Celia's POV
Oh Mylanta, my nerves are going to send me into early labor.
What the hell is Jason thinking!? Are we that desperate?
My insane, overworked, insane, driven, insane boyfriend blinked at me, one flash of his enviable thick lashes after another. "Two more transports, Cee."
Two more, my swollen ass.
"You said that - ahh."
A sharp pain in my ribs, this future soccer player's favorite target, released a grunt from between my lips. Another one left me as I palmed the edge of the sofa, black, leather, and ugly as I fought gravity.
I didn't know I'd taken gravity for granted until I wobbled, blind-footed on swollen ankles, with a constant forward pull on my lower back and a bowling ball pressing on my pelvis. Correction: It was a well-positioned head, leaving my ribs as prime kicking targets. My stomach stretched in dimensions I didn't know possible, I popped antacids like a garlic lover's breath mints, and I was fairly sure my organs were permanently displaced from their previous locations.
Thirty-two pounds gained and swelling fast, until now I lived on borrowed time. I wanted this pregnancy to last as long as possible. I needed more time, evidenced by the hurried way I rushed through a medical billing and coding certification instead of my BSN program.
So far, baby Rivera - since he or she would have Jason's last name - cooperated. Every ultrasound, despite a couple 'oops' moments that ended up being Braxton-Hicks, showed the baby was head down and my cervix nowhere dilated.
Thanks to Juneau's help and studying support, I passed my MBC certification. While nowhere near the nursing dream future I started out my BSN program with, my uterus had other plans. I was able to work part-time from home, which was adequate for the short-term.
At thirty-nine weeks and four days, I was one rib kick away from reaching inside myself with an eviction notice to jumpstart the labor process until Jason dropped one last-minute bomb on me.
Now I'm ready to sew myself shut until Jason gets back here and I can glue him to my side.
My breath wheezed, drawing Jason's concerned eyes. "Sit down," he cooed in such a soft, gentle voice, my shoulders scrunched up. I wanted to punch him.
Nuts or face work.
"I don't want to sit down!" I threw my hands up, shoving away the sewing basket he offered me, my go-to relaxant. "I want to clean the baseboards and shower tile grout and fuck, those crumbs in the back of the freezer are making my heart palpitate -"
"If it bothers you that much." His lips rolled inward, twitching up at the corners with a suppressed smile. "I'll get Damian to do them."
I huffed because of course Damian was in no position to do my nesting. We shared an OCD-level of cleanliness, but the man barely functioned on his own, understandably. "He's dealing with enough."
If I squinted my eyes closed enough, those two tall, handsome men looked very similar. With dark brown hair cropped into the same, boring high and tight style that was best suited for public service, stacked muscles, golden highlights in their brown eyes, and beautifully bronzed skin, many gaping mouths were left dry.
The one obvious difference between the cousins being my boyfriend actually smiles.
Personality-wise, they were drastically different. Dark and broody, Damian was the adult male version of the 'bad boy' romance novels I read as a teenager. His standoffish, rude demeanor intimidated me the first time Jason introduced us, but I also felt sorry for the lonely man behind his Grumpus Maximus front.
Solid, dependable, the designated driver, Damian's designated driver for years of displaced emotional detachment, Jason was a stand-up guy. He had one long-term relationship after another before we met. Kindness and support flowed through his bloodstream. He ate eggs with a side of commitment for breakfast.
He was voted 'Most Dependable' in high school, for cripes' sake.
When we met, the man screamed too good to be true. With my jaded past and subsequent mistrust of men, his infinite patience was the only reason we got together. Now, I couldn't have wished for a better father for this rib-kicker.
When I sneezed and embarrassingly flooded our bed one night, Jason washed the mattress and added a waterproof cover. When my 'fuck life' hair appeared, he called me beautiful and brushed out the tangles. He brought me home giant, salty, dirty-water pickles whenever I cried for them and would carry me to my weekly ob appointments if I allowed him to.
The man was sexy as hell, down to simple acts of concentrating while assembling baby furniture, the tip of his tongue flicking out the corner of his mouth. After twelve-hour shifts saving lives, his calloused hands rubbed my feet while my ass watched TV using my stomach as a makeshift kitchen table. Limited in our position options, he still pulled one doggy-style orgasm out of me after another as his fingers plucked my clit like a harp.
Why the fuck he's still doing life-saving organ transplants halfway across the country when I've reached over-inflated beachball status, I have no idea.
One look at Damian's slumped over frame reminded me how petty and whiny I was. The swift kick baby delivered me was more than sufficient of a reminder.
On that note, Jason kissed me goodbye, strapped on his sexyass paramedic uniform, and dashed out. After the door clicked behind him, silence followed.
No part of me could imagine how Damian felt, certainly not from any signs he'd given other than extreme exhaustion and fatigue. As tension knotted his posture from his shoulders to hips, he walked like Frankenstein's monster. With his skin ghastly gray, eyes sunken in, and dark circles pressed under them, life had been sucked out of him.
In a way, it has.
Damian lost his home, his dog to some extent, and the love of his life. We'd never been close, his fault for the record, but his rock-hard exterior cracks were exposed. My heart thumped in full sympathy for him as much as it did for June.
Juneau Olstead was the best person to ever come in Damian's life. She was warm and open where he was calloused and closed-off. She was all touch and hugs filled with love while the man sleeping in a mattress on the floor of our soon-to-be nursery stood and didn't know where to put his hands.
With no doubt in my mind, Damian's team would find her. The arm of the law was longer than the dick that knocked me up, and I wouldn't have been surprised if all of NYPD's precincts searched for her.
They'll find her. They have to.
When Jason asked if Damian could stay here, I buried my hesitation and said of course. Friction existed between the two of us, totally Damian's fault. All I ever wanted was for him to find a warm, open woman who would buff out that grizzly, gruff exterior.
Organizing events where my overly single friends converged on him like vultures pecking a carcass might not have been the best approach.
Fuck, who wouldn't have said yes to Damian sleeping here? The urge to help, contribute, do something in response to these horrible conditions was more suffocating than my stomach pushing into my lungs. What happened to Juneau was the shit written in books, TV dramas, or movies, yet another one of NYPD's dirty secrets they swept out of the public's eye.
With Jason driving a liver down to North Carolina, he went a little slower knowing that I wasn't here alone. Problem was, when Damian and I sat here on nights without Jason, I wasn't sure if Damian babysat me or vice versa.
Maybe both. Either way, it's soooo awkward.
The first two nights, Damian entered our apartment without saying a word. His heavy steps thudded across the floor, followed by a quiet click of the guest room door behind him. He laid on the prepared mattress but never slept, unless groaning in his sleep counted.
Poor guy. I wish we could do more.
"He promised he's done." Damian stared at the bowl of leftovers as if I offered him poison. "After this week."
Juneau had been missing for six days now. Each hour that ticked by, Damian retreated deeper into himself. He was only here because his supervisor threatened to remove his badge and gun license if the rogue motorcycle vigilante continued patrolling the streets.
Romantic if it weren't for the circumstances.
"And he said that last week. You don't have to eat if you don't want to," I offered in a quiet, meek tone as he took the bowl. "Leftover beef stew."
The slight uplift of Damian's shoulders was a subtle enough jab at how much he hated my voice. Any voicemail message reminded me that my voice was high-pitch, juvenile even. I rolled my eyes and flopped down on my recliner.
He should record his own voice. He's Oscar the Grouch half the time.
"What is that?" He grunted, again, as close to a question as he asked these days.
His fingers strangled the spoon he pushed around the bowl, which released upward swirls of steam. He eyed the light-yellow ball of yarn fluff sitting on my Pilates-ball-sized belly.
"Baby hat." My hands held up my newest crochet obsession. "It's - oh!"
The hooked needles my fingers curled around fell into my lap, where a dull pain tugged at my crotch. I'd experienced Braxton-Hicks since thirty-four weeks, at the expense of Jason's poor nerves. He nearly drove his ambulance over the sidewalks fifteen blocks over to Mt. Sinai, sirens blaring, for a false labor alarm. Twice.
Damian's eyes narrowed. "Celia."
"Wuh-what?" I squeaked out, bearing down until the tug of pain subsided. "False alarm."
"Celia." His eyes slanted into narrow slits, and he pointed the end of his spoon at my belly. "How long has that false alarm been happening?"
"It's - oof!" My hands prayed between my thighs from the period-like cramps. "It's nothing. Darn Braxton-Hicks. I need some water..."
With a flick of my wrist onto the recliner handle, my whale-flipper-sized feet bumped down to the floor. Setting aside my nearly finished hat, I hauled my wide frame up to standing. A warm, tickling sensation leaked into my underwear.
Oh, fuck. Peed myself again.
Heat rose into my cheeks, and I clenched my thighs together as I scooted to the bathroom. Damian frowned, probably because I waddled with my knees touching. "I'll be... right back."
With a grunt, I sat on the toilet and pulled down my soaked leggings. They didn't smell of urine, but instead sweet, like...
Oh no. No.
My pants landed on the floor in a heap. I cupped my forehead in my hands. As if on cue, a sharp downward tug pulled on my pelvis in a 'Guess who's coming?' knock on my vagina.
No!
My breath wheezed out a whistle. A small trickle of fluid seeped out of me. Thankfully, I was sitting down, so that -
Oh God, if I don't move then I'm having a baby on the toilet.
"Damian?" I squeaked at the last person who showed any ounce of female empathy... ever. "Can you, uhh... little help?"
Heavy footsteps, which he managed to make sound irritated from me dragging him over here, were followed by low groans outside the door. "Did you fall in and get stuck? Because I'm not coming -"
"Can you call Jason?" My head rushed light, so I blinked my eyes down at the rug surrounding the toilet. Knuckling my toes, I gripped the fuzzy strands for a focal point.
"Can't you?" he shot back.
This is not going to be well-received.
"I would, umm..." Pausing, I drew in a shaky breath. "I think my water broke."
A few moments of silence followed, where I gritted my teeth against a strong cramp.
"Uhh..." A thump rattled the door. "Can you fix it?"
"What? No!" I screeched out, my chest swelling up and my pulse thudding in my ears. "Damian Alexander Rivera, you get me Jason on the phone this instant or I swear you will be delivering this baby yourself on this bathroom floor!"
His only answer was receded and returned footsteps, then my cell phone slid under the door. It skidded halfway to the toilet, the silver reflecting the ceiling light fixture. Sticking one toe out, I pulled it back when a cramp stole the breath out of my lungs.
"Damian!" Rounding my back, I whooshed out a breath, my voice squeaking to its near toddler level. "Why would you do that?"
"Because there is nothing in there I want to see," he deadpanned behind the door. "Stop squealing and call Jason."
"I - oof! Can't - reach!" My toe reach failed. The pain level of my cramps surpassed a normal period level, bringing tears into my eyes. "Call! Him!"
"What? Fuck, fine," he groaned. His grumbling followed, including, "Celia peed herself."
I smacked my forehead. "It's not pee!"
"Jason's in southern Virginia," was his only response. "Liver delivered and he'll be back here in eight hours. So, hold tight -"
White spots flashed before my eyes, dizzying my thoughts. My hands reached for grounding surfaces, finding the toilet paper holder and shower wall. "Hold tight? Hold tight!? Whether he or you like it or not, this baby is coming so I suggest you haul my ass to the hospital!"
In ten minutes, I called my Dr. Lin, exchanged a whole lot of swear words with Damian –me at the contractions and him wanting to be anywhere else in Manhattan– and stood outside. The night breeze hit my cheeks.
"Yeah... hang on," Damian muttered, then draped a fucking trash bag across the backseat of the waiting car.
"Seriously!?" I moaned, cupping my lower back.
"Blame him." He pointed at the driver, whose eyes looked down between my legs to see if the baby hung out of them. "He got the upholstery cleaned this afternoon."
"Ugh, fine," I grunted as the sound of crinkled plastic erupted under my butt. When Damian's hand lingered on the top of the door like he was about to shut it, a wave of panic crested inside me. My voice cracked as I squeaked out, "Yuh-you aren't coming!?"
"Why the fuck would I -" he started when tears sprung up in my eyes and dribbled over my cheeks.
"Celia..." His hand dragged over his face.
"I forgot the hospital bag!" I whined and pointed at the building. "It's on the floor in the front closet. Could you?"
Damian muttered off a string of curse words and disappeared into the building while the car idled in awkward as fuck silence. The driver's eyes stayed glued to me the entire time, leaving me counting the seconds. I got to forty-six before -
"Ohhhh!!" I let out an exaggerated scream as another contraction gripped my pelvis.
The cab driver's eyes shot wide and round. "Hey, I told your boyfriend, no bambino in back seat." He wagged a finger at me.
Eww.
The misplaced moniker was very unwelcome, wrinkling my nose. "He is not my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend, baby Daddy, sperm donor, I dunno the lingo." He threw up his hands.
As I leaned forward, my hands balled into fists, Damian returned. He carried two bags, the gray duffle Jason and I packed after our Mommy-to-be class, and a small, black one. Before I asked about the second bag, he chucked mine at me.
I grunted, catching it on impact. "Damian!"
"The fuck you have in there?" He pointed at the duffle and rocked the car as he sat down. "Rocks?"
"No." My lips tugged downward. "It's -"
"I don't fucking care." He slammed my door and nodded at the driver. "Take her to Mount -"
"Wait!" My hand clutched the bottom of Damian's T-shirt. "I forgot my phone."
I left my phone on the kitchen counter, where I braced myself while calling Dr. Lin. After we timed two rounds of contractions at fifty seconds each, she suggested I head in for a check. He blinked at me for ten seconds, each of which my heart beat faster. "So?"
"So... so..." Tears blurred over Damian's scowling frown.
Pictures, recording the birth.
This is why Jason was in charge of hospital stuff. Oh fuck, Jason!
"It has my birthing playlist on it," I mumbled in a pathetic excuse in between raspy breaths, which earned me a Damian snort.
I could have cared less about birthing music, which was Jason's idea, but my worst nightmares resurfaced.
Oh, my gosh. This baby is going to be born before Jason is here.
He's not going to make it.
My baby daddy is going to miss the birth, finding out if it's a boy or girl -
Squeezing my eyes closed, I dipped my chin to my chest, not that I had far to go since my breasts were permanently pushed up by my belly. It tightened and I gasped through a contraction, one that pulled deep down in my pelvic muscles. The previous ones mirrored muscle cramps, with tugging and pulling. With this one, an invisible knife stabbed me down there.
Tears blotted the apex of my belly.
"Don't do that," Damian cursed under his breath and exited the car. Leaning over, he frowned. "Phone. Anything else?"
I dragged the tips of my fingers over my damp eyes. "There's a list on the counter."
"Fucking unbelievable." He dragged both hands down his face. "Fine."
One trip and one very pissed off Damian later, we rode to Mt. Sinai Hospital in total silence. Both his and the cab driver's eyes shot to me whenever I drew in a sharp breath. One of my hands palmed the ceiling, the other squeezed the door handle, and my heels grounded on the back of the driver's seat.
The flash of lights that passed outside the window offered no distractions from the contractions that now stole my breath away. The driver's abrupt stops put so much pressure on my pelvis that I groaned with each lurching stop.
"Ahh!" I yelped when he bumped over a pothole, jostling me out of my seat.
Damian remained pin drop quiet the entire ride over, his hands clenched white-knuckled over his lap. His glazed over eyes were a million miles away but he cursed under his breath with every unattractive noise I released.
Suppose I should appreciate that he's handling this better than Adam's proposal.
While I attempted to appreciate the fact that Damian didn't pass out into street meat, it took three blocks before I realized he cursed Jason's absence.
The blinding white lights of the hospital's entrance were a welcome sight. Rotating on my sitting bones, I hauled myself up, palming the trunk of the car as I waddled inside. Damian took the bag from my grip, then barked out the last words I expected from him.
"Who the fuck do we have to scream at to get a wheelchair!?"
Alright then.
All Damian's outburst earned him were curious eyes from lobby patrons and a warning glare from the woman behind the sign-in desk. "Sir, you'll have to escort your wife -"
"Woah." "No, no, no." Damian and I made similar palm-extended hand waves.
He recovered first, dragging his hand through his hair. "We're not, no. Fuck, no. I'm delivering her here."
"Hey." My eyes slanted into thin slits, but my entire face wrenched into tension as a contraction grabbed any air I held in my lungs. The reception area swayed around me. "Ohh... f-f-fuck."
"Sign in here, please, Ma'am." The woman handed me a clipboard with a hint of judgment in her eyes. "Got yourself a real Prince Charming here."
"He's... a bit rough," I admitted and scribbled my information, then slipped my ID to her.
"You're already preregistered." We both hummed our approval at Jason's planning efforts, then she entered my form information and handed back my ID. With a point down the hallway on my right, she directed, "If you can walk, make your way up to the third floor for maternity. Doctor Lin is on call tonight. She's en route but not checked in yet."
My shoulders relaxed at the mention of my ob, until Damian slapped a palm on my back. "Good luck."
With a silent gasp, my mouth dropped. "You're... you're coming with me!"
"I'm not," he scowled. "Jason will be here in... who the fuck knows."
"But - but -" Tears sprung up in my eyes like a water main leak ruptured from each one. "I can't do this by myself!"
With a fist over his mouth, the asshole chuckled. "What part of this -" he pointed at his chest. "Reads qualified."
A soft whimper vibrated my throat and I swallowed against a lump growing. "Just stay with me until he gets here. Please, Damian."
"Uggghhh," he groaned and rubbed both palms over his forehead. "There's no one else? Your mom, sister, a sympathetic nurse?"
"No, they're visiting after the baby's born..." My voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "It was supposed to be me and Jason."
I exhaled a shaky breath, jiggling my belly. Dropping my gaze, I would've inspected my toes, if I could see them.
Damian's loud exhale raised my eyes to the frustrating burning in his. "Fine," he spat out. "Only until his ass arrives."
"Thank you," I whispered on repeat until the elevator doors closed behind us and he raised a hand to silence my appreciation.
Twisting my lips to one side, for once we both shared a common thought.
Jason's ass better get here sooner than later.