Never letting her down.
“I love you,” Solomon says. “I love you. I love you.”
Tessie sags in his arms, her forehead dipping to his armored chest. “I love you back,” she whispers. Over and over until another contraction hits and she starts pacing again.
She feels lovestoned. High like that time she and Ash smoked a joint in the linen closet and ate an entire bag of Cheetos and got discovered by Aunt Bev. Flying high, cackling like two old witches.
She’s floating.
Hours pass. Outside, the sky is light, the snow still falling.
Pain now. Cramps in her belly. Radiating through her hips, her spine.
Her legs go weak. She doubles over with a groan she usually reserves for eating an entire pizza.
Solomon’s there. Always that big, broad palm guiding her, helping her when she’s not strong enough. His massive hands massage her hips, hold her when she needs support, release her when she paces.
She tries different positions. “These aren’t working,” she says, rising from the yoga ball.
“Handstand?” Solomon suggests, his beard hiding his shit-eating grin.
“Screw you,” she pants.
Like all those women on all those TV shows, soon, she stops pacing and is in bed. She reclines against Solomon’s chest. He holds her exhausted body in his arms. He gives her his strength.
She barely hears Doctor Banai instructing her to push. All she focuses on is Solomon. The jump of her baby’s heartbeat on the monitor.
Focus gives way to frustration.
It’s been hours. And she’s tired. She’s so damn tired. She couldn’t push Bear out even if she was being poked with a cattle prod.
Her head falls back against Solomon’s chest. Sweat drips down her brow. “I can’t do it,” she cries breathlessly. “It’s too hard.”
“You can,” Solomon rumbles next to her ear. Kisses her sweaty temple. “You can do it, Tessie. My Tessie. My brave girl.”
Inhaling the longest breath, she closes her eyes. Then she pushes.
She unravels.
A heaviness down below, a sharp burst, a relief.
Somewhere in the room, someone announces they see the head.
She sobs.
Solomon’s deep voice reverberates in her ears as he whispers, “You’re a rock star. You’re so damn strong. I have you.”
His trust in her bolsters her. Gives her strength. With Solomon here, she can handle anything.
The nurse commands her to give one last push, one last push, and she does.
Gripping Solomon’s broad hands, she bears down. One long, last push, a howl like a wild animal, like Peggy Sue, like the Wilder her son will be, and then there’s a slow sucking feeling and blessed emptiness.
Doctor Banai, head ducked between her legs, calls out what they already know. “It’s a boy!”
Before she can ask if her son’s okay, there’s the sharp, bright cry. Steady and true. Strong.
Bear.
Tessie bursts into tears.
The baby’s whisked away to be checked over. Solomon kisses her temple, smooths hair from her sweaty brow. He shakes beside her, whispering his joy, and then the nurses are placing a baby, a fat pink baby, in her arms.
Love.
It’s immediate and heart-wrenching. Like her soul is in her arms and she’s holding it, only it’s a better part of her. The weight of love.
Tessie only sobs harder when he wraps a finger around hers. They lock eyes, Bear’s intent gaze never moving from hers, like he knows her already. Dark eyes, Tessie thinks. Blue. Brown. What Pantone color they are, she can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. It’s all beautiful.
“Ours,” she says, trembling. She turns her face up to Solomon, who’s standing above her. “He’s ours.”
Her mountain man’s throat bobs. His eyes shine with emotion, with tears. “You did so good, baby. So damn good.”
“Look,” she laughs. “No beard.” Gently, she traces a fingertip across the curve of Bear’s sweet pink cheek.
Solomon chuckles. Almost hesitantly, he runs a big finger over Bear’s downy shoulder. The baby lies calmly in her arms, staring up at her. Tessie’s gaze lingers on him, soaking in every inch, and then moves to Solomon.
She can’t stop the rush of love. This man, who’s been here for her since the beginning, who’s never left her. Who taught her it’s okay to be open and vulnerable. That he will hold her anger and sadness and fix it or sit with it. Whatever she wants. Her choice. Her heart.
It leaves her breathless, faint. There will never be enough time to tell him how much she loves him.
The moment spins on, nurses attending to her as she and Solomon drink in their son.
And then there’s a tug down below. Sharp. Strange.
Suddenly, everyone in the room is moving, examining the monitors, talking in hushed whispers.
“What?” Tessie asks, lifting her head to see Doctor Banai frowning down at the space between her legs.
“What’s wrong?” Solomon’s gruff rumble has her trying to blink, to focus.
The world is heavier than it was only a moment ago. Disconnected. Her head feels like it’ll float away from her body. And she’s trembling. Then a rush of something warm drains away from her. Like she’s leaking.
She is.
“Call a Code Noelle,” Doctor Banai orders. A flurry of movement, of sharp commands, erupts in the room. She looks at Solomon, worry lacing every word. “She’s bleeding.”
It’s awful. The way Solomon’s handsome face changes. Happiness to confusion to fear.
Tessie licks her dry lips. The very act draining. “Solomon,” she whispers. Her heart is a freight train in her chest. The sheets beneath her are soaked. The blood running up her back and into her hair.
He’s tense, standing tall, his worried blue eyes flickering to her, then the nurses. “What does that mean? What’s wrong with Tess?”
“Solomon.” Tessie’s head lolls on the pillow. Her eyelids get heavier and heavier. “Take him,” she whispers, trying to get his attention, rallying all her strength to get the words out. “Take the baby.”
And then Tessie goes limp, eyes fluttering closed. Bear sags in her arms, only to be snatched up by Solomon before she loses grip completely.
Someone’s yelling, the monitors explosive bursts of alarm, Solomon’s shaking her, her name a desperate, ragged chant on his lips.
Stay awake. A woman’s voice. Stay awake, Tess.
An endless sky of black in her dimming vision.
But no stars.
In a hard plastic chair, Solomon sits, every ounce of strength sapped from his body. His head buried in his hands. The waiting room is full. His family, Ash, and Howler sit in stunned silence, barely moving. No one speaks.