Page 18 of Saving Their Forever

“Oh, my God. Really?”

“Really.” I hike her go bag onto my shoulder and rest my other hand at the small of her back. She stays close all the way to the parking garage, where West leans against his vintage powder blue F150 pickup. The former SEAL looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world—to anyone who doesn’t know him. But his eyes are always moving, scanning the garage all the way out the barred windows to the street. And from the slight bulge under his jacket, he’s packing.

“You in labor yet?” he asks.

“No. But I think I’m close,” Wren says. “Let’s hope close enough.”

“Want me to follow or ride with you?”

I finger my key fob. “Take your own wheels. Who knows what’s going to happen once we get there. We could be there a while. If so, we’ll figure out a plan.”

At the word “plan,” Wren snorts. “You are not going to set up a security rotation around my hospital room.”

I cut my gaze to hers. “Watch me.”

* * *

It’s twenty minutes before they show us to a room, have Wren change into a gown, and pee in a cup. Then a haggard-looking nurse straps a monitoring harness to her belly, enters half a dozen numbers into the computer, and leaves us with a quick, “The doctor will be in soon.” West is stationed in the hall. I stand at the window, staring down at the parking lot below.

No one followed us—at least no one we could see. The nurse assured us it would be only her and Wren’s doctor in the room. And I’m armed.

Wren wasn’t happy when she realized I had a pistol strapped to my ankle, but I’m not taking chances.

“Ry, for fork’s sake, sit down.”

“Fork’s sake? That’s a new one.” I move to her side and take her hand. “I have to find a way to stop swearing. Maybe Royce can design some sort of electric-shock wearable for me.”

Wren shakes her head. “Nope. You’d be dead in less than four hours. We’re just going to have to teach Harlow that those words are for home only.”

The idea of teaching our kid anything is scarier than going back to Hell. “I’ll teach her how to fight and protect herself. But if I try to teach her not to swear in public, I’m afraid every other word out of my mouth will be ‘fuck.’”

She laughs, and her free hand flies to her belly. “She’s kicking again. Hard. We’re going to have to swaddle her or she’ll bounce right out of the crib.”

“Fuck. Something else I don’t know how to do.” I scrape my fingers over my bald head, feeling the scars from too many boots, knives, and fists. “How the hell are we supposed to do this?”

“Ry.” Wren sits up a little straighter on the exam table. “I’m scared too. But our parents did it. So did their parents. And their parents. Back thousands of years. We’re going to make mistakes. We’re going to be exhausted and we’re probably going to fight a little more because of how tired we are, but we can do this. We have family. So much family. And the internet.”

I’m about to tell her none of this makes me feel any better when there’s a brisk knock at the door, and the doctor pokes her head in. “Ready for me?” she asks.

“Yes. Please, please tell me this baby is ready to be born,” Wren says.

“Let’s find out.” Dr. Wright sinks down onto a stool and snaps on a pair of gloves. “A little pressure now.” After a minute with her hand between Wren’s legs, she hums. “You’re only a little over two centimeters. Any contractions?”

“No.” The disappointment in Wren’s voice hits hard. “But I’ve been dizzy the past couple of days and I just feel…off.”

“Well, this late in pregnancy, most women feel a little out of sorts. But I’m not going to discount a mama’s intuition.” She strips off her gloves and tosses them in the trash. “You can get dressed. It’ll be a few minutes before your blood sugar numbers come back, though. Your last test was normal, but sometimes these things go wonky toward the end.”

“Wonky? What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. “Is there something wrong or not?”

Her brown eyes narrow and she stares up at me like she’s just realized I’m here. “I have no way of knowing until I get her test results back. But it’s probably nothing. Your wife is carrying a tiny human, and sometimes, the body gets overwhelmed the last few days or weeks. If there is something wrong, we’ll find it. But we’re a bit backed up today, so it might be fifteen or twenty minutes. Try to relax, okay?”

She’s out the door before either of us can answer.

“Relax,” I mutter. “I’d like to see her relax if she were in this situation.”

“She has two kids. She’s been in this exact situation before. Plus, she’s the best ob/gyn in the city.” Wren takes my hand and strokes her thumb back and forth across my wrist.

The urge to stalk after the doc and threaten her until she admits Wren to the hospital is so strong, I almost pull away.

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