Execution Style (Code 11-KPD SWAT 4)

We’d realized about hour three of my eleven hour labor, that Cheyenne was Sam’s wife.

Cheyenne was a beautiful blonde with hair nearly down to her butt, even in the loose pony tail that went down to her back.

She looked like a goddess, while I looked like a big pile of steaming horse puke.

Miller still lifted his lip, sneering at the Cheyenne. “That’s gross.”

Needless to say, Miller hadn’t taken to well to the birthing process.

Although he’d handled my water breaking on him, he hadn’t handled the screaming pain, blood, and…other questionable stuff, that came with it.

“I swear to God, you better have the goods covered, because I’m coming in!” Foster called from the curtained area.

I looked down at the doctor currently between my legs. “My va-jay-jay is exposed. Maybe you can take a trip to the cafeteria for a bite to eat and come back?”

I heard grumbling from the peanut gallery that was behind the curtain, but they left, leaving the doctor between my legs, and the nurse still cleaning off our son, and us.

“I make you tighter than ever,” the Chinese doctor between my legs said. “Like born again virgin.”

My doctor was, of course, out of town.

Instead, I’d had the on call doctor looking after me, and let me tell you something, he was a fucking hoot!

He was the life of the party, and had celebrated right along with me when I made it through another contraction.

“Okay, done here. Perfect for you once again, my dear sir.” Dr. Chen said, patting Miller on the back.

I tore, of course. The baby, that was a perfect blend of Miller and me, was worth it, though. Worth every single tear. Every single drop of blood. Every single painful tremor.

Miller blushed.

Actually blushed.

The baby was taken from my chest, and Miller followed him to the corner of the room where they weighed him and took his foot prints.

“Let’s get you changed into something clean. Sound good to you?” The nurse’s assistant asked me once I was free and clear from prying eyes.

I took the opportunity to clean myself up while the aide changed the linens.

“Alright, there you go! Is there anything else I can get you?” The aide asked.

Before I could answer, though, the doctor who’d been checking out the baby started to sing.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday dear baby. Happy birthday to you!”

Tears started to form in my eyes as the doctor kissed my son’s feet, and then left without another word.

“Oh, God, that was so sweet!” I cried.

Cheyenne smiled. “He does that with each baby he delivers. It never fails,” Cheyenne said softly.

“Nice guy,” Miller rumbled, eyes still on our son in his arms.

“Alright, you two. I’ll give y’all about half an hour to an hour with this sweet bundle of love. That sound okay?” Cheyenne asked as she tossed her stethoscope around her neck.

I nodded my head, and she left with a wave of her hand.

Silence prevailed as Miller finally made his way towards me.

I was sick to my stomach.

On one hand, I wanted to hold the baby with all of my heart. Look at his features, smell his scent. Kiss him and smother him with love.

What I didn’t want to see, however, was any signs of Mitch in him.

“You ready?” Miller asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I nodded, holding my breath as Miller placed our son in my arms then slowly lifted his cap from his head, and then unwrapped his tiny, bundled body.

Then I gasped.

“Oh, no.”***“I can’t believe he has the Spurlock cleft chin. He even has your curly hair,” my mother gushed.

“I can’t believe you stole our baby name!” Trance said animatedly. “That was our name! You stole it!”

“Oh, hush. You’re being ridiculous,” Sloan snapped at her middle son.

Micah snorted. “Your momma sure knows how to put you in line. Mercy, let her know if you need any pointers. These Spurlock boys are a handful. Even after they grow up.”

I smiled wide and snuggled into Miller’s chest. Our son, Samuel Adams, was nestled in the bed between us. His perfect five pound body fitting into the small crevice between us like he was made to be there.

He was a perfect, albeit smaller, replica of his father, and I was so beyond overjoyed that I could barely keep in my happy giggles.

“I love you, Miller Genuine Spurlock,” I said quietly, brushing a kiss over his bearded jaw.

He turned into me, capturing my lips with his own, as he said, “Back ‘atcha, babe.”EpilogueYou’re going on a date for Valentine’s Day? That’s cute, I’m going to listen to the police scanner so I can hear my husband’s voice. Oh, and most likely eat everything edible in the refrigerator.

-Police Wife Fact of Life

Miller

Valentine’s Day, one year later

“We just made Samuel a baby sister, I can feel it,” I murmured against my wife’s lips, rotating my hips to punctuate my claim.

She snorted and pushed until I rolled to the side, disengaging from her in a groan.

“If we did, then you have to help with diapers. I’m over this whole diaper business,” Mercy replied.

I smacked her ass as she got out of bed. “I’ll have to agree to disagree.”

She tossed me a ‘you’re so not amusing’ look over her shoulder, and flipped the light on in our bathroom.

I rolled to my back and pushed my hands beneath my head, closing my eyes and sighing.

“You sound like you’re tired, when I know for a fact that you slept in, and took a nap today,” Mercy said from the bathroom doorway.

She was brushing her teeth, the foam from the toothpaste running down her chin.

“And how would you know that?” I asked dubiously.

She grinned. “The baby monitor.”

I opened my mouth, and then closed it.

“How’d you know it did that?” I asked suspiciously.

“You have an app for it on your phone. And it’s not hard to figure out what your username and password is. It’s been the same since I’ve known you,” she teased, resuming brushing her teeth.

I grinned unrepentantly. “You caught me. I just like to see you and Samuel during the day.”