Page 443 of The Winslow Brothers

Isabella should be here for this.

Remy strokes the hair at the side of my face again and squeezes my hand. “You can do it, Ri. I promise. I’ve never met a woman I thought could do it more.”

I’m momentarily taken aback by the genuine nature of his compliment. “Really?”

“God yes. You’ve been through more than ninety percent of people I know and, somehow, managed to come out on the other side even stronger. Beautiful. Successful. Kind. You’re going to be the best thing this baby can have with the hand it—she, he? Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet. My sister wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Looks like we’re about to be surprised today, then.”

I nod resolutely then, fully accepting the fact that this is happening, and I can do it. Ihaveto. End of story.

“Okay, Rem. You can stop Tony Robbins-ing my ass. I’m ready and willing. God help us both.”

He laughs. “I was going for a more Bear Grylls type of thing, but Tony Robbins works too.”

“Sorry, Charlie. This talk was nowhere near tough enough for Bear Grylls.”

“I can be tougher.”

“No,” I say through a half laugh, half groan. “Please. Don’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Remy consoles with a grin. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Goo—ahhhhhhhhh—ood!” I try to respond while simultaneously howling in pain over a peaking contraction. “Holy chickens in a coop, this hurtsss!”

Remy rubs at my arm and my hand and my leg, seeming desperate to comfort the impossible. The truth is, babies fucking hurt. I don’t care what people want to try to tell you when they’re not in the throes of a currently epidural-less labor, but shooting a baby cannonball through a very small hole is one of the worst ideas someone has ever had on this planet. I’ll sign a notarized statement and present it to a judge.

“Do you think you can stand up?” he asks, clearly trying to get me out of this elevator so I can have this baby in a hospital like a normal woman.

I want to nod yes. I want to agree and get to my feet and magically find myself in a hospital bed with a staff of doctors and nurses around me. You know, so they can give me all the drugs that will make this not hurt so fucking much.

But what I want and what my body wants are two very different things.

“I want to stand, I do, but the pressure, Rem. The fucking pressu—” I can’t even continue to speak when another contraction takes root.

His eyes pinch together in worry. “Maria, how long have you been having contractions?”

“I don’t know. Awhil—” I start to say, but the pain is back again, tightening my body in a way that makes anything other than breathing impossible.

“Just take deep breaths,” he coaches and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I might be able to get us out of here. I was in the other elevator and pried my way out. And I can already get an ambulance on the way.”

“Ahhh! Sweet land of the living, I don’t think we have time for that, superstar,” I shout, and when the pressure becomes so intense it feels like someone just lit a match to my vagina, I turn into a crazy woman and slap his phone out of his hand.

And then,pop!The audible sound fills the elevator, and the feel of water dripping down my legs makes me very aware of my reality.

“Oh no.”

“W-what?”

“I think…my water just broke, Remy. Oh my God,” I grunt when the urge to push is undeniable. “I think the baby might be coming now. Like, right, right now. I feel like I need to push.”

“Oh…oh shit,” Remy says, glancing down to the space between my legs with a swallow.

“Oh my God, I want to push!”

“Shit.” His eyes go wide. “Are you…Ri, I’m going to have to look and see what’s going on. Are you okay if I…” He stammers a little, nerves and uneasiness about making me uncomfortable no doubt hurtling their way from his stomach to his throat, but pretty quickly, the man I’ve known nearly all my life gets it together. Steady, in control, calming—Remington Winslow has seen the options before him and decided for himself. There’s only one thing to do here, and it’s not going to do either of us any good to tiptoe around it.

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