Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 128

Chapter 128

Skye

The dynamic between Jaxon and Nicolai settles into something functional. Not by design. By necessity–mine,, specifically, which is the only currency that matters in this room right now.

Jaxon is on my left. Nicolai is on my right. They take their places wordlessly and seem to accept the other’s role in this drama without complaint. I’ve never been more grateful because I have no brainpower to spare/on Alpha posturing.

To be honest, I did not expect Jaxon to be good at this. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it-he’s an Alpha, he was trained for crisis, and somewhere under everything he did wrong he has always been capable of showing up when the situation is clear enough. And birth is nothing if not clear.

He talks me through contractions. Not telling me to breathe-he doesn’t do that. He says my name. Says I’ve got you and you’re doing it and almost through. Grounding things. Consistent things. A handrail in the dark. I grab

onto it.

And then the contraction peaks and I can’t hold onto anything verbal anymore and my eyes find Nicolai’s. Not because Jaxon is inadequate. Because Nicolai has been my constant for months and my instincts have learned, without consulting me, where to look for steadiness.

He’s already there. Watching me, steady and unwavering, his thumb moving in slow circles on my knuckles. He doesn’t compete with Jaxon’s voice. Doesn’t add his own. Just holds my gaze and lets me anchor there until the worst of it passes.

And then his eyes say, “you have it. You’re capable and you’ve got this.”

And I do.

There’s a point where the room narrows. Not literally-Dr. Chernov is still there, the nurses, both men on either side of me. But my awareness compresses to something essential: breath, and pain, and the instruction that arrives at intervals. Push.

And the knowledge that on the other side of this there’s a little person. Mine. The one I’ve been talking to for eight months in the dark. The one who kicked when I was stressed and settled when Nicolai’s hand was on my belly and objected, apparently, to being named Aleksandra on the grounds of syllables.

The one I came through everything for.

Push. Jaxon is saying my name. Nicolai’s thumb is moving across my knuckles again. Little things I can cling to when it all seems like too much.

Dr. Chernov says-with the authority of someone who has done this thousands of times and knows when one more is actually one more-“One more, Skye. That’s all.”

I choose to believe him. “One more.” I think to myself. “I can do this. I’m ready.”

And then I push.

The silence that follows is fractional. A held breath. The whole room in suspension. I stare at the ceiling and tell myself one last time, “I’m ready. I’ve been ready. Whatever comes next, I’m ready.”

Then Benjamin Marco makes his opinion of the world known at considerable volume. Not a soft sound. Not tentative. A declaration.

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Both hands. The grip of someone who knows what matters and holds on.

And I stop thinking about anything else.

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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