I blinked, my heart racing in my chest as the words I’d been waiting to hear for a while rushed out. Like a complete idiot, I stood there, frozen, trying to process everything they implied.
Tucker’s eyebrows bunched together, and the fear that crippled his expression shattered me. Hurrying in his direction, I kneeled—well, more like slouched—on the floor before him and circled his neck. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
My lips danced against his.
“You sure? Last time you said yes, you freaked out afterward and ran away.”
I brushed the side of his face, leaving a blotch of green paint on his dark skin.
“No more running away ever again. You’re stuck with me now. For better or worse.” I kissed his chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “Tucker Philips, I wanna be your wife. Let’s stick to the original plan.”
“Which means?”
“You, me, our closest friends, Vegas. And a party once the baby is born.”
“Jesus, I love you so much. Once this little nugget comes out of the oven, we’ll set a date.”
“Oh geez, are you trying your hands at poetry now?”
“Maybe.”
I exploded in a train of giggles, which ended in a contraction. “Forget it. Hope poetry isn’t your mysterious project. With practice, you’ll get better. Or not."
“No offense taken. I’ll forgive you. Someday.”
Tucker plunged forward, his tongue cherishing mine in luscious strokes, his hands all over me.
“I wanna marry you now,” I whispered. “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough. No doubt, you’re the one for me. I’ve known it the first time I laid my eyes on you. And after you sang that song to me, I was a goner. Big time.”
“And yet you resisted for months.”
“You can’t deny I was worth the chase,” I said in a teasing tone. “It would have been boring had I made it too easy on you. Gotta keep up with my rep."
“Woman, you’re the most perfect headcase I’ve ever met. Lucky for me, you’re my headcase. Are we really getting married?”
“Yes. And we’re not waiting until Mini-Tucker is born. We’re a family. Let’s make it official.”
The next morning, we were having breakfast when I surprised my man with two plane tickets to Vegas. He rounded the table to secure his arms around me, one palm splayed over my middle, the same manner he did every day, his chin propped in the crook of my shoulder. Our little one was having a blast in there, kicking and stretching.
“Oh, so you two have been planning this nuptial behind my back?”
I grinned. So big it hurt my cheeks. “Yeah. No. Not really. Remember, I had a debt to pay."
Tucker remained silent, waiting for me to explain.
“Vegas. Our bet in Nashville. I thought neither of us actually won, but a while back, you said you did. In all honesty, you’re the only one who brought a girl back to the hotel that night. And since you had to wait months for me to admit my feelings to you, I’m awarding you the win. This time only, though. Don’t get used to me accepting defeat so easily. I’m usually a much-tougher player. Today, this is me paying my dues. Two tickets. Presidential suite with a view of the Strip. Flight is tomorrow morning. If you agree to elope, Nick and Dahlia will join us to be our witnesses.”
Tucker blinked, holding my hands in his. “Yes.” He pushed my hair back and bent forward to kiss me but stopped midway. “Question. Are you sure it’s safe for you to fly?” he asked.
“I called Dr. Pettyfer two days ago. Said everything looked good at the last check-up and as long as it was a short flight, he wouldn’t object, even less, if it was to make an honest man out of ya.”
“Wilde, you secretive woman, you planned this. When I asked you yesterday—”
“I had already planned to ask you this morning. You just beat me to it.”
“Sorry I ruined your proposal.”
I flicked my wrist. “Even though I looked forward to asking you, I love the idea you did it first. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Finally got the balls to reach for one of my dreams.”
His mouth descended on mine, tasting my lips. “I love it.” He trailed kisses along my jaw and down my throat. Shivers passed through me. Arching my back, I gave him the unspoken agreement to play my body the way he wanted to. “Let’s reward you with an orgasm, my second-place prize offering, and then we’ll go dress shopping. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride ever.”
His lips returned to mine, and I shook my head against his mouth. “No. The groom isn’t allowed to see the bride before the wedding day. It’s bad luck."
“Tell me you don’t believe in that shit?”
“Nah, but it’s still fun to get you worked up over what I’ll wear. Dahlia and Nick arrive tonight. She’s bringing a few options from her store. We’ll spend the evening at her hotel, so she can make some adjustments.”
Tucker grabbed my ass cheeks, and I purred, unable to resist him as I rubbed myself against him.
“That’s perfect. Nick will be able to help me put together the last details of the nursery. In case you go into labor sooner than later, it will all be ready tonight.”
“Who knew talking crib and rocking chair could get me soaking wet?"
His fingers ventured under the straps of my overall, but I pushed them away.
“Not so fast. Wedding night, Tuck. No sex until then.”
“Jesus, now I’m happy we’re getting married tomorrow. Not tasting you until you’re officially mine is kind of a big turn on.”
I kissed him, deepening the connection, as I fastened my arms around him. “Wilde, there’s something missing in that genius plan of yours?”
“What?"
He released me and left the room, only to come back two minutes later.
Dropping on one knee, he opened a white velvet box showing me two matching pink-gold bands. I always knew pink was his favorite color. “Addison Wilde, would you marry me tomorrow?”
I cupped my mouth, tears flowing down my cheeks while I nodded. “Yes, I will.”
I was saving my Mini-Wilde newest design when a contraction hit me. I exhaled and pressed each side of my thirty-eight-week baby belly with my palms, rubbing the taut skin, trying to dissipate the discomfort. When I met with my ob-gyn two days ago, he said he believed I wouldn’t make it to forty weeks. Mini-Tucker already weighed over nine pounds, and I looked like I could explode at any time if someone poked my stomach. Yes, I had gotten that big. And I blamed my husband for all of it. Every time I went out, people still asked me at least once a week if I was carrying twins. Or triplets. The new story of my life.
“If you could please stay put for a few more hours,” I told my unborn child, caressing my baby protuberance in a protective manner. “If I want this onesies collection to be a success, I gotta finish it before you decide it’s time for you to get out. Or I won’t be able to order samples for you to show them off on time. Daddy asked for one of each in all available sizes.”
My baby kicked, the imprint of his feet, elbows, or knees tenting my skin. I pushed it, and he pushed back, both of us relishing our little private game. Soon, it would be a different one, and I felt more ready each day for this new challenge.
A mix of excitement and anticipation to meet this little human that Tucker and I created together danced in me every minute of each day.
On my feet, I printed my newest design with the special printer my husband got me—I still couldn’t believe we were married—and plugged in the iron press to heat it up, ready to see how it would look in real life on a blank onesie I bought for our baby. A Little Wild written in colorful letters looked amazing on the tiny piece of cotton fabric. I covered my stomach with it.
“This one is yours. The first tangible item of my baby collection.” Pride filled my heart, and flutters invaded all my senses.
I moved to return to my seat when another contraction hit me. Stronger and longer than I’d ever felt before. Bent forward, I balanced my weight with one hand propped on my desk and another massaging my tense belly.
“Guess you love it,” I said through gritted teeth as I calmed my breathing. “There are nicer ways to show me your approval, you know?” The tension left, and I went back to work. But soon, another contraction hit me. Then another.
I swallowed the pain and called out, “Tuck—” Okay, they were closer and closer in time. “Tuck,” I screamed again.
He came running, storming into the room and squatting between my legs. “What’s wrong?” His palms closed around our baby in a maternal gesture. “Mini-Wilde giving you trouble?”
“I think it’s time,” I said.
He watched me with furrowed brows. “For what?”
“This baby wants to come out. Now.” Another contraction.
“For how long have you been having those?” he asked once it relaxed.
“Since yesterday, but they were far apart, and I thought they were just the fake ones. But now they’re less than ten minutes apart, and they fucking hurt.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” He pushed my hair back and kissed my forehead. “Let me get your stuff, then I’ll come for you. Can you wait for me for a minute or two?”
I nodded. Tears pooled in my eyes. I am going to be a mama. Reality crashed into me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe on my own. This was the most exhilarating and scariest thing I’d ever done. I knew the endgame, but nothing about all the suffering and pain to get there.
Tucker wiped my teary eyes. “Hey, I’ve got you. We’ll do this together. You’re the strongest woman I know. Everything will be all right. I promise.”
He jumped to his feet, and I grabbed his hand before he could walk away.
“Thank you. I can’t do this without you. You’re my rock, Tucker Philips. I love you.”
“You’re my inspiration, Addison Wilde. I love you so much right now.” A wide, ridiculous smile painted his face.
“Just right now?” I teased.
“Nah. Always and forever.”
After the nurse checked if I was dilated enough, the doctor told me to get ready. Our baby would come within the next few hours. I watched Tucker watching me with a too-large-for-his-face grin.
“Wilde, you’ve given me things in life I never would have gotten anywhere else. A family. You’ve made me a husband, and now a father. You showed me how to love. How to trust someone even if it meant risking my heart because the endgame could be worth it. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. All I can say is that I love you so freaking much.”
He kissed me before helping me change into a blue hospital gown.
He snapped a picture with his phone. “This is the last mile. The finish line. And you look beautiful.”
“Tell me that later when I’m all sweaty, my hair disheveled, and ready to murder someone.”
“Deal.”
The doctor came back to check on me for the umpteenth time almost eight hours later. “The effacement is slower than what we expected. Even for a firstborn,” he said, throwing his latex gloves into the nearest trash can after he examined my cervix.
“What does that mean?” my husband asked, worry coating his tone, his hand holding mine with a strangling grip.
“The baby is large,” the doctor said, scanning Tucker from head to toes. “Let’s say it doesn’t surprise us, but your contractions aren’t strong enough, and your cervix hasn’t dilated as it should have. Before we give you drugs to speed up the dilatation and give strength to the contractions, I’d like you to walk for at least the next hour. Or until your condition changes. At this stage, I can’t send you back home, and it’s too early to be talking about C-section.”
Fears tangled around my heart. But exhaustion made it hard for me to process all his words.
“I’m so tired. How can those contractions not be strong enough? They hurt so bad.”
“It happens. Let’s just do this, and we’ll reassess the situation afterward. There are other things we can try. As long as the baby’s vitals are good, there’s no reason to worry or expedite the delivery."
“Okay,” I agree, too weak to argue.
Tucker helped me to my feet, and after I went to the bathroom to empty my bladder, he secured the hospital gown at the back. Knitting our fingers together, he led me out of the room.
Tears rolled silently down my cheeks.
“Hey Wilde, it will be all right, you hear me? It happens a lot. I asked the nurse while you were in the bathroom.”
I nodded, too exhausted to even stop the flood blinding my vision.
For the next sixty minutes, we paced the hospital hallways, only pausing when a contraction hit me. Each time, Tucker massaged my lower back, easing the pain.
An older woman stopped us as we passed the room where family members waited for their loved ones to give birth.
“Oh, lucky you, you’re expecting multiple. Are they twins or triplets?”
A new surge of tears drowned my eyes as I pivoted to bury my face in Tucker’s chest and broke into sobs. I blocked the conversation while Tucker explained to her there was only one baby in there.
“I’m so fat. I don’t wanna be pregnant anymore. Can you get this baby out? My entire body hurts. I’m so sleepy I could fall asleep anywhere if it weren’t for those damn contractions ripping my belly in two."
My husband’s comforting hands rubbed circles over my back.
“Shhh, it’s fine, sweetheart. I’m right here with you. I know I can’t do a lot, but I’m not leaving your side.”
As if I got stung, my head jerked up. “No, it’s not fine. How can it be? We fucked while we were both wasted, and I took the morning-after pill, yet this baby found a way to stick in there. What are the chances? We’re either the luckiest or the unluckiest people on Earth. I took the fucking pill, and it still decided to stay. Now I look like a whale, and people keep reminding me how fat I am. And to just fuck it out a tad more, this baby has now decided it won’t come out.”
“Addison,” he said in the softest voice he could manage. He rarely called me by my first name, only when he was being emotional. Or overwhelmed. “You’re neither fat nor a whale, you’re pregnant. And that weight won’t stay on forever. We already discussed it. And the doctor told you to not worry about it. I know it must be hard, but even if you can’t see it, I’m telling you, you are beautiful. Take my words for it. I’d never lie to you.”
I pressed my face between his pecs and let his words sink in.
“We’ll get that baby out today. Or tonight. We’re not going home without our little one.” He lowered down before me in the hospital hallway, pressing both palms to my belly. “Baby, I love you. You know I do, but let’s come out. I wanna meet you. Give your mama a break. Do we have a deal?”
As if the baby could hear him, it kicked, followed by another contraction.
Tucker returned to his feet and kneaded the tension in my back. “You walked long enough. Let’s see what the doctor thinks.” His strong arm held me up against him, supporting me, while we returned to the room.
In bed, I surfed between different conscious states, barely registering the nurse strapping the fetal monitor back around me and reading my pressure.
“The heartbeat is strong,” she told me, rearranging the pillows under my head and the covers around me. “You’re doing great. Sleep while you can. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
She exchanged a few words with Tucker, but my drowsy state couldn’t make up their conversation.
Every two or three minutes, the contractions felt like lightnings ripping me apart, but in-between, I found some rest.
Tucker woke me up with kisses peppered on my forehead and soft caresses over my tense abdomen. “Wilde, the doctor gotta check you up now. Can you move to your back?”
I nodded, having a hard time escaping the dreams I lost myself in.
He helped me flip around and intertwined his fingers with mine.
“Okay, here’s the thing,” the doctor said, a somber expression drawn on his face. “We don’t want you or the baby to exhaust yourselves too much, but I think we should try the medication before deciding for an emergency C-section. I know you’re against the epidural and you asked for a natural birth as much as possible, but this is the next logical step. I must warn you those contractions will hurt. They’ll be closer in time and stronger.”
“Okay,” I said, the enthusiasm in my words missing.
“Both vitals are good. I’m confident we can get that full dilatation. If there’s no progress within a few hours, we’ll reevaluate your options. For now, considering the baby’s size and the width of your pelvis, we’ll deem you a high-risk pregnancy. It’s not uncommon, nothing to be alarmed about. We’ll just monitor you more closely. Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head, unable to comprehend what he said or the gravity of the situation, my brain not registering any of it.
Tucker’s lips descended on my forehead. “I’ll be right back.” Witnessing the pained turn of his lips sent zings of discomfort through me. Tucker would sort it out. Whatever it was, he’d make sure neither I nor the baby would get hurt.
I nodded and let go of his hand when the space between us increased and our fingers couldn’t touch anymore.
We’d been here for over twenty-eight hours when I gave the last push, almost fainting from exhaustion. Tucker smiled through his tears. I forgot all about my sleepless nights, the rocky ride of the last day to get to this moment, my sore inner thighs, and everything else when the doctor handed him our son after my husband cut the umbilical cord. Tucker placed him in my arms, and the sound of my baby’s first cry evoked a primal need to protect him deep in my core.
Yeah, I’d be a tigress mama. An emotional surge I had no control over whirled inside me, and I cried like I hadn’t done in a long time as I counted his toes and fingers. Twenty. The count was good.
“All there,” I croaked.
My own tears flooded down my face.
Tucker and I’d created this little human being together.
“Good job, mama,” the nurse said, her hands cupping her heart. “You did amazingly well.”
My gaze never left the small bundle lodged in my arms while my finger stroked his cheek.
My tears came from pure and raw happiness. From a joy I had no idea my heart could contain. The look on my husband’s face as his eyes ping-ponged between me and our baby boy took my breath away. It broke me. And revived me. And I knew, at that instant, everything would be okay as long as we were doing it together.
I pushed the top of my gown down, and the nurse positioned the baby, only dressed in a white knitted hat, his dark skin rosy and his eyes round, on my bare skin.
Tucker leaned in to kiss me. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. He’s perfect. And he has your eyes. You did great. Today sealed the deal. You’re definitely the strongest woman I know.” Yes, our baby was indeed perfect. Tanned skin, dark hair, and blue eyes.
“I love Lucas,” I said, deciding on the name Tucker liked the most.
“No. He’s a Jamieson. A Southern soul. You were right.”
“You sure?” I asked, drying my wet eyes with my fingers, the tab still running.
He bobbed his head fast. “Jamieson Nicholas Philips. It sounds fierce. And badass. Just like you."