Wes knew fear.
He had had a gun pointed at him, had coaxed suicide bombers from triggering explosives, had driven off a cliff in a high-speed chase on some loose gravel. He had experienced more danger on a day-to-day basis than most people would ever know in their lifetime.
But there was nothing as terrifying as the moment when Sarah, the surrogate mother of their child, had finally given birth, only to have the doctors announce that something was wrong. The baby girl had been rushed out of their sight and Wes and Travis forced to stay behind, left to peer through a window as needles and tubes and masks surrounded the little girl. Wes had kept Travis and Sarah sane—as sane as anyone could be, under the circumstances—but his own nerves frayed more and more as time passed. His heart stopped every time a nurse would approach them to give an update on their baby. He wanted to do more, to protect her, like he knew cops should, like dads should, but no badge or gun or promise would make this go away.
Thirty-one hours later, at two in the morning, with Sarah and Travis both asleep in Sarah’s room, Wes heard a soft knock on the door. It was two of the all-too-familiar NICU staff… but this time, they were smiling.
Finally, finally, it was over.
Wes tugged Travis awake, and left Sarah to rest. One of the NICU women stayed with Sarah in case she woke, gently shooing the couple off to see their new daughter.
She was asleep, swathed in baby blankets. The machines beside her hummed and beeped. But under the mess of tubes and cloth, Wes could see the subtle rise and fall of her chest, her breath coming calm and steady. The monitors tracked the beating of her tiny heart in her tiny chest, and Wes could only stare. This small, fragile little thing, so young, and yet so much stronger than anyone could’ve guessed— and she was theirs.
“We’re going to keep her here for a while,” the woman was saying, but Wes wasn’t listening. His senses were gone, replaced with the crushing feeling of love and awe for this new little soul in the world, a feeling so strong that he felt abruptly lightheaded with the realization. He loved her, loved Travis, and knew then and there that he’d do anything in his power to keep harm from coming to either of them.
He dropped his forehead onto Travis’ shoulder and closed his eyes to steady himself, breathing in the familiar smell of cologne and leather jacket. He could feel the way Travis’ shoulders dipped with a long, relieved sigh, and then the shake of a laugh, low in Travis’ chest.
“She’s strong,” Travis murmured, glancing back at Wes.
Wes lifted his head, blinking through tears he didn’t realize had come. “She is, she’s perfect,” he agreed, half-sob, half-chuckle. “And she’s ours.”
