Faith, Honor & Freedom

Faith, Honor & Freedom

Fighting for Freedom Series, Book 2.

Shannon Callahan

Copyright © 2013 by Shannon Callahan

All Rights Reserved.

DEDICATION

I would like to say thank you, once again, to my wonderful friends, Jill and Tanya, of Maegan Lynn Moores. Your advice and knowledge will forever be invaluable to me, just like the laughs we share.

I would like to thank my wonderful friends, Jade and Patti, for their time and feedback while I was writing the story. Some of the best friends a girl could ask for. I would also like to thank my beta readers Amber and Lauren! Your feedback was so helpful, and your kind words brighten my day.

I would like to thank my husband, who did most of the cleaning and cooking on days where I couldn’t pry myself from Lana and Hoss.

Thank you to all of the wonderful blogs who have helped get
Hell, Fire & Freedom
out there, and gave me some excellent feedback. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. Same with all of those who have committed to helping me spread the word about
Faith, Honor & Freedom.

A huge thank you to my fans, for giving a new author a shot. I hope you’ll love Lana just as much as I do.

Thank you to my editor, Madison Seidler, and to my formatter, L.K. Campbell, for their excellent work. It means a lot to have two people I can trust with my blood, sweat, and tears.

Thank you to my family and friends, who have supported me every step of the way. To my mom, Nan, Patti, and Sherry who have been devoting their time and selling the paperback copies of my book for me. You girls rock.

Chapter 1

“Lana, I think it’s time,” Violet breathes into the phone. I bolt upright in bed, my sapphire blue duvet falling loosely around my waist. Jesus, what time is it? I rub my eyes, desperately trying to wake myself.

“When did it start?” I ask, wondering if this could actually be it, or if it’s another one of her false alarms. She’s been calling me every night for the past three weeks. Each time I’d jump out of bed and hurry over to her house. As a result, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in that long either. I’m exhausted.

“Lana, I’m not joking this time. I’ve never ahhhh,” she cries mid-sentence, letting out an ear-piercing scream.

Shit, this might actually be it!

“Just breathe, Violet. Practice what I’ve taught you, and have Jack rub your back. I’ll be over there in five. Don’t worry about anything. Did you call Sadie yet?” I roll out of bed and throw on some light gray sweatpants and a hot pink t-shirt.

“Yeah, Jack’s on the phone with her now. She’s at another birth, but she thinks she’ll be done in … ahhhh,” she howls out again. I can hear her panting in all the wrong ways, and I know I need to get there quickly. I grab my bag and slip on my sandals.

“Listen Vi, I’m out my door now. I’ll see you in thirty seconds.” I disconnect the phone and swing my door shut, making my way through Mr. Robichaud’s front yard. I’m careful not to step on his precious begonias. I try her front door, but it’s locked, so I grab the key from underneath the false rock in her flowerbed.

“Vi?” I call out as I push the door open and step inside.

“In here,” Jack shouts from the back bedroom. I can hear the terror in his voice, and strangely, it excites me. This has to be it! I slip off my shoes and walk with a newfound energy toward their room, carrying my bag with me.

Stepping into their room I see Violet, leaning over the side of their four-poster king-sized bed, gripping her sheets securely. She’s wearing a light blue cotton nightie, and her long black hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail. Her cheeks are flushed, and she has a few small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Jack is rubbing her lower back, and it’s such a beautiful moment that I almost hate to intrude.

That is, until she yells, shouting every curse word known to mankind.

“Oh Vi, honey, I know it hurts, but we can’t have that baby come out dropping the F-bomb. If you’re cursing, you’re not breathing,” I remind her. “Now, how far apart are they?” I drop my bag at her door and make my way to her bedside.

“They’re about every two minutes,” Jack says, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“All right Vi, I’m just going to slip over to Jack’s side and put my hand on your belly so I can feel your next contraction,” I say, gliding my hand under her nightie and over her bare, round stomach. I glance down at my watch and wait. It doesn’t take long before I feel her skin start to tense, becoming hard as a rock.

Oh my God, she’s actually in labor.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkkkk,” Vi calls out in a wounded voice. I step behind her and grasp her hips, gently swaying them with the contraction. Finally, she stops screaming and begins to work on the breathing I’ve been coaching her on for the past six months.
Improvement!

“You can do this, Violet. You’re the strongest woman I know. Your body was made to bring this baby into the world, and you’re both going to come out of it just fine,” I assure her as I feel the contraction start to ease. “Okay, it’s calming now. I need to start filling your birthing tub. I think this is it. I guess the twentieth time’s the charm,” I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Violet grabs a hold of my wrist aggressively. “Lana, you do
not
get to leave me. That thing with my hips was unbelievable. All Jack’s been doing is digging his damn fingernails that he should have cut a week ago into my back,” she complains.

“I’m so sorry, babe, I’ll do that now,” he says, rushing off toward the bathroom.

The situation is hilarious. Jack’s a six foot two powerhouse of a man, all muscle and alpha male, and here he is terrified of a four foot ten Asian woman with a belly the size of a watermelon. I stifle a laugh, because I know Violet won’t find it as humorous as I do.

“Jack, don’t go anywhere. I need you to fill up the birthing tub for me. You know she loves you, but she’s got a head the size of a bowling ball trying to squeeze its way out of her ...”

“Stop right there, Lana. I get the picture. I’m going to fill the up tub,” he says, hastily escaping the room. I feel Violet’s stomach tighten again, and we sway through another contraction.

“Honest to God, Lana, I’m not sure I do love the man right now. He did this to me. I think I might even hate him,” she grumbles before starting to sob as another contraction wreaks havoc on her frail body. “Take that back, I’m sure I hate him.”

“Until you lay eyes on that little boy or girl. Then you’ll love him for everything he has given you. I swear. I’ve seen it once or twice before,” I say, laughing.

She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not sure I like doula Lana. I like the unpleasant, cynical one better. She would hate the world with me.”

“Oh, shut up, you old hag. I see women do this every day, and you’re whining worse than all of them put together,” I say, completely deadpan. “Better?”

“Much better,” she says, chuckling. Another contraction moves through her, and we work through it until it subsides. I grab the birthing ball I blew up the other night during a
trial run
and have her sit on it.

“How’s it going?” I yell out to Jack.

“Better than it is in there,” he shouts back over Vi’s loud moans. “It’s almost full.”

“How does the ball feel?” I ask Violet, as I help her gently bounce.

“It makes me want to take an axe to your face. This is so much worse than the hip swaying,” she whimpers.

“Honestly Violet. Well, why don’t we try the tub; you can hop in while he finishes filling it,” I suggest.

“I don’t want to move. It hurts too much.”

“What did you tell me in the tenth grade when you decided to wax my legs, swearing that you read the package, and that I just had to be your test subject because your dream was to become an aesthetician? Oh, that’s right—no pain, no gain.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” she asks, trying to stand. I help get her to her feet, and we slowly move toward the living room.

“How can I? I still have scars to prove it. I had to go to winter formal with my legs bandaged.” In all honesty, I could care less about it, but I’m willing to do anything to keep her mind off of her contractions.

“I can promise you this hurts a thousand times worse than anything you’ve been through,” she cries. I feel her body tense again so I move her hands to the wall, positioning myself behind her and gently sway her hips.

“Oh shit!” I hear her cry out, as a gush of warm fluid starts to trickle down her legs and onto my feet.

“Oh my God, did I just pee on you? Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I just know it felt
so
good,” she says, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Some would call it gross, but it’s happened to me more times than I can count. It comes with the job territory.

“I think your water just broke, love. Don’t even worry about it. Let’s get you into that tub.”

“You know, this is all your fault. I’m doing this for you,” she says bitterly as another contraction hits.

“For me? I’m flattered, Violet. You know how much I’ve always wanted a baby. Do I have any say in custody?”

“You know what I mean. I could be in a hospital right now, screaming ‘give me the juice’ and not feeling a damn thing,” she says breathily.

“And you still can be! I told you I’d be glad to do a hospital birth. I haven’t done many, but it doesn’t mean I don’t rock at those, too.” We start making our way toward the living room again.

“I know. You rock at all things birth, just like your grams did. Don’t mind me, I’m just the crazy, bitchy pregnant lady,” she huffs in a moment of sanity.

“Not for much longer.” And thank God for that.

We finally make it to the living room where a frazzled looking Jack is carrying two large buckets of hot water to the tub. He looks up apprehensively when he hears us enter. Jack is an incredibly attractive man. He’s bald, brown-eyed, and has skin the most delicious shade of mocha. I’d pushed Violet to date him since the second he started pursuing her. She, unfortunately, wasn’t into nice guys at that point in her life.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Jack asks, pouring the steaming buckets into the tub.

“I’ve been better, but hey, we’ve been dreaming of this day for nine months now, right?” she asks, laughing nervously.

I watch as Jack walks over and scoops her into his arms like she weighs nothing at all, planting a passionate kiss on her lips before she pulls away, groaning in pain.

“I can’t do this,” she cries out. Jack steps into the pool, still clothed, and settles down into the water with her.

“Yes you can, Violet. Come here,” I say, pulling her into a position so that her arms and head are leaning over the birthing pool, and her knees are tucked under her. I pull the damp nightie up over her head and grab a hold of Jack’s hands, showing him where to massage.

The nudity might bother some friends, but it’s never bothered Violet or me. We know each other too well, and creepy or not, I knew she had a mole under her left breast, I knew she had a strawberry-colored birth mark on her thigh, and I knew that she’s had three yeast infections in her entire life. There was nothing about her that I didn’t know. TMI took on a whole new meaning. It’s never been sexual; we’re just like sisters.

“I’m going to go call Sadie again and finish filling the pool. Shout if you need me all right?”

She doesn’t say anything in response, and I don’t expect her to. I can tell she’s getting close, and I’m beginning to worry that Sadie isn’t here yet. I’ve been a doula for eight years now, but I’ve been attending births since I was six years old with my grams. I’ve yet to deliver a baby on my own, and I certainly don’t intend for that to change tonight.

Violet would freak the hell out.

I quickly clean up the mess of amniotic fluid on my legs and steal a pair of Violet’s pants and socks before mopping her hallway. I call Sadie who assures me that she shouldn’t be any longer than an hour since she’s just delivering the after birth of the client she’s with now. I hope Vi has that long left in her.

I fill up the tub with the last few buckets of water, and then make Violet a chilled raspberry leaf tea. I take a seat on a stool in front of her. She’s no longer her funny, sarcastic self, but a soon to be mom on a mission, moaning and breathing heavily as her body prepares for the big show.

“Drink this so you stay hydrated,” I order, bringing the straw to her lips. I push the hair that’s fallen down around her face back behind her ears. “You are incredible, Violet. You absolutely amaze me.” She says nothing in return, but nods her head as another contraction starts to shake her body. She lets out a cry that can only be described as primal.

“That’s it, girl, let it all out. Try and get up on your knees and rock your hips back and forth to encourage the baby to drop deeper into your pelvis,” I say, stroking her hair.