64 Secrets

64 Wedding surprise
Date = 15 August (about 6 months later) = Enrique’s wedding (Book 2)
Place = San Francisco (where the haunted house was)

POV - Damion

“Hey, son, where is Mel … she needs to get dressed?” Judging by the sound of her voice, Mom is panicking. Why is everyone so on edge? I mean, since we left the club Enrique phoned once … the other bridesmaids three times … and this must be Mom’s fifth call. Hell, it’s just a wedding. And not ours. And there’s still time.

“We’re still at the building site …” I calmly explain … again. “We got what we came for.” And what we came for is a tiny piece of blue jewelry… for the bride.

Mel got a blue angel charm to hang on her new sister-in-law’s bracelet today as her ‘something blue’. And apparently, it’s very important — a crucial part of the wedding. And that would be why we are back here at the haunted house construction site instead of getting ready at Inferno.

“We’ll be there,” I pause slightly to calculate the time it will take us to get there, “in about twenty minutes or so.” I wonder if this woman will be this stressed at my wedding too.

“Well, get moving.”

“Walking to the car as we speak.”

“Gmf,” my mom snorts.

I end the call, ensuring Mom that Mel is on her way, ready to get waxed and dressed.

“Was that your mom?” Mel confirms.

“Yep, she wants to know where you are. Fucking unbelievable, I swear she worries more about you than me,” I snicker and almost instantly receive a hard punch on the shoulder.

“Language Grimm … “ Mel scolds rubbing her hand over her protruding tummy. “Your son can hear you you know.” She sticks her tongue out at me and my dick suddenly tweaks. I’ve never in my life found a pregnant woman sexy but Mel pulls this pregnancy thing off in a sexy sensual manner that’s pretty darn perfect.

A huge smirk covers my face when I feel the impudent stiffness rising. I wiggle in my pants, as some unsavory thoughts harbor my mind. Perhaps we can squeeze in a quickie on the backseat before the wedding. Mel draws her eyebrows together in an attempt to be criticizing, but instead, it’s very alluring. My semi grows into a raging full-on.

“Grimm, I already told you where to shove that stiff dick of yours.” Oh, she knows me too well. But what can I do … she’s so frickin adorable no matter what she does.

“I’d still rather shove it into you.”

She points to her tummy and I can’t help the proud smile on my face — I did that. That baby is all me.

“Stupid pervert,” she snorts, “You’re to blame for my discomfort. I wish I could ram this baby into you and see how you cope with carrying a little hyperactive back-straining unnecessarily heavy parcel around … not to mention the excessive peeing.” Her eyes shoot daggers at me, but I don’t mind. I love this girl. She can do anything to me that she wants. It will be better if that includes a brief session to resolve my current predicament … but I can wait till later.

“And now I have to go pee … again!” She wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

“Just one week to go.” I try to soothe her. One week more and I’ll be holding my baby in my arms. Fucking dope.

“We better hurry, I still need to get dressed,” Mel says, “I wonder if my dress is gonna zip up … I believe I got bigger since my last fitting.”

She’s looking down at her pumped-up breasts. I want to tell her that it’s not a problem for me … if the dress does not fit we can both just stay naked and miss the wedding. But I keep my mouth shut … nothing I say now will go down well, I know that by now. Her head is raging with hormones, making her even more unpredictable than usual. So, instead, I push down my stiffy, pull on my overhanging church shirt, and take her hand, looping my fingers through hers.

I lead her through the semi-finished buildings where the haunted house was before. The doomed building is gone and this fresh appealing development is rising from its ashes. And it’s going to be BIG.

The area is empty — the workers are on a well-deserved break till next week since they’ve finished the previous stage earlier than expected.

“This was such a great idea. I can’t wait for this to be finished,” Mel gleams, “It’s gonna be such a great place.”

“Yeah, your man is rather impressive.”

It actually was just a spark of luck. Since Harry had no living relatives left, and no will, all his belongings, including the house, were escheated to the state and I could buy it.

Initially, we planned only to build a school center where underprivileged and problematic street kids could get the best of everything for free … education, sports, activities, food … you name it.

We’ve already hired the best teachers and coaches available, however, most of the staff will come from the gang areas — providing much-needed jobs to unfortunate people.

But since we’ve started, we’ve decided to expand it by incorporating group homes for kids with unsafe or no homes, a clinic where anyone can get free treatment, and a safe haven for pregnant girls who have nowhere to go. As well as a small psychiatric ward with an occupational and physical therapy center.

And I’m sure this place is going to grow even bigger with time. We’ve already started buying more ground around the area to expand whenever we want to.

What’s more … Dad and Doc Barney decided to ‘retire’ and run the clinic with the help of Ava and Nurse Betty, while Dr. Burden will head the gynecology department.

“I REALLY need to pee,” Mel says suddenly, clenching her knees together. I smile at the desperate look on her face and point toward the temporary outhouses on the outskirts of the woodland.

She starts a speedy walk at full tilt, resembling a hybrid of an ostrich and a duck … needless to say, I can’t help but snort in laughter. She stops, and gasps before turning around — shock written all over her face. Did I go too far? Maybe if I promptly apologize it might be better received.

“I’m sorry … you just walk funny … " Her face contorts, and it’s not hosting a pleasant look. Okay … I should not have said that last part. I curse myself.

“DAMION … " she starts and I take a deep breath, waiting silently for the scolding to come.

“My water broke.” I open my mouth to explain and apologize again, but before I can utter a sound, the meaning of her words hit me right between the eyes. I blink a few times spotting the wet jeans and a puddle at her feet.

“Holy fuck!” I holler, “Shit … are you in fucking labor?” I’m shocked, rooted to the spot.

She frowns and points a finger at me. “Stop swearing! He is coming and you can’t talk like that!” Even in this stage, she’s chastising me. But my mind is blank. I feel like fainting and start trotting around in a circle like some kind of crazy rooster dancing the jig.

“The baby is coming … NOW … it’s too early … it has to stay in … keep your legs together.”

“Calm down! You’re making me nervous!” she yells, but at least it gets me going in the right direction … towards her. I grab her shoulders and look into her eyes.

“The baby is coming,” I tell her with a huge grin. She pulls her mouth tight.

“I fucking know that moron!” She’s sarcastic. And why does she get to swear? But I’m not going to ask that out loud right now. I pout, pushing my lower lip out.

“I think this is where you get me to the hospital.” Still sneering. The word hospital drills into my disorientated head and I run to where we’ve parked.

“DAMION!” I stop and turn to look at her … she’s still standing in the same spot. Why is she not coming?

“Are you not forgetting something?” I tilt my head.

The keys. I jab my hand into my pocket and retrieve them. My phone is in my hand. Nope. I think I got everything.

I look blankly back at her and she points to herself. Fuck. Her. I forgot her.

I fly back and pick her up to carry her to my Ford. I need to get her to the hospital. We’re going. To the hospital.

Just as I reach the pick-up, she pats my shoulder.

“DAMION!” I freeze, immediately knowing something bad must be happening.

“I dropped the present there … ”

I’m thinking fuck the present, but I make a U-turn to go fetch it.

Why do I feel like a fool? I’m gonna be a dad!

Mel wiggles in my arms.

“Put me down first … " I stop mid-track. It makes sense. I think my brain is not working. Clearly. Not at all. I swing back and lower her to the ground. I open the back flap of the truck and gently lift her onto the bed.

“Just sit up here … don’t jump off … or make any sudden movements … okay …“ She nods, her face in a frown. I haste to go get her stuff.

On the way, the full force of exactly what’s happening eventually reaches my brain. Mel is in labor. Our son is coming. I miss the box a few times in my hurry but manage to grab it on the third try.

“I’ve got the blue angel thingy!” I shout, falling over my own feet, to land roughly next to the truck. Mel peeps over the side, her eyes huge.

“I’m in love with a frickin moron,” she mumbles. Right now I’m not going to argue with that — I feel like a frickin moron.

“Shucks, it’s not as if I’m having a baby every day.” She rolls her eyes as I get up and dust off my pants.

“I am having the baby … me,” she hisses as if short of breath.

Then her scream splits the air and she grabs her tummy.

“GRIMM … he’s coming … I swear he’s coming!”

I jump to my feet and stare at her tummy as if it’s going to pop open any moment now.

“It’s coming?” I pant. “It’s coming!”

“That’s what I said!” she screams at me, “Check … can you see it?” Her eyes are expectantly on me. She opens her legs more. I take a look.

“Shit!” I bawl.

“You see it? It’s coming isn’t it … I knew it!” she cries, clawing her stomach nervously.

“It can’t come … “ I lisp and point.

“What?” She sounds like a cow, her voice deep and low. “Damion!”

“You still got your pants on,” I flap, wiping some cold sweat from my forehead. She lifts her tear-stained face and our eyes lock. I watch my emotions duplicated in her baby-blues. She’s also scared.

“Get it off … shit, must I do everything here!”

“Why are you angry? It’s not as if I’ve had a baby before … I’m not a doctor … I fucking ride motorbikes for a living!” I yell back.

“Maybe I should have fucked a doctor then!” What the hell does that mean? Jealousy clears my fear.

“Do something!” Still the low cow voice. I’m still trying to figure out what that something is when she screams again. She glares at me as soon as her body stops contracting.

“GRIMM … I’m going to fucking strangle your bloody perfect neck! Do something!” Fuck the cow … she’s now breathing like a rodeo bull ready to attack.

I move between her legs and slide my fingers into her waistband. Usually, when I’m about to undress her it’s with sweet anticipation … not THIS time … I’m fucking terrified to death. I pull her briefs down with her pregnancy jeans in one swift motion, throwing them unceremoniously on the ground.

I look between her legs … not seeing any baby … YET … but I’m sure something looks different somehow.

“Is he there?” she asks anxiously.

“No! Breathe … keep calm … breathe IN … like in the classes,” I take a deep breath, “one … two … three … four …” I breathe out, “OUT … one … two … three … four … just don’t panic …” I feel dizzy. My breath puffs out.

This breathing shit does not seem to be working. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. I try again.

Nope … still dizzy.

What the fuck must I do? I can’t drive her to the hospital in this condition, can I? She’s bottomless naked on my truck … legs spread apart … with me standing between them. Rather erotic if not for the laboring part.

Wait … the bag …

I hold my hands up.

“Stay here … don’t go anywhere … okay … I’ll be back … "

“Where the hell would I go, stupid!” She has a point. I run to the front and grab the hospital bag and a blanket from the backseat. Luckily my sexy baby-mamma listened to the doctor and got prepared in case … this happened.

I get back to where Mel is screaming in pain again.

“Keep calm … just keep calm angel … and breathe …” I’m unsure if I’m saying that to her or myself. She grabs my shirt in a bear grip.

“Don’t you tell me what to do!” her voice is hoarse. She is scary.

“Eh … don’t shout it will fall out.” I try to not go in a flat spin. For probably the first time in my life I’m so fucking scared I can’t even remember my own name. I squeeze the blanket underneath her.

“Stay calm!” she shouts while clenching her teeth. “Aaaahhhh!”

“I am calm … you must breathe … one … two … three … "

“Stop counting … fuck … we have to go … I need my doctor …” I also need your doctor. Where is Doctor Burden when you need her?

She lets out another high-pitched intense wail of pain while vigorously clutching my shirt in a grip that would outdo Superman. A few buttons pop.

I can assure you now, that when your brain gets deprived of oxygen, your body starts to do strange things. Like hugging the love of your life while she’s crunching through a contraction.

“Maybe this is just a false alarm.” It seems that you also start saying strange things. That is clearly not appreciated by your laboring soon-to-be wife. I wonder if she’s still going to marry me after this shit.

She shakes me like a rag doll, her hands still firmly clutching my shirt.

“Don’t hug me … I’m not sick!” I try to move back but she’s not letting go as another contraction rips through her.

She jabs me forward. I lose my balance and almost fall onto her.

“HRNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG! This is NOT a false alarm, dick! He’s coming out!” she roars in my ear and shoves me away.

“Fuck!” Fear clouds my already-not-working mind. I don’t have a clue how to deliver a fucking human. I’ve only seen a calf being born … once … on Animal Planet. And the cow did all the work. The bull wasn’t even present. But, even with a brainless mind, I’m pretty sure I should not tell her that.

“You keep that fucker in … he can’t be born here … I’m taking you to the hospital …”

“Are you fucking crazy!” A small part of my brain distinguishes that we’re swearing too much, and she’s not even noticing.

“No … just keep it inside,” I push her knees together. “We must get to the hospital … where it’s safe … and where they know what they’re doing. You keep it inside and don’t let it come out …”

“Damion,” she hisses out my name in a not-very-pleasant way. “I fucking hate you!” she screams as another wave of pain hits her. “This is your fault!”

“EEEEHHH! I want an epidural!”

“Eh … even if we get to the hospital now they won’t give you one …” I tell her truthfully. At least I remember some things I’ve learned in our antenatal classes.

“Stop talking like you know everything!” she screams and then whispers breathlessly, “Speak nicely to me.” Tears roll down her flustered cheeks.

“I love you angel … you can do this … you’re the prettiest girl in the world …” I ramble the nicest things I can think of.

“I fucking hate you!” Clearly, it was not nice enough.

“This is all YOU! If I get up from here I am going to kill you!” She grabs my face between her hands, squashing my cheeks so it, in turn, pouts my lips out.

“The contractions are close together … I think,” she croaks. I remember what that means. The baby is close. And I’m not ready to catch it … she has to give me more time.

“No … stop the contractions …” I try to reason with her. “I’m not ready yet … you need to slow it down,” I explain. She spasms and screams. These contractions are not helping.

“Don’t push.” She lifts her head and gives me a stare that would freeze hell over. I swear she’s gonna murder me before my son takes his first breath. For the first time, a girl actually manages to scare me deep into my soul.

She grabs my church shirt again and eyeballs me. “The baby is coming … and you better catch it or you will not see another frickin sunrise …” The look in her eyes is serious … I believe her. So I guess I’m catching a baby.

My phone rings. She slacks the vice grip on my poor torn shirt.

It’s my father. Now why didn’t I think of him sooner?

I answer my phone with wobbly hands, drop it when my father speaks, struggle with trembling hands to pick it up again, and eventually manage to get it to my ear.

“DAD!” I yell before he can say a word, “The baby is coming … " I continue without taking a breath. “What must I do? Dad … help me! Can you hear me? Dad … the baby … Mel is pushing … he’s going to pop … dad … it’s coming …”

“DAMION! Shut the fuck up!” he shouts back and I close my mouth. Everyone is yelling at me today. “Now … where are you?” he asks calmly.

Mel screams again. Some bloody fluid flows from her vagina. Shit. I’m gonna be sick. I lean over the side of the truck and vomit. Mel gives me a stern worried stare. I only manage a sheepish grin.

“The haunted house …” I whimper, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Great, I’m close … put the phone on speaker … you’re going to need your hands.” I do as he says and put the phone on the truck bed floor.

“Clean your hands with something …” He sounds so calm. I scramble in the baby bag.

“Daddy … daddy … your son is a moron,” Mel whines, “and I hate him!!!”

“Hi pumpkin, I know … he was born stupid … but I’m on my way … just keep calm … you can do this, my strong girl.”

“Gmf,” I snort, getting my hands on some wet-wipes. I pull a cluster out and rub it from my fingertips to my elbows — I don’t know how deep I’m gonna need to dive.

“Done … I’m clean …” I’m going to faint … I swear I’m going to faint …

“Waaaaahh!” Her scream snaps me out of my trepidation.

“You’re doing great, pumpkin,” my father says calmly over the phone. Yeah, it’s easy for him … he’s not here. Neither is he number one on her to-kill list.

“Damion … do you see the head?”

“No.” Mel caterwauls and takes hold of my shirt. The unfortunate piece of clothing won’t make it through this delivery in one piece — never mind the wedding.

“Breathe, angel … I love you baby … " I try to console her. It seems to be working. At least she’s not yelled at me in the last few seconds.

“Are you ready son?” Dad asks. I look at the phone as if I will be able to see him. Am I? Ready? To be a dad? No, I don’t think so. Mel hollers.

“Do I have a choice?” Please say yes.

“No.” But I know this little dude is coming … ready or not.

“Okay, push … no wait … eh … shit … right … push … I’m ready … push … can you push?” Another icy glare gets shot at my face.

“I AM pushing … " she screeches. “I don’t like this … why didn’t you wear a frickin condom!”

Dad giggles over the phone … “That’s a very good question.” I roll my eyes. Why is this my fault?

“Wait I see something … his head … it’s his head …. ” I hope.

“Mel … PUSH!” Dad yells over the phone. Mel screams, her sweaty face contorted with pain. She exerts herself … bearing down … her body stiff and tense …

“Don’t pull him, son … just help him along … and make sure to support his head and neck,” Dad instructs me what to do. I follow everything as closely as possible … watching his head popping out, followed by his shoulders. I hold his head with one hand … the other supporting his tiny back … and then his feet nip out …

“I’m here son,” my father says merely seconds before his car pulls up alongside my truck. He jumps out and takes over. I move, glad to hand over my position.

Mel is still clinging to my shirt.

“Get something to cut the cord,” Dad says, holding my son. I run to fetch the pocket knife I keep in my cab. I take the bloody slimy cord and cut through it.

Fuck. Tears roll down my cheeks.

That’s some serious feelings I’m feeling right here. I’m crying and laughing. I’m proud and scared and happy all at the same time. I feel like a fucking teenage girl.

Dad looks after my son, sticking his finger in his mouth … slapping him lightly on the back. My body goes numb; exhausted but lightly shaking from an adrenaline high … it’s the exact same wonderful feeling I get when I cross the finish line first.

Just a thousand times better.

A loud cry fills my ears. I swear it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Dad wraps him in a blanket from the bag.

“You did well son.” He hands me the baby. My baby.

I press the small body softly against my chest with one arm, lightly tracing his black hair with my finger. His small hand grabs hold of a torn piece of my shirt and holds on tight.

I smile. He’s already acting like his mother … the little shit.

“This is remarkable … he’s so handsome … so small …” I whisper as I look into Mel’s teary eyes. She looks tired but happy. And at least she’s smiling now and not yelling.

“Aaahhh!” she screams again. Please tell me it’s not another one.

“Okay, the afterbirth is coming.” It’s the weirdest thing to have my father right in my fiance’s vagina. Some sick perverted shit. But right now I don’t even mind.

Dad helps Mel to deliver the placenta, while I sit quietly holding the little newborn.

“I’ll send someone for your truck … let’s get you guys to the hospital,” Dad says, “Maybe I can still make the wedding.” Shit, I totally forgot about that. Sorry, Enrique.

I carefully walk with the little guy snug in my arms, as if I’m carrying a dainty breakable porcelain doll. Dad helps Mel down, wraps her in the bloody blanket, and gets her onto the back seat.

“I’m a frickin grandfather,” he smiles proudly. And I’m a frickin dad.

I look over at the construction site. How ironic that my baby was born at the same place my sister died. The place where I found Mel. So much history. Pain. Now, joy. Maybe it’s a sign, like these new buildings … it’s a new start for us. And after all that happened … we can do with some happiness.

Dad drives fast, hazards on. He calls Dr. Burden and tells her that we’re incoming.

I look down at the little sleeping face. I’m chuffed. I delivered my own fucking baby. And he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

My father’s phone rings. It’s Mom.

“Right on cue,” Dad gushes, “She said her motherly instincts were itching … and that it meant something bad was gonna happen, so she sent me there to check up on you.”

“Bless those motherly instincts,” Mel giggles. “I hope I get some of those now.”

“Hi darling,” Dad answers his phone as we pull up to the emergency department.

“I’m going to have to call you back.”

Dr. Burden and the pediatric doctor, whose name I can’t remember now, are waiting outside with a stretcher and some nurses.

“After everything that little bean put me through, he didn’t even wait for me to be present at the delivery,” Dr. Burden jokes as they push Mel inside. I hand my son over to the pediatrician as Mel gets pushed into a separate room to make sure everything is alright with her.

Thank the Lord, it’s over. I never want to go through that again. My phone rings — it’s the groom.

“Hi, Enrique, dude,” I answer hesitantly. “I think you better sit down.”