“I’ll get on that.” Dom rubbed Jesse’s back, holding him until the contraction passed. Then he made Jesse sit, double-checked the bag, and grabbed a shower.
Dom spent more time with him, holding him through the contractions. When Jesse finally said, “We should start heading to the hospital,” Dom went to the minibar.
Jesse stared. Dom grabbed the coffee liqueur and vodka, and stirred that up with some cream in a travel tumbler. “I’m not drinking that,” Jesse said.
Why else would Dom be mixing a white Russian?
Dom sealed the tumbler and slid it into the overnight bag. “It’s for me.”
It took Jesse a moment to realize that he hadn’t seen Dom mix a whiskey sour in a long time. Other cocktails, yes. But not Mal’s favorite drink. And here he was, with Jesse’s.
Dom met his eyes. “You want some decaf coffee?”
Jesse swallowed, his heart pattering. “There a reason you’re mixing my favorite drink?”
Dom cracked a smile. “Aside from the fact that I’ll need to calm the fuck down later?” He wandered over, sliding his arm around Jesse. Then he pressed a kiss to Jesse’s ear and touched Jesse’s hand—where his ring finger was. “Can’t wait to put a ring on you.”
Jesse’s heart skipped; he shoved Dom off. “Quit being sappy.”
“Lies.” Dom grinned, brushing Jesse’s shiny blue nails with his thumb. They’d painted those a couple days ago—Jesse’s toenails, too. Then Jesse had brushed a deep brown onto Dom’s nails, and Dom had worn that to work; Dom didn’t care what people thought about him.
He didn’t have omega parts to worry about, though. Over the past few months, Jesse had turned Dom’s words over in his mind, trying to see himself from Dom’s eyes. Dom loved him. Dom didn’t mind that Jesse was dabbling in nail polish and pretty clothes. He’d only looked at Jesse and smiled, and kissed him.
Slowly, Jesse had come to terms with this—painting his nails, pulling on lacy underthings. Those didn’t make him less. They were just a part of him.
And maybe that was perfectly fine.
Dom grinned and walked with Jesse to the truck. He wasn’t supporting Jesse, but he held Jesse close, just in case. Jesse couldn’t decide if he liked that Dom was this anxious about the birth.
They arrived at the hospital and checked in. Dom squeezed onto the bed with Jesse; it was crowded, both of them being alphas.
“I don’t suppose we can make out in here,” Jesse said.
Dom smirked. “Why not?”
The room had no windows opening into the hallway—they could, technically. But Jesse wasn’t sure he wanted someone walking in on them. Dom shuffled Jesse over to the other side of the bed, so Jesse was further from the door.
“There. Now they’ll just see the back of my head.” Dom cupped Jesse’s face and tipped it up, sliding into his mouth.
Their kisses these days had changed. Sometimes they fought for dominance, sometimes they savored each other’s presence. Sometimes, it was all sweet intimacy, and Jesse loved that, too.
This kiss started out playful, turning scorching in a heartbeat. Jesse had just grasped a fistful of Dom’s shirt when someone knocked on the door.
They broke apart right as the midwife bustled in—they’d met her before on a previous visit, so she wasn’t surprised by them. “Ready for the birth?” she asked.
Jesse’s stomach tightened. He’d discussed this at length with Dom. Without knowing if Jesse’s body could handle a regular birth, their safest bet would be to do a C-section. “Yeah.”
Dom took a swig from his tumbler. He wasn’t keen on seeing Jesse cut open, but they didn’t have much of an option. Jesse didn’t know if he was more afraid, or if Dom was.
A bustle of activity later, Jesse found himself on the operating room table, Dom in scrubs, gloves, and a face mask next to him. The nurse put an oxygen mask over Jesse’s face and gave him some local anesthetic for his abdomen—that was good enough.
Then the bright lights came on, and Jesse glimpsed the scalpels. His chest squeezed. He remembered the operating table from the Facility, he remembered tranq guns and unbearable pain. Dom squeezed his hand, stroking his face.
“You’ll be fine,” Dom said. But he was holding Jesse’s hand too tightly, his shoulders tense. Just before this, he’d taken another two swigs from his tumbler.
“I told you,” Jesse muttered. “I’m not gonna die.”
Dom narrowed his eyes.
The doctor cut into Jesse—he felt the faint pressure of the scalpel. He’d asked for it to be that way so he could be part of the birth. This, at least, was a hundred times better than being at the Facility. For one, Jesse had chosen it. For another, Dom was with him.
Jesse held on to these thoughts, breathing out the tightness in his chest. Things were going to be okay.
Then the doctor cut deeper and deeper, and Dom looked like he might burst from the tension in his body.
“Breathe,” Jesse said. “You know how it’s supposed to go.”
Dom glared. “Not funny, Sinclair.”
“C’mon, breathe with me. Like this.” Jesse sucked in a loud breath.
“If you weren’t pregnant, I might punch you,” Dom muttered.
“Now we breathe out.” Jesse exhaled loudly. “Everyone knows how to breathe. You just need to remember it.”
“Fuck off,” Dom hissed.
“Hush,” the doctor said.
Jesse glared at Dom. Dom glared back. Then Dom squeezed Jesse’s hand and kissed his fingers through the face mask, and he closed his eyes. Jesse felt the tremble of Dom’s hand, he felt Dom’s anxiety, just by looking at him. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
Dom glowered, his grip turning more painful the deeper the doctor cut. It was as though he were the one giving birth, the way his breathing turned uneven, his face going pale.
It was when Dom almost crushed Jesse’s hand, that the doctor eased something out—a tiny human, covered with blood and fluids.
Their baby.
Jesse watched as the doctor suctioned the fluid out of their baby’s mouth and nose. Dom didn’t let go of his hand. Then a loud wail broke the silence, and Jesse stopped breathing. His instincts
