Page 65 of Angel
“You can,” he says instantly, his hand tightening around mine. “You already are.”
His thumb brushes my knuckles in slow circles, grounding me. I focus on that. On him. On the warmth of his skin and the steadiness of his breathing. Another contraction builds before the last one has fully faded. It feels like drowning and being on fire at the same time. I cry out, a sound ripped from somewhere primal. I don’t care who hears it. I don’t care how it sounds.
“I’m scared,” I choke out when it finally eases.
Angel leans in, his forehead pressing to mine. His breath fans across my lips.
“I know,” he whispers. “You don’t gotta be fearless. You just gotta keep goin’.”
Tears spill sideways into my hairline. The doctor’s voice floats in and out, calm, measured, encouraging.
“You’re close, Stevie. Really close.”
Close.I’ve heard that word before. I’ve lived in that word.
Close and not enough.
Close and almost.
Close and loss.
Fear spikes so hard it nearly steals the next breath from my lungs. Angel sees it. He always does.
“Hey,” he murmurs, cupping my jaw gently. “This ain’t before. You hear me? This ain’t before.”
Something inside me steadies. He’s right. This isn’t the same. This is different.
“Okay,” the doctor says. “When the next one comes, I want you to push.”
Push.It sounds simple. It is not simple. The contraction hits like a freight train. My body curls inward instinctively, but I force it outward instead. Force myself into it instead of away from it. I bear down. It feels impossible, like my body is tearing in half. It feels like every loss I’ve ever lived through is being burned out of me all at once.
Angel’s voice breaks, just a little. “That’s it, Stevie. That’s it. I’m right here.”
I scream. Not from fear, but from effort, power, and the sheer magnitude of what this requires.
“Again!” the doctor says. “You’re almost there!”
I push again with everything I have left in me, every tear, every fear, every silent prayer I never said out loud.
And then a cry.Sharp. Loud. Alive.The room freezes. I freeze. My brain refuses to process it at first. It has played tricks on me before, imagined sounds that never lasted. But this cry doesn’t fade, it grows louder.Stronger. Real.
“Oh,” I sob, the word torn from my chest. “Oh my God.” They place him on my chest.Warm. Slippery. Heavy with life. My son.
He is furious at the world, red-faced and screaming like he’s announcing himself properly. His tiny fists curl and uncurl. His skin is impossibly soft beneath my trembling fingers.
“He’s here,” I whisper, half hysterical, half reverent. “Angel… he’s here.”
Angel makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before. Half laugh. Half broken breath. His hands hover like he’s afraid touching might shatter something sacred.
“Hey there, little man,” he says hoarsely. “I’m your daddy.” My heart cracks open completely.
“His name,” I whisper, staring down at him through tears. “We said if he came out first…”
Angel nods, voice thick. “Maddox.”
I look at my son at Maddox Angel and something inside me settles.Maddox. Strong. Steady.A name that sounds like it can hold weight. He roots instinctively against my chest, still crying, still demanding life.
But the room shifts again. Pressure. More. My body isn’t done. I almost laugh because of course it isn’t.
