Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Behind Xavier, I see his father step forward from behind the horse stalls. He raises a finger over his lips as he approaches his son from the back.
“I’m doing what you wanted,” I try to soothe. “I’ll go. But you have to give me the gun. I won’t leave unless you give me the gun.”
His dad is almost to him. Just a little bit closer…
Xavier shakes his head rapidly back and forth and I see tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “You and the baby have to be safe. From me. This is the only way.” His finger twitches on the trigger.
“Xavier, no!” I shout.
His dad lurches forward in the same moment as the shot rings out.
Twenty-One
“Push! You’re doing great. Just give us another good push!” the perky twenty-five-year-old blonde nurse encourages.
“I fucking hate you!” I shout and then bear down. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
“Oh, you’re a feisty one,” Perky Nurse enthuses. Her actual name is Kristi or Kelly or something. “Your baby is going to need all that wonderful energy as soon as he comes out.”
Oh my God, this woman is unflappable, no matter how many obscenities I shout at her. Turns out the first words my son hears in this world are going to be the four-letter kind because, yeah, pain brings out the potty mouth in me.
Which brings a pang that feels almost as wrenching as the pain currently splitting me in half because I can just imagine his father leaning over me and growling, “Language.”
But little Dean’s father isn’t here.
I think Dean is a good name.
Pritchard told me that Xavier always hated how fancy the first names in their family were. So Dean sounded like a good, simple, solid name.
Not having Xavier here to meet his son when he’s born, I can’t, it’s just—
Oh shit, here comes another one.
“Where is my goddamned motherfucking epidural?”
“You know you’re too far dilated at this point for an epidural,” Perky McPerky Fuck reminds me. “Now push. You’re almost there.”
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiiit!!” I yell then take a breath and push while the pain rips through me. The doctor holds one ankle while the other’s in the stirrup.
“He’s crowning,” the doctor announces. “Keep pushing.”
“Fucking fuck!” I scream.
“That’s right, Precious! You scream your head off.”
What? How did—?
But it’s him. Xavier’s here! He’s not supposed to get out of the PTSD treatment facility for another three weeks but he’s here. In a fresh gown and ridiculous cap and mask they make people wear to be in the delivery room.
“How are—” I start to ask but then I’m racked by another contraction.
“Push, Precious.” He comes to my side and grabs my hand. “I love you so much.”
Tears explode down my cheeks. With how hard I’m pushing, no body fluid is graceful at the moment. Is he really here or is this some pain-induced hallucination?
I haven’t laid eyes on him for three months. When his father tackled him, the gunshot went askew into the ceiling of the barn, thank God. But it was enough to convince Xavier to submit himself to a treatment facility his father had found in upstate New York.
After a few weeks, he had something of a breakthrough and got clear-headed enough to realize just how much he’d almost lost. Then he became so dedicated to getting better, he took the doctor’s suggestion to really commit to the intensive inpatient treatment program—one that had no contact with the outside world, to my dismay. In our last conversation, he promised he would come out and be the man that I and our son or daughter deserved.
“I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t tell you those words before. I love you and I love our son. Precious, we’re about to meet our son.” He laughs and sounds so young and free. I blink through my tears to look up at him. He’s never been more gorgeous to me. His blue eyes have tears glistening at the edges, too. “Because of you. Because of how fucking amazing you are.”
The doctor asks Xavier if he wants to take my other ankle. He looks to me and I nod.
I can’t take my eyes off him as I push.
“He’s crowning,” the doctor announces. “Keep pushing.”
I grit my teeth and push. Xavier squeezes my ankle. “Precious, he’s almost here. Holy Christ, you’re doing it! Our son. Our son!”
His eyes flip back and forth between me and watching for our son.
“One last big push,” calls the doctor.
“You can do it,” Xavier encourages. “I love you. I love you.”
I take a huge breath and then push with every bit of energy I have. When that’s gone, I borrow the rest from Xavier who’s infusing me with his strength through his touch.
And I push our son into the world.
Epilogue
“Dada, Dada.” Dean toddles across the stable to Xavier as soon as he comes in with Samson. “Horsey! Up! Up! Horsey!”