Epilogue

MERRITT

Nine Months Later

T he pressure was relentless, like the world was determined to squeeze every ounce of strength out of me. I paced the living room, my hands braced against my lower back, as I tried to breathe through another contraction. The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, mocking me with how slowly time passed. My feet shuffled across the hardwood, pausing every few minutes when a contraction hit and stole the breath from my lungs.

“Should we go to the hospital yet?” Kannon asked. He was calm but I could hear the concern. His eyes followed me as I made another lap past the couch. He stood near the door, car keys in hand, ready to spring into action.

“No,” I panted, gripping the edge of the recliner for support. “The midwife said I could labor at home for a while. We’ve still got plenty of time. The insurance only covers so much time in the hospital. We can’t waste it on little labor pains?—”

Another wave hit, cutting me off mid-sentence. It rolled through me, fierce and unrelenting. I closed my eyes, gripping the chair tighter.

“Breathe, Buttercup,” Kannon murmured, suddenly by my side. His hands rubbed soothing circles on my back. “Every contraction gets us closer to meeting our baby. You’re doing amazing. You are a rock star. A total badass. This baby is going to come out wearing leather and raising hell.”

His words were like anchors, keeping me grounded. He knew just how much joking to add to keep me from completely spiraling. I nodded, unable to speak, waiting for the pain to ebb. When it did, I let out a long, shaky breath and opened my eyes.

“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl yet,” I said, managing a small smile. “What kind of parents are we, going into this blind?”

“The kind who are up for an adventure,” he said, grinning at me. “Besides, I’ve got a hunch. I’m calling it—it’s a boy.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s just because you want someone to teach to ride a dirt bike.”

“Damn right.”

I laughed, but it turned into a groan as another contraction hit. This one was sharper, faster. I clung to Kannon, letting him bear some of my weight as my body worked through it.

“Okay,” I said when it passed, my voice shaking. “Maybe we should start thinking about heading to the hospital soon.”

Kannon’s eyebrows rose. “Now you’re ready? Woman, I’ve been trying to get your fine ass into the car for hours. I’ve actually been researching how to deliver a baby. You’re so damn stubborn, I was convinced that it was going to be on me right here in our living room.”

I shot him a glare. “Well then you better get me to the car.”

He helped me over to the door, one arm supporting my waist while the other held the hospital bag I had packed weeks ago. Outside, the morning was just breaking, a soft dusky light filtering through the clouds. It seemed fitting that our child would be born with the dawn.

In the car, I leaned back against the seat, trying to relax as Kannon drove. The streets were quiet, most of the world still asleep, unaware that a life-changing event was unfolding for us. Kannon kept glancing at me. His jaw clenched whenever I winced or gasped.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Drive like Lucia, please,” I managed to say through gritted teeth. The hospital wasn’t far, but each minute felt like an eternity.

“We want to get there in one piece,” he said. “I’m being safe. You told me to be a safe driver.”

“That was before I was in labor!” I yelled. “Step on it, Kannon. I swear, if we hit one more red light?—”

“Okay, okay!” he said, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Hold on tight.”

He stepped on the gas and whipped through the mostly empty streets. I grumbled something incoherent, breathing hard through the next contraction. By the time we pulled up to the hospital, I was practically climbing out of the car before it stopped moving. I knew the baby was coming.

“This kid is just like his father,” I groaned. “No patience.”

The delivery room was a blur of activity. Nurses buzzed around, voices calm and practiced, guiding me through the process. Kannon stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand and brushing damp strands of hair out of my face.

“You’re doing so good, Buttercup,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’re almost there.”

I didn’t have the energy to respond, but I squeezed his hand, grateful for him in a way I couldn’t put into words. The doctor walked into the room, his hair a mess, like we had woken him from a deep sleep.

“I hear we got one in a hurry to meet his parents,” the doctor said with a smile that felt way too giddy for my current pain level.

I cursed. “Now, dammit. He’s coming now!”

Nurses adjusted equipment and prepared for the imminent birth. Kannon’s grip on my hand tightened, his presence a vital comfort as the final stages of labor washed over me.

“Deep breaths, Merritt,” the doctor instructed, donning gloves with practiced ease. “On your next contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can.”

The contraction built like a tsunami behind my ribs, overwhelming and all-consuming. I bore down with everything in me.

Kannon’s voice was close to my ear. “That’s it. You’re doing great. Just a little more.”

Another push, another pause. The intensity nearly broke me, but then there was a sudden release, and the room filled with the sound of a newborn cry. Relief flooded through me, tears springing to my eyes not from pain, but from overwhelming joy.

“It’s a boy!”

I collapsed back against the bed. They placed the tiny, squirming bundle on my chest. I looked down at him, at his pink, scrunched-up face and tiny fists. My heart felt like it might explode.

“Kannon,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “We have a son.”

Kannon’s eyes were locked on him, his expression a mix of awe and pure, unfiltered joy. “A son,” he echoed, his voice thick. “He’s perfect.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my sweaty forehead, a silent gesture of gratitude and love. The chaos of the room seemed to dim, the doctors and nurses moving quietly to clean up and give us space as we enveloped ourselves in the new reality of being parents.

Kannon adjusted the tiny hospital cap on the baby’s head, his large hands surprisingly gentle.

“Look at him,” Kannon murmured, his finger gently grazing our son’s tiny button nose, then his cheeks which were still red from the effort of being born.

“He’s got a temper,” I said, though my voice was weak with exhaustion and elation.

Kannon laughed softly. “Guess we’re in for quite the ride, huh?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Here, you hold him,” I said.

Kannon looked anxious at first but then took our son from my arms. I was going to blame the tears on the hormones. Seeing the man I loved holding our son like he was the most fragile and precious thing in the world was nearly my undoing.

Kannon’s eyes never left our son’s face, his expression mixed with pride and a pinch of fear—the hallmark of a new father. He held him so tenderly, as if he were holding the essence of the world itself. “I can’t believe he’s ours,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Yeah, he’s ours, and no returns, right?” I joked weakly, trying to ease the heavy weight of the moment.

Kannon chuckled, his gaze lifting to meet mine. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

The first person to meet Garrett was Riggs. He practically barreled into the room, his usual swagger replaced by genuine excitement.

“Let me see him,” he said, grinning as he approached the bed.

I handed Garrett over carefully. Riggs cradled him with surprising gentleness.

“He’s a good-looking kid,” Riggs said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Takes after his mom, thank God.”

Kannon smirked. “Hey, I’m not chopped liver.”

Riggs ignored him, his attention entirely on Garrett. “What’s his name?”

“Garrett,” I said, my voice steady despite the emotions bubbling up inside me. “Garrett Warner. After my dad.”

Riggs looked up, his eyes misty. “You’re kidding.”

“We’re not,” Kannon said. “And there’s more. We were wondering if you’d be his godfather.”

Riggs blinked, his tough exterior cracking. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” I said.

He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “Damn it, Merritt. You’re gonna make me cry like a baby in front of your baby.”

“That’s the idea,” Kannon teased.

Riggs leaned down, pressing a kiss to Garrett’s tiny forehead. “It’d be an honor.”

Kleo arrived next, her eyes lighting up when she saw Garrett. “Oh my God,” she said, rushing to the bed. “Look at him! He’s perfect.”

I smiled and watched as Riggs handed Garrett over. Kleo held him close, her eyes shining as she traced a finger along his tiny cheek.

“What’s his full name?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Garrett Spruce Warner,” I said.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Spruce? Leah’s last name?”

Kannon nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about it, considering, well, everything. But it felt right.”

Kleo’s eyes filled with tears. “She’d love it,” she said, her voice firm. “She’d want you to be happy, Kannon. And what brings more joy than this?”

That evening, when everyone had gone and it was just the three of us, Kannon climbed into the hospital bed beside me. Garrett lay between us, his tiny fingers curling around mine as we marveled at him.

“He’s got your nose,” Kannon said, grinning.

“And your stubborn streak,” I teased.

We counted his fingers and toes, taking turns telling him stories about the grandfather he was named after. Kannon’s voice was soft as he promised Garrett a life full of love and possibilities.

“I love you both,” he whispered, his arm draped over my shoulders.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He handed it to me. Written in his familiar scrawl were the words: Will you marry me? Circle yes or no.

I laughed, my eyes welling with tears. I looked at him, at the man who had become my everything, and at the son we’d created together.

“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “A million times, yes.”

He slipped a ring onto my finger, then kissed me like we had all the time in the world.

***