Arden is at Chelseaâs side on the hospital bed. She writhes around with her hands digging into the sheet as her legs twitch. Lincoln paces the floor bare, watching the door, like heâs as anxious as I am for someone to get in here and do their damn job.
They brought us into a delivery room and got Chelsea into a gown and all hooked up to the monitor. The nurse was nice enough, but she had to stab Chelsea twice to get a vein for her IV.
My instincts are in hyper-protective alpha mode, and theyâre making me irrational, but fuck, I need the doctor to show up and check Chelsea and the baby out.
Arden already reminded me how capable nurses are, and I get it. I just donât know how to shut off the part of my head that is stressed to the max.
My anxiety is sky-high.
Iâm about to freak out on the next person who walks through that door, unless itâs the anesthesiologist.
Him or her? Iâll gladly shake their hand as soon as my omega is no longer experiencing the worst pain Iâve ever felt⦠And thatâs whatâs filtering through the bond.
Itâs almost incomprehensible that Chelsea is handling this and worse without screaming at the top of her lungs.
Not that Iâd mind if she did. It might put a little pep in the doctorâs step.
Things improve once Chelsea gets the epidural. Sheâs no longer in agony every three minutes, but the nurse says her labor will slow a little.
Whatever the hell that means.
Sheâs seven centimeters dilated and a bunch of stuff about effaced that I donât understand.
Arden and Lincoln head down to the cafeteria to grab a coffee, and I take the opportunity to snuggle at Chelseaâs side. Honestly, I think Arden wanted to give Linc a pep talk about calming down. Heâs even more stressed than I was when I planned the anesthesiologistâs untimely demise. Which came before Chelsea got the good drugs. Iâm fine now, but our little omega is beat.
She jolts, and her head rolls until she can look at me. Her hand comes to rest on my chest, and she pats my shirt. âI think I dozed off. I thought I never met you guys, and I was having the baby completely alone.â
The epidural blocks some of my access to her in the bond, but a heavy wave of sadness radiates in my chest.
âGod, no way. Iâm right here,â I assure her, rubbing my fingers over her cheek. I wish I could pull her all the way over to rest on me, but she needs to keep the epidural access point on the sterilized sheets. Thatâs what the nurse who came with the anesthesiologist said, and Iâm not about to disregard that advice.
âI donât know if I can do this.â Her head falls back against the hospital bed.
âI know youâre tired, but at some point, your body will take over, and the contractions will help her pop right out,â I say, because Iâm pretty sure thatâs how nature works. It takes a few seconds of her slow blinking at me to recognize thatâs not what she meant.
âWith the epidural, I can barely feel anything, so maybe youâre right,â she says, sounding exhausted. âThat wasnât what I meant, though. It doesnât feel right to do this without Clark, and I donât want to hurt your feelings. Iâm so grateful to have the three of you. Iâm just sad. Everything feels tainted by loss.â
Ahh, this is why my mom gave me that pep talk. âItâs okay to grieve for him and what heâs going to miss out on, but donât be afraid to celebrate the gift youâre about to be given, either. He wouldnât want you to focus on the bad right now. Thatâs just my take. I donât think he would want that for you.â
âThanks, Kase.â She tilts her head up.
I push my lips to hers for an emotion-filled kiss in which I try to pour all my strength into her. If she needs a little extra reassurance, I can provide that for her. Sheâs barely slept in days. The bond says sheâs just exhausted, but once Luna arrives, I think that will help.