Somebody Like You (21 page)

“I’m your man.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Why did he keep saying that? She hissed as another contraction attacked her body. “Whoa.
Somebody just upped . . . the ante.” When she gripped the metal bed rail, her hand collided with Stephen’s. He adjusted the position of his hand so she could clasp his fingers and squeeze, tightening her grip with each passing second of the contraction. When she exhaled, he exhaled with her, shaking out his hand.

“Quite a grip you’ve got.”

“Sorry.”

“No apologies needed. I’ll have feeling back in my fingers before the next contraction—I think.”

“Not that I’m holding your hand again.”

But when she tensed for the next contraction, Stephen took her hand in his. “Squeeze as hard as you like.”

Haley didn’t argue. When the contraction ebbed, Stephen shook his hand in the air, as if he was trying to get the blood flowing to his fingers again.

“Very funny, Rogers.”

He hid his hand behind his back. “So did you talk to Lily? Is she going to be here?”

Haley averted her eyes. “I left a voice mail.”

“What?”

“She didn’t answer—there’s nothing else I could do. I left a message, explaining what was going on. It’s fine. I’m fine. Like I said, the nurse and Dr. Campbell will get me through this.”

She tensed as another contraction hit, repeating the pattern of starting in her back and wrapping around her stomach. At least Stephen couldn’t ask any more questions now—and if he brought it up again, she’d tell him how unwise it was to argue with a laboring woman.

Twenty minutes later, they had established a pattern, complete with Stephen matching her breath for breath.

“You coach a woman through childbirth before?” She savored
the cool relief of ice chips, licking her lips and wishing she could gulp down an entire glass of water.

“Nope. You’re my first.”

“You sure act like you know what you’re doing.”

“Faking it. I saw what you were doing—and I’m just reminding you to keep on doing it.”

A few minutes later, Nikki returned, watching as Haley and Stephen performed their contraction hand-clutch routine. “She’s going to bring you to your knees.”

Stephen didn’t waver. “I’m still standing.”

“They use techniques like that in torture, but we don’t encourage it during labor. Next contraction, just cross your middle finger over your forefinger so the knuckles aren’t next to each other, and let her squeeze those two fingers.”

As Haley released a breath, Stephen shook out his hand. “Thanks. Duly noted.”

Haley gathered the fragments of her sense of humor. “I am not torturing this man. He volunteered.”

An hour later, when Dr. Campbell arrived, life had faded to nothing more than the span of the clock face and the sound of Stephen’s voice.

“I hear you’re doing great, Haley.” The doctor shook Stephen’s hand. “I understand you’re the substitute coach. It’s obvious we haven’t stopped your labor, Haley. You’re contracting every three to four minutes on the monitor. And the expression on your face tells me the contractions are painful and strong.”

“. . . Not going to argue . . . with you on that point.”

“We’ll stop the medicine; then I’ll get the nurse so I can examine you and see how far dilated you are. You two keep up the good work until I get back.”

After the doctor’s exam, Stephen reentered the room, his gaze straying to the waiting baby warmer.

Haley rushed the words before the next contraction. “Looks like I’ll take it from here. The doctor says I’m at six centimeters, but because I’m early, I only need to get to about eight. After that, I’ll start pushing.” She drew in a slow breath, forcing a smile, ignoring how her bottom lip trembled. “Nikki’s here to coach me. Thanks for all the help.”

“Haley, I can still—”

“No. I’ve got this.” Tears blurred her vision.
Stupid contraction.
“Next time I see you, I’ll introduce you to your nephew.”

Stephen looked as if he was going to say something else, but she looked away, back at the clock. Time was up. She was going to become a mom—and she was going to face that moment without Stephen Ames.

Without Sam.

The reality seemed to press against her with the same force as a contraction—only if she gave in to it, she’d birth the sobs that had been building inside of her for months.

She needed Sam here. She needed him to tease Nikki about whether she had a boyfriend. To come back into the room, after visiting the vending machine, munching on a package of Oreos and a bag of Fritos, telling her that he’d save the Three Musketeers bar for her until after the baby was born—and they’d both know he’d eat it.

She needed Sam to tell her that she could do this.

Stephen paced the hallway outside Haley’s birthing room. He took two steps toward the door. Stopped.

God, this is not right.

But there’s nothing I can do. You know I don’t belong in there with Haley—that’s Sam’s role. Not mine.

But no woman should be alone while she has a baby. Sure, the doctor is there. The nurse. But they aren’t family—or even a friend like Claire. Will anyone remember to take pictures?

He turned his back on the birthing room.

If I walk through that door, God, Haley is going to rise up off the bed, grab me by the front of my shirt, and throw me back into the hallway. That would be a memorable moment.

A nurse interrupted his conversation with God.

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t just stand in the hallway outside the birthing room. I need you to go to the waiting room down the hall.”

Okay. That settled it. He’d do what the nurse asked. Pray. Wait for the invitation to meet his nephew.

That decision didn’t last long.

What if Haley were my wife, God? What if I’d died and Sam were here, willing and able to help Haley—instead of leaving her alone during the birth of our first child?

He’d want Sam in there.

He’d want his brother to ignore Haley’s protests . . . ignore any I-can’t-go-in-there-because-I’m-not-married-to-this-woman protests . . . and stand beside his sister-in-law and hold her hand.

“Being out here while she’s in there is wrong.” Stephen stood with his hand pressed against the wooden door. “Even if she kills me, I’ll die doing the right thing. And the odds of her killing me right now are low. She’s a little distracted.”

He eased the door open a few inches.

“. . . I can’t do this.” Haley’s voice was thin, ragged. “I can’t. I want my husband. I want Sam.”

Her words halted Stephen’s advance.

He wasn’t Sam.

He stiffened his shoulders.

But he was the next best thing.

He shoved open the door, striding into the room, his eyes locked on Haley’s.

“Stephen—”

“You’re not doing this alone.” He walked forward and took her left hand, which was clenching the blanket, positioning it around his crossed fingers again. “Here. Squeeze.”

“Get . . . out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Go—” Her voice broke.

Nikki interrupted the verbal tug-of-war. “Mr. Ames, if she doesn’t want you here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Stephen knelt beside the bed, lowering his voice. He had one chance to get this right—and only the time until the next contraction started. “I thought about Sam. What he would want me to do. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Please, let me stay. Let me help. I’ll hold your hand. That’s all.”

Whether she gave in because what he said swayed her or because the next contraction overtook her, Haley stopped resisting him. Her eyes filled with tears, which she blinked away. Did the woman ever cry?

“Did I ever tell you that Sam and I were born six weeks early? That I’m older than Sam by four minutes—”

“No labor stories . . . kind of busy with my own . . . right now . . .”

The pressure on his fingers increased. “Got it. We’ll focus on you. Trade stories later.”

The next hour passed much like the previous one: contraction, breathe, rest, contraction, breathe, rest. The murmur of the doctor’s voice behind him when he came in to check on Haley’s progress was mere background noise, blending with the nurse’s softer tone as she moved between Haley and the
physician—asking questions, helping Haley adjust her position, encouraging her to keep her eyes open as she conquered contractions. Again. And again. And again.

How many contractions did it take to move a baby from inside a woman to outside? What time was it? He wanted to look over his shoulder, check the clock on the wall, but he continued to keep his back to the “business end” of the bed, his eyes trained on Haley’s face. During each contraction, her gaze returned to him, a compelling glow in her blue eyes.

When she licked her lips, he offered her the ice chips.

“I feel like I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.”

He pressed a damp cloth against her forehead, thankful Nikki had suggested another way to help Haley. “You’re beautiful, Haley. You’re doing great.”

After another exam, during which Stephen stood behind the striped privacy curtain near the door, the doctor announced, “This baby wants to be born before midnight. Thankfully, it’s tolerating labor well. I’m going to have you start pushing—but only with every other contraction—and see how it goes. Nikki will be helping you.”

Thirty minutes later Nikki, who had stayed on past her shift, called the doctor on her cordless phone and said, “It’s only going to be a few more contractions.”

Releasing the guardrails, Haley collapsed against the pillows, eyes closed, her mouth drawn. “One more push. I’ve got one more push in me.”

“You can do this—however many pushes it takes.” Stephen brushed the damp hair off her forehead.

The sound of the birthing room door swishing open and closed heralded the arrival of Dr. Campbell. “Looks like we’re going to have a baby.”

Haley managed a weak half smile. “I’m the one having a baby.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen saw the doctor roll a metal table of instruments over beside the bed and heard Nikki break down the bed to accommodate the doctor during the delivery. He refocused on Haley—that’s what he was there for. “Ready for me to count?”

Two minutes later, Haley’s push was accented with a “Come on, come on” that ended in a drawn-out groan.

“Okay, Haley, the baby’s head’s out.” Dr. Campbell’s voice was calm. Soothing. “Stop pushing just for a second while I suction the mouth.”

For all the huffing and puffing he’d been doing with Haley, Stephen found it impossible to breathe.

“One more little push, Haley.”

Stephen and Haley exhaled at the same time, her face reddening with exertion, and then she released his hand. Waited.

“You have a daughter, Haley.”

Haley’s eyes flew open, and she gripped the handrails, struggling to sit up. “No. No. I have a son. The ultrasound said I was having a boy.”

“Nooo, I’m certain I delivered a girl.” Laughter laced the doctor’s reply.

“But the ultrasound—”

“This is why I told you the ultrasound is just a picture of reality—not reality itself. Ultrasounds can be wrong.”

“But I don’t do girls.” Haley fell back against the pillow.

“You do now.”

A
daughter. She had a daughter.

As the nurse covered her with a thick, warm blanket, she felt a shift in the atmosphere of the room. Heard the door open and close. Open and close. A low chorus of voices.

But the one thing she didn’t hear was her baby’s cry.

“What’s wrong?” Haley looked around the room until she found the small group of hospital personnel gathered around the baby warmer off to the left. “What’s wrong with the baby?”

Nikki separated from the group and came over, adjusting the pillow behind Haley’s head, her eyes kind. “Your daughter is having some difficulty breathing. You remember what we talked about earlier today—how preemies can have issues that need extra care. We’re giving her some oxygen before we take her to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. That’s the NICU.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Stephen, who still stood beside her, asked the question forming in Haley’s mind.

“The neonatal nurse-practitioner will do a thorough exam.”
The nurse’s voice was soft. “Let me bring your daughter over so you can say hello to her for a moment.”