Epilogue
BECKY
“It’s fine. I’m doing fine,” I reassured my mate, whose head looked like it was about to spin around and pop off after my last contraction. “But a little less pressure on the hand.”
“f**k!” Clint released his overly-tight grip, and I shook my fingers out. “Are you sure you don’t want an epidural? Sugar, you don’t need to be a hero. It’s killing me to see you in pain.”
“It’s not about you, Clint,” Janet informed her son tartly, feeding me a spoonful of crushed ice with apple juice mixed in. “You’re doing great, honey. And of course, Clint’s right--”
“No,” I gasped then stopped to breathe through another contraction. They were coming one right on top of the other now, which meant I was definitely in transition. “Don’t offer again,” I got out when it ebbed.
Clint smacked
