I don’t know where to go, so I stop at the information desk. The young woman looks up at me, expectantly waiting for me to speak with raised eyebrows. Speak. Speak, asshole!

“Dylan Carroll.”

Her fingers press the keys like a fucking child would, one at a time. I close my hands into fists, clamping my eyes shut because I can’t watch her do this to me right now. Twelve keys. That’s all she needs to press. Twelve. Come fucking on.

“Take the elevators to the second floor. She’s in room two fifteen.”

I see the line of people waiting in front of the row of elevators. Too many people. I opt for the stairs, taking them two, three at a time and exploding onto the second floor.

Two fifteen. Two fifteen.

I push the door open, stepping into the room filled with people in turquoise-colored scrubs. Joey and Juls are standing on either side of the large hospital bed, each of them holding a delicate hand. My delicate hand. I think I hear the doctor say something to me but can’t comprehend it as I step up and connect with who I’m here for.

Dylan lifts her eyes to me, those big brown eyes that dilate every time she sees me. Her hair is sticking to the side of her face, cheeks flushed bright red, and lips pursed as she squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a sound that has me shoving Joey nearly clear across the room to get to her.

“Jesus Christ, Reese!”

I give him the quickest once-over, making sure I haven’t drawn blood, and then all my attention is on her.

I can concentrate on this.

“We’ll be out in the waiting room. I’ll let your parents know you’re here,” Juls says, letting go of Dylan’s hand. I hear the door close and the movement of the nurses, but I don’t look up.

I touch her cheek and she leans into it as the contraction lessens. When she rolls her head back onto the bed, I flatten my hand on her extended belly. “Can I do anything?” I ask, feeling the jabs against my palm I’ve become addicted to ever since I first felt them. Before she can answer, I press my lips to her hospital gown, just above my hand. “Don’t hurt your Mommy.”

She laughs but it’s short-lived as her hands grip the rails of the bed. “Fuuuckkkking shit!” Her body arches, head thrown back as her belly begins to jerk against me.

“Mrs. Carroll, I need to check you,” the doctor says, sliding his hand into a glove.

I know what that means and I can’t watch him. Him. Why the fuck Dylan insisted on a male doctor is beyond me. The only reason why I agreed to it was because he’s apparently the best in the state. But that doesn’t ease the throbbing tension which sets into my body whenever he’s examined her.

Especially now.

I brush her slick hair off her forehead as she moans in discomfort. Eyes clamped tight, face contorted in pain.

I hate this.

“You look so beautiful right now.”

Her eyes flash open, and the magnitude of her stare and what it does to me is profound. I’d do crazy shit for that stare.

“Reese, shut up.”

Especially when it’s paired with that mouth.

“You do,” I affirm, kissing her sticky forehead.

She frowns. “I’m massive, sweaty, and will seriously injure someone if I’m not told I can push in five seconds.” Her eyes narrow in on the doctor between her legs. “Well?”

He reaches into a compartment on either side of the bed and removes two metal arms with brown straps on the end. “You’re ready. Baby’s head is down and in position. Put your feet in these and scoot all the way down.”

I feel my body surge with panic as Dylan slides down the bed. Legs in the air, spread wide. Body flattened out on the bed. She grabs my shirt and tugs me down. “Hey, look at me.”

I do. I can’t not look at her. If Dylan is anywhere within my line of sight, she has my full attention. And for six hundred and sixteen days, my eyes have strained to stay on her because nothing else matters to me.

I hear her breathing quicken as she breaks our contact to look down her body. “When do I push?”

“As soon as you feel the next contraction. Push for ten full seconds, Dylan. Don’t stop until you get to ten.”

“Love, please, I…” I feel my legs shake underneath me. The strength in my body seems to evaporate as I lean over her. Everything I’ve read. Every pamphlet, book, internet site. Every instruction from our labor and delivery coach, everything leaves me. My mind draws a blank as I stare down at my wife, looking up at me for support. For me to do my job. For help through this. “Fuck… what do I do?”

She grabs my hand and squeezes it as she takes in quick, short breathes. “You’re doing it.”

Everything clicks, and it’s just her and I in that room. Doing this together.

Ten seconds. Come on, love. You’re almost there. Push. Push. Good. Okay, take a breath. You’re doing so well. I love you. I love you so much. Look at you. Look how amazing you’re doing. Here comes another one. Don’t stop, Dylan. Push. Six. Seven. Eight. Squeeze my hand. You want to meet our daughter. Come on, you’re almost there.

“Arrggghhhhhhhh!”

Everyone has moments in their lives, which are superior to others. They become an obsession, your reason for living, and all my moments involve Dylan. The moment I saw her, standing at the end of my row next to Ian. Our wedding day, when she officially became mine. And now this.

She’s so tiny in my arms. I’ve held babies before. My nieces and nephews. Even Juls’ and Ian’s son. But none of them seemed this delicate. I’ve counted her fingers and toes several times. I’ve memorized the feel of her skin and every detail of her face. She looks like Dylan, except her hair is darker and apparently resembles mine after I’ve run my hands through it, whatever the hell that means. She waited forty-one weeks to meet us, but she still seems so small. I’ve been told seven pounds is a very healthy weight, but that information isn’t comforting me. I was a nervous wreck before she arrived and now, maybe I’m worse off.