Page 148 of Forbidden Lyrics

With a deep breath, I turn back to my sister. “Where are your shoes?”

“I’m fine, Dove.”

Gibson rummages through her closet, grabbing a pair of running shoes without waiting for her permission. The glass crunches beneath his boots as he hands them off to her. “Do you need help putting them on?”

“You guys, I’m f––” Her face scrunches, and she lets out another low moan.

“Let’s go check, Mads. The doctor said to go to the hospital if you start having consistent contractions.”

“They’re not consistent.”

“Then I’m sure they’ll tell us that you’re fine, and we can grab some Taco Bell on the way home. Deal?”

She lifts her head toward the ceiling, her mouth forming a tiny ‘O’ as she tries to get a handle on the situation and the pain shooting across her lower abdomen.

“Come on, Mads––”

“I’m not ready,” she confesses, finally looking at me. The fear in her eyes is more telling than I know she’d like to admit.

She’s right.

She’s not ready.

In more ways than one.

“It’ll be okay,” I promise her. “Maybe the doctor will give you some kind of medication to slow the contractions. But we need to get there so we can get some answers and keep your little peanut safe, okay?”

She nods and slips the shoes onto her feet, her face contorting in pain as another contraction hits her, lasting a little over thirty seconds before it passes.

When it does, Gibson offers his hand to her, but she doesn’t take it as she forces herself to her feet. Unoffended, he drops his hand back to his side and follows us out the front door.

“I’ll drive,” Gibson offers when we reach the sidewalk of the apartment complex.

Both Maddie and I climb into the back, and she closes her eyes before grabbing my hand and squeezing it with all her might.

“Which hospital?” Gibson asks as the engine revs to life.

“The one on Fifth and Second Streets,” I answer.

Peeling out of the parking lot, the tires squeal against the dark pavement. His knuckles are white as he strangles the steering wheel and presses the gas a little harder, the speedometer ratcheting even higher.

Maddie’s grip on my hand lessens, but she doesn’t let go of me as the trees whir by us on each side of the car. With her head on my shoulder, she prepares for the next contraction that shouldn’t be happening for another two months.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper.

“It’s too early.”

“You were early too, and look how you turned out,” I remind her.

She laughs, but it sounds like more of a whimper than anything else. “Not exactly comforting right now, Dove.”

I join in, resting my head on top of hers while battling my nerves over the fact that these are clearly not Braxton Hicks contractions. Which means Peanut’s coming. Or something’s wrong.

And just like that, all of my other problems with Gibson and Madelyn seem trivial. Because I’m going to be an aunt. And I need the little one to be okay.

I bite my lip and say a prayer to keep them safe and grip Maddie a little tighter.

“We got this, Mads.”

---