Mum comes tearing down the aisle, the elegant fascinator atop her head flying off behind her. “Where’s your hospital bag?” she shouts as if I’m deaf.
Travis is right behind her. Jared is right behind him. They start to crowd me. I think my brothers are discussing one of them grabbing my ankles and the other my arms and hauling me out to the car between them. Everyone is yelling. It’s goddamn pandemonium.
I rise on my tiptoes, my eyes finding Jake. He’s still standing by the arbour, apparently frozen.
“Help me,” I mouth.
My plea spurs him into action. His bulky muscle shoves through the throng of friends and family until he’s standing in front of me. “Satan’s coming?”
I nod, unable to hide the hard evidence. “She’s coming.”
He exhales, having a holy fuck moment. I know how he feels. This thing has to come out of my freaking vagina.
“Right.” In a single smooth motion, he puts an arm under my shoulders and behind my knees and lifts me. My lace dress trails to the ground, no doubt ruined. He gives me a single look before he carries me out, his eyes crinkling. “Let’s do this, Princess.”
My labour suite is crammed with hospital staff and family. Mum and Dad. Travis and Jared. Evie and Henry. “Everyone out!” I shriek. “Get the fuck out!”
I turn my head to Jake, my hair damp with sweat and our baby crowning. He’s by my side, pale and wobbly. It appears as if a light breeze will knock him over. I grab the collar of his shirt and drag him close so he can see the rage in my eyes.
“Get them all the fuck out of here before I burn this motherfucking hospital to the ground!”
Jake doesn’t leave my side but the midwife manages to herd them all out the door. Each of them are calling out various words of encouragement as they leave, but I pay no attention. I have a baby half out of my vagina. Their platitudes can go suck a bag of dicks.
“The head is out,” my obstetrician announces. “Come look,” he says to Jake.
Jake squeezes my hand and prepares to stand, but I hold on for dear life. “If you go down there to see my mangled vagina I will end you.”
He sinks back down.
“One more push,” the midwife cries.
I slump back in my bed. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
Nope. Fuck you all. I am done. I’ve changed my mind about having a baby. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.
Jake squeezes my hand again. “You’ve never failed at anything you set out to do. Search inside. You’ve got to find that inner strength and pull it out of you. Don’t give up, no matter how much you want to collapse.”
“Arrrrghhhhhhhh!!!” I push hard, rising up on my elbows. “Fuck you! My labour is not a goddamn Eminem song!” I yell on long, pained moan.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “That sounded so much better in my head.”
The wails of a baby render the air. It sounds like the bleating of a little lamb. “Oh my god,” I cry and crumple.
“Congratulations,” our obstetrician says with a big grin. He rises from his seated perch between my legs, our baby held up in his hands. “You have a little girl.”
Jake stands so abruptly his seat clatters back and hits the wall. His eyes are wide with wonder. “Mac, we have daughter.”
Tears are pouring down my cheeks. “And she’s perfect.”
I watch like a hawk from my pillow as Jake cuts the cord. Then they check her vitals, weigh her tiny body, and measure her length. When we’re assured that she’s fine, they fold her in a blanket and hand her to Jake.
His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are beaming. He looks to me. “She’s so small.”
He walks to me and passes her. We’ve been practising our baby passing already with Evie and Jared’s baby, using our nephew as a guinea pig. So his pass is done with relative ease.
I hold my daughter in my arms as the midwife takes photos. Jake puts his arm around me as I look up at her, my smile bright enough to crack the camera lens. Our first family photo.
“I’ll go share the news,” Jake says, eager like a little kid. “Be right back, okay?”
I spend the ten minutes he’s gone staring down at my daughter. “Little Satan, you are early and ambushed my wedding day,” I whisper. “I guess this is going to set the tone for the rest of your life, hmm?”
Jake returns. “Look who I found in the waiting room.”
He walks in and steps aside. Mitch hobbles through on a cane.
My vision blurs. “Stitch.”
A smile forces its way to his lips, but his eyes remain lifeless. “I hear I have a little niece.”
“You do.” I hold up the little bundle for his inspection as he shuffles forward. His rehabilitation includes physical therapy to help him walk again, but his lack of improvement is heartbreaking.
Jake reaches my side and takes our little bundle so Mitch can get a closer look. “Sit down so you can hold her,” he urges.
“No.” He shakes his head, staring down at my daughter. “I’m good.”
“Please,” I murmur.
Mitch huffs and stumbles into the seat by my bed. His cane clatters noisily to the floor, and my brother grunts with irritation. Jake plonks little Satan in his arms.
“We’ve named her Gabriella,” I say quietly. “Gabriella Mary.”
Mitch’s eyes close. Jake takes advantage and leaves the room, giving us a moment. “You don’t blame yourself for her … death, do you?”
“No,” I reply, but it’s a lie. I do. My mind understands that it’s Elijah Rossiter who killed her, but my heart feels differently. It’s something I’ll live with, but I’ll live with it knowing she died doing something she believed in. “Eli killed her.” And now he’s locked away, awaiting trial. “He was the one who pulled the trigger.”
Mitch opens his eyes. There’s a spark of something in them. Something I haven’t seen for a very long time. It’s resolve. The kind of resolve that sets the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
When my brother speaks, his voice chills me to the bone. “And he’s going to pay for that with his life.”
THE END