Page 199 of Sinful Blaze

“I’m fine, really. I think I just want to lay down.”

“After a glass of water.” Melanie steers me toward her kitchen. “You sound parched. Have you been drinking enough water lately?”

I want to say I have. I want to be able to say I’ve been taking perfectly good care of myself in the midst of Pasha shattering my heart. That I’ve been stretching and meditating and drinking green juices and journaling my stresses as I ascend to a higher astral plane of peace and equanimity.

But that would be a lie.

“Honestly, I think I’ve cried it all back out.”

Jameson is already in the kitchen when we arrive. He’s got a glass in one hand and the ice box in the other. “One glass of water, coming right up!”

“Oh, no, really?—”

“Daphne.” Mels gives me a squeeze. “You need to get fluids in your body. For you and your baby.”

She’s right. I don’t want her to be right—I’m supposed to be the wise older sister giving her advice. “Fine.” I take the glass and sip slowly.

I needed this. I didn’t realize how thirsty I’ve been until that first sip of?—

Something’s wrong.

It starts in the base of my spine, a rolling sensation that travels up through my muscles in a violent flood. The rush is so instant, so unexpected, I’m almost dizzy from it.

But then it crashes back down.

Zeroes in on my abdomen.

Holy fucking shit!

I don’t even realize I’ve cried out at first. The sound is muted amid the rushing in my ears.

Jameson and Melanie grab my arms to hold me up. Did I fall? My legs feel wobbly. I can’t breathe. My heart is racing. I need to breathe.

Another rush, this time focused entirely on my abdomen. If I could double over, I would; it hurts so fucking much!

“Breathe, Daphne,” Mel coos in my ear. “Breathe. In, out.” She sucks in air and slowly blows it out, the same way those birthing videos showed me at the clinic.

“It could be Braxton-Hicks,” Jameson mutters, more to himself than to us. “You’re, what, thirty-five weeks along?”

I shake my head. “Thirty-seven. Almost thirty-eight.”

They exchange concerned glances.

“I’ll call my mom.” Jameson helps her ease me onto the couch and grabs his phone from the coffee table. “Let her know what’s happening, see if she can keep the kids a while longer.”

“What?” I’m partly disappointed I haven’t seen my niece and nephew yet. But mostly, I’m panicking over the way they’re looking at me. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Melanie strokes my hair back from my forehead. “Just keep breathing, sweetie. We’ve got you. It’s a good thing you’re still packed, huh?” She glances over at her husband, who is talking with his mother on his phone while pacing back and forth and glancing at me.

She checks her smart watch. “I’m gonna set up a timer, okay? Let me know when the next one happens.”

Realization dawns. “No. I’m not… I can’t be…”

“Sorry, sweets.” Her smile has a tinge of sadness that doesn’t help my panic. I don’t need her sympathy—I need her to tell me I’m hallucinating all of this.

I can’t be going into labor. It’s too soon.

It’s too fucking soon.

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