Sidebarred: A Legal Briefs Novella (9 page)

I can’t tell you why, but I ask, “Are you serious?”

Her face goes hard and furious. “Do I look like I’m fucking
joking
?”

Okay, she’s serious.

Holy shit
.

“Riley, Raymond, Rory—in here now!” I turn on my knees when the three of them stand in the doorway. “Riley . . .”

I don’t have to say anything else. She’s at Chelsea’s side, holding her hand. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Tears leak from Chelsea’s eyes as she caresses Riley’s hair. “You’re such a good girl. You always were.”

I stand up to talk to the boys. They’re stock-still and staring.

“Holy shit!” Rory says. “Is she okay?”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “She’s gonna be fine.”

He looks up at my face, demanding, “Give me your word.”

“You’ve got it.” He nods and I tell him, “Take your brother and sisters out into the living room. Keep them there and keep them calm. Can you do that for me, kid?”

“Yeah—I’m on it.” He glances around me. “I love you, Aunt Chelsea.”

Chelsea smiles, despite her obvious pain. “I love you, too, Rory. Don’t worry.”

With a nod, he leaves.

I wrap one hand around Raymond’s arm, bringing his attention to me. “Your aunt is having the baby.”

“Here?!”

“Here. Now. And I really need you not to freak out about it, Raymond. Bring me towels, scissors, string. Then boil some water, just in case.”

From what I read, the boiling water is for sterilizing things, and I don’t think we’re going to have time for that. But it’ll keep Raymond busy so he doesn’t worry himself sick.

I give his arm another squeeze. “Are you with me?”

His face tightens with determination. “Yeah. We got this.”

“Atta boy.”

I let myself take one last big breath as he leaves. Then I kneel back down beside Chelsea. From the living room, I can hear the little kids crying. Arguing. Calling for her.

Chelsea hears it, too.

“Riley,” I say, “go help Rory with the kids. I’ve got things here.”

For a moment she looks unsure. Then she kisses Chelsea’s cheek and goes.

Chelsea looks up at me, and my heart feels like it’s imploding.

“Hey.”

“Alone at last.” I say in my calmest voice. I tilt my head toward the phone on the floor. “Well . . . except for Earl.”

That gets me a tiny smile. And even more tears. “I’m really scared, Jake.”

I shake my head. “I know you are, but you don’t have to be. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or this baby.”

“This isn’t what we planned.”

I cup her beautiful face in both hands. “I didn’t plan on you, Chelsea. Or them. And for as long as I live, you will be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She closes her eyes and leans into my palm.

“We’re gonna have a baby today. And we’re gonna have one fuck of a story afterward. Okay?”

She takes one of her deep breaths, and that face that I love turns focused. Strong. Determined—like she’s always been.

“Okay.”

I put the phone on speaker. “This is Jake Becker—are you there, Earl?”

“I’m here, Jake.” A gravelly, older man’s voice comes out of the speaker. It reminds me so much of the Judge, I blink. “I’m going to walk you through this every step of the way, son.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay. First, take a look and tell me what’s going on.”

Chelsea’s underwear is already off. I grab a towel from the stack that Raymond dropped in the room and place it underneath her. Then I put my hands on her knees and look between her legs.

Holy fucking Christ

There’s a mass of dark hair that I know isn’t hers, pushing against her opening, stretching her. “I see the head. It’s inside her still, but it’s right there.”

“That’s good. I want you to wash your hands now, Jake, get some clean towels nearby, and get ready to catch.”

I scrub and dry my hands, then Chelsea groans deep and loud. “Oh God, I have to push. I have to right now.”

I tell Earl I’m ready and he says, “Go ahead, Chelsea. A few good pushes and you’ll be meeting your baby. Breathe deep and focus, okay? Your body knows what it needs to do, don’t fight it, let it happen.”

Chelsea grips her knees and curls her spine. Her chin drops to her chest and she growls as she bears down hard.

And while I wait between Chelsea’s legs, I silently do something I’ve never done before.

I pray.

I go back and forth between cursing God, telling him he can’t have her—to threatening that if he tries, I’ll march straight into heaven, scoop Chelsea up, and carry her home. But mostly, I just beg.

Please, God, please don’t let me screw this up. Don’t let anything go wrong. Please, God, please, please, please, fucking
please
.

And then my voice is echoing off the walls. “The head is out.”

My child’s face is still, covered in fluid and splotched with a white fleshy substance.

“It’s not over!” Chelsea grunts and strains even harder.

And then, in a rush of liquid, my son slides into my hands.

“He’s out!” I call. I grab a towel and wipe his face, clearing his nose and mouth.

“Is he crying?” Earl asks.

The answer is a strong, pissed-off screech. And it’s the most beautiful fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah, he is. He’s crying.”

And he’s not the only one.

His little mouth opens wide and indignant. His tiny, perfect limbs flail as I dry them with the towel. His sounds change to whimpers as I wrap him up in a new, dry towel and put him on Chelsea’s stomach. In her arms.

She cries as she holds him, looks at him. And her whisper is feather soft. “Hi, there. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

I lean down next to her and rest my forehead against her temple—just breathing her in. Holding them both close.

“We did it, Jake.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you
. . .

“We sure did.”

****

Talk about a fucking day.

The paramedics showed up a few minutes after Robert was born. They took care of the umbilical cord, and Chelsea, and all the things that need to happen right after childbirth. Each of the kids got a good look at Robert before he and Chelsea were loaded into the ambulance. The boys were thrilled to have a new little brother, and the girls decided he was so damn cute, they didn’t even mind that he had a penis.

Stanton and Sofia stayed with them while I rode with Chelsea. Mother and baby stayed overnight, just to make sure everybody was good to go. When they came home, we let the kids take off from school for the rest of the week—which is always a cause for celebration.

We’re all lying around the den now, watching TV in our pajamas, even though it’s two o’clock in the afternoon. A pitiful cry from the baby monitor tells us that someone is up, probably wet and hungry. I kiss Chelsea—it’s like I’m unable not to kiss her—every time the baby cries. Which is a lot.

“I’ll get him,” I say against her sweet mouth.

Down the hall, in our room, I lift him from the bassinet and change his diaper. And he really doesn’t like that. I swaddle him back up and sit in the rocking chair, soothing him.

His whimpers die down and he just kind of looks at me, the way babies do—like he’s waiting for something. After a few seconds, I think maybe he wants a song—a lullaby. There’s one band that gets played in this house more than any other, so against my better judgment, it’s one of their songs I choose.

I sing in a low, off-key voice . . . until the sound of a lone giggle floats down the hall and under the door. Then it’s joined by another.

And another.

Until there’s a full-blown chorus of chuckles going on in the living room.

And Regan’s high-pitched voice informs me, “We can hear you singing One Direction!”

That’s when I remember . . . the fucking baby monitor. I shake my head and laugh at myself. Then I look down into my son’s dark, pensive gaze.

“We’re never going to live this one down. Ever.”

Epilogue

Seventeen years later

I’m working from home today—because if I’ve learned anything after raising kids, it’s the moment you let your guard down, the second you make plans that don’t revolve around them, they screw with you.

I’m at my desk, halfway through the final read-through of a motion for dismissal, when the door opens, and Chelsea pops her head in. She’s every bit as hot in her late forties as the day she opened that front door and literally took my breath away. I’m a lucky bastard.

“It’s time, Jake.”

I stand up, grab my jacket from the back of my chair, and follow her out. We stop in the den, where Robert and Vivian are stretched out on the couch, watching TV and feeding each other popcorn. They’ve been a couple since middle school—it’s not really that surprising since they were practically attached at the hip before they were even born.

I don’t know if they’ll be together for eternity, like they say they will. They’re young, and life is so very unpredictable. But I know they’ll be friends for the rest of their lives.

“Your mother and I are going to the hospital. Are you coming?”

My son takes after me in build and personality. He’s stubborn and rebellious, but there’s a playfulness to him that I never had—because his childhood was a hell of a lot different from my own. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that. He has his mother’s eyes and her steely but kind resilience. I’m grateful for that, too.

He shakes his dark head. “Nah, but call me after the baby’s born—we’ll come then.”

I take three steps toward the front door, stop, and turn around. “Don’t screw around while we’re out of the house.”

It might seem like an awkward thing to say to my kid—and it is. But I’m a realist, and believe it or not, so are teenagers.

Vivian grins mischievously. “Come on, Uncle Jake—would we do that?”

Vivian is the spitting image of her mother—tiny and pretty, with golden-brown eyes that glow with a soft inner light. But her personality is all her father. And I’ve known Brent Mason for thirty years.

“Yes. You would totally do that.”

She giggles and buries her face in my son’s shoulder. I point my finger at him. “But don’t. Seriously. Ronan’s on his way back from school—he can come home at any minute.”

Robert holds up a placating palm. “Relax, Dad. It’s all good. Tell Rory and Lori I said good luck.”

From the doorway, Chelsea says, “See you later, kids. There’s juice in the fridge.”

As we walk down the front steps, my brow furrows at my wife. “Juice? Did you just meet those two? We should be locking down the fucking liquor cabinet.”

She shrugs. “The real stuff is hidden in our closet; I replaced all the bottles in the cabinet with water months ago. If they’re in the mood for a cocktail, they’re going to be disappointed.”

God, I love this woman. “Well played.”

She pokes my ribs. “This is not my first rodeo, Mr. Becker.”

****

At the hospital, Chelsea and I sit in the waiting room of the maternity floor, drinking bad coffee. Lori’s parents head down to the cafeteria, and about fifteen minutes after they go, Rory McQuaid comes barreling through the double doors, his expression tired but completely elated.

“It’s a boy!”

Chelsea squeaks, jumps up, and tackles her nephew. And my smile is so broad, my cheeks ache. After Chelsea eventually relinquishes her hold, I give a back-slapping bear hug of my own.

“I’m proud of you, kid.”

Rory smirks the same smirk that changed my life.

“Thanks. I’m pretty proud of me, too.”

“How’s Lori?” Chelsea asks.

“She’s great. You guys can come back—they’re ready for visitors.”

We follow him into the cheery hospital room, where his wife reclines against a mountain of pillows. Lori grins when we walk in, her cheeks joyously round. She’s a high school teacher—and so gorgeous she must have to beat those teenage bastards off with a bat. Rory met her when she was a character witness for one of her students—who was also Rory’s client. It wasn’t love at first sight—but it was damn close.

Yeah, Rory is a criminal defense attorney at my firm. He’s sharp, committed, tough—and he has a partiality for defending juvenile cases. He’s not a partner; hasn’t gotten McQuaid added to the firm name just yet . . . but I have no doubt in a few years, he will.

I kiss Lori’s cheek. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

Chelsea lifts the sleeping bundle of baby from the bassinet. She gazes down at him with so much love and sighs, “Oh, honey . . . he’s beautiful. He looks just like you, Rory.”

Lori teases, “We’re really hoping he takes after me personality-wise.”

I tap Rory’s shoulder. “Karma’s a bitch.”

He nods, chuckling.

I stand next to Chelsea and look at the baby in her arms. Smooth skin, long dark lashes, fucking adorable little face. Now this—this is love at first sight.

“Hi, baby,” Chelsea coos. “I’m your grandma.”

Gran-MILF is what I like to call her. Weird . . . but so true.

“Do you have a name for him yet?” she asks.

Lori glances at Rory—a special, secret kind of look. “We do. We’ve had it for a while now. Rory picked it and I thought it was perfect.”

When they don’t say anything else, I ask, “Are you gonna tell us or do we have to guess?”

Rory looks up into my eyes. And says quietly, “Becker. My son’s name is Becker McQuaid.”

I stare back at him, until my eyes start to burn. And I just know Chelsea is tearing up next to me. I look down at the baby again, through a blurry gaze.

Then I walk up to Rory, clearing my throat. “You’re gonna make me cry, you little shit.”

His mouth quirks. “That was my evil plan all along, old man.”

I hug him. Hold him tight—because I’m honored.

“Thank you, Rory.”

He hugs me back and says against my ear, “Thank
you
, Jake. For everything.”

A few minutes later, Lori’s parents come in—then Regan and Ronan show up, bickering about the route Ronan drove to get them here. Not long after that, the whole brood descends, to welcome our newest addition.

****