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7. Chapter Seven

“Sheriff, everything okay over there?” The unknown voice called from somewhere behind him.

Turning his head, the sheriff–yep, still didn’t know his name–called, “Does it look like it’s okay, Stan? Can you get traffic moved away from the car? I really don’t want us to get hit. And make room for an ambulance to get through here!”

With that last shouted command, he slipped his arms under and around me, and had me airborne before I could say boo. Hanging on for dear life, another contraction ripped through my mid-section, stronger than all the rest before it. Letting out a harsh scream was all I was capable of.

“Holy shit!” That came from Stan, I was sure.

“Shhh.” The low growl was in my ear, and I wanted to tell him he could take his ‘shhh’ and shove it right where the sun doesn’t shine. I was busy having a fucking baby. And it hurt! This pain didn’t even come close to a tenth of how I’d imagined it. Well, honestly, when I’d imagined it, there had been painkillers involved. Epidurals. Nice things like that. This natural birth bullshit was just…bullshit.

And it hadn’t been on my list or in my birthing plan.

Kudos to the people who did this without pain relief, but I’d never wanted to join that club.

Despite his size, and his harsh tone of voice, he laid me gently down in my back seat. Pushing up on my elbows, I watched him warily. He bent down in the doorway, his hands going to the elastic waistband of my maternity pants. They were still wet from my water breaking. I hadn’t thought to even change, just waddled past the movers with a cheery, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Denial, thy name is Wyatt Cooper.

Tugging my pants down and off before I could protest, I huffed, “Can anyone see me? I don’t need to be flashing the whole county my goods.”

“You’re being very practical and prissy at a very impractical time,” he growled, in that dark rumble I remembered every time I closed my eyes. He was pretty much blocking any outside light with his body, so I doubted anyone could see me. And frankly, as another contraction ripped through me, I decided I didn’t give a flying fuck who could see what. This baby wanted out and I was more than happy to oblige her.

“Whoa.” For the first time since he’d knocked on my window, I heard a tremor in his deep baritone.

Leaning up further, I demanded, “Whoa? Whoa what? What the fuck does that mean?” Was that hysterical sound my voice? I sounded one step away from completely losing it.

His large hand was hot on the bare skin of my thigh. “The baby is definitely coming.”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

Tugging at the walkie talkie again, he growled into it. “Jen, can I get an ETA on that ambo?”

More static and squawking, then, “Three minutes out, Becks. There’s a bit of a traffic jam with the road construction.”

“Stan!” He barked over his shoulder. “Get those cars out of the fucking way so the ambo can get through! Now!”

“On it!” Stan sounded as panicked as I felt.

“Becks?” Panting, sweat covering my body and my legs shaking, I questioned, “Is that your first name or your last?”

And why the fuck were my legs shaking? Was that even normal? Was I having some kind of seizure? Clearly, I was no longer in control of my body.

Turning back to me, he crouched between my spread thighs. I had one foot on the floorboard, the other on the back of the seat. Dignity had left the building about five minutes ago. This babys head felt like she was trying to rip me apart.

“Neither. It’s Grayson, actually. First name, I mean,” he rubbed my shaking legs with a gentle caress that mimicked my dreams. “Grayson Beckett

, but my friends call me Becks. Are your legs supposed to be doing that?”

“How the fuck would I know!” I screeched. “I’ve never done this before.”

At least I had a name now. That would be handy for the birth certificate.

“The baby’s head is right here.” His face was a mask of wonder and horror. “Showtime.”

“What do you mean?” Panting was all I was capable of. Another contraction ripped through me, and my body seemed to be pushing this baby out without any help from me.

“I mean, I can see that your baby has dark hair, and a shit ton of it,” he growled. “Now push!”

“Mother. Fuck!” My body felt like it was being torn in two, burning and stretching, and then there was relief. Leaning back, exhausted, I sucked in great gulps of air.

“You’re not done,” Becks said gently, and there was something in his voice. Awe maybe? Glancing at him, he was looking down at the spot between my legs, and I could feel his hands holding onto something, brushing my thighs. “The baby’s head is out, but we need the rest of them yet.”

“Her,” pushing myself back up, I prepared for the next contraction. “She’s a girl.”

As the next wave of pain hit, I pushed and screamed, sounding like an animal. The baby slipped from me, and tears streamed down my face at the same time she let out an ear-piercing wail. She was pissed off and letting everyone in a five-block radius know it. Becks cradled her–slimy and wet and covered in who knew what–against his broad chest. Holding her so gently, that my heart squeezed tightly. She looked so tiny in his massive arms.

“Is she okay?” I whispered.

He looked up at me with shiny, dark eyes. Surely it was a trick of the light, and those weren’t tears in the alpha’s eyes. “She’s perfect. Ten fingers and toes.”

Reaching out my arms, I wordlessly demanded my daughter. He handed her over, as gentle as he could be, and I cradled her to my chest. My stomach began cramping again, and I cried out. “Somethings happening down there.”

Becks stripped off his shirt, and holy fucking Goddess, he was just as ripped as he was in my dreams. Sometimes I wondered if my memory was playing tricks on me, and his abs hadn’t been as sculpted as I remembered. No one his age should look like that. My mouth watered at the sight of all those rippling ab muscles. Goddess, I’d just given birth and I was pretty sure some of the panting I was doing wasn’t from the exertion I’d just gone through. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Afterbirth,” he commented, and I felt something slimy and gross slip from me. “So much for that shirt.”

“Ew,” wrinkling my nose at him, I watched as he rolled the shirt up and placed it on the ground outside of the car. Sirens could be heard now, the sounds getting closer.

“Cavalry’s coming. How you doing?” he asked, running a finger down the babys naked back.

Why hadn’t I grabbed anything for her on my way to my car? I’d been so sure that I’d get to the hospital, and they’d tell me I’d just peed myself. That of course my water hadn’t broken and there was no way I was going into labor. Go home, put your feet up for the next month, and have a nice day. No need to grab that bag you packed just this week when you’d been bored in the hotel room.

“I wish I’d thought to grab something to wrap her in.”

“You mean you didn’t come prepared to give birth in the middle of the street?” he snarked, but his eyes were soft as he stared at me holding the baby.

“I did not. And she’s a couple of weeks early.”

His dark eyes narrowed, and I could almost see him doing some quick calculations in his head.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

Fingers crossed he was really bad at math.

Instead of asking what I was sure he wanted to ask, he said, “Does she have a name?”

Smiling down at the round head, covered in wet, inky hair, I whispered, “Julianna. Her name is Julianna.”

Snuffling, as if she knew her name or recognized my voice, she wiggled closer to my chest. From this angle, I couldn’t get a good look at anything but her dark hair, and the line of her back and little butt. She was covered in blood and goo and slime, and my shirt was going to be as ruined as Becks’, but I didn’t care. Even without seeing her face, I knew she was the most beautiful baby on earth. Not that I was biased or anything.

“It’s a beautiful name,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. “I guess I should ask what your name is.”

That night hadn’t been about names. It had been about an anonymous hook up for him, and losing my virginity for me. It had been about exploring a side of myself I’d long wanted to explore. Names had not been wanted or needed. That was part of the appeal of the Taboo app.

Even when the pregnancy test had turned positive, I’d been fine not knowing his name. This baby was mine, and anything beyond that wasn’t anyone’s business. Including the anonymous alpha who had knocked me up.

“Wyatt,” I said as the sound of the ambulance sirens stopped, replaced by the sounds of slamming doors and pounding feet running towards us. “My name is Wyatt. Wyatt Cooper.”

“We can take it from here, Becks. Ah, didn’t make it here quite in time, did we?” The paramedic nudged him out of the way, and then he was gone from my sight.

Some things never changed. He’d vanished that night too. Leaving me to wake up alone, with nothing to remember him by except a scribbled note, some love bites, a well-spanked ass, and a sore, stretched out hole.

And well, a baby.

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