Page 83 of Baby I'm Yours

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asks, wrapping an arm around me.

I lean against him for support. “That was a contraction,” I say, pulling in a deeper breath as it gradually begins to fade. I nod, pulse picking up as this “about to give birth” thing starts to get really real, really fast. “Yeah, that was definitely a contraction. Not fun. They weren’t kidding about the hurting part.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “What can I do?’

“You can take the bags to the car,” I say, smiling up at him as I shift my hand to brace myself against the bureau instead of his chest. “And then come get my fat ass because I’m not sure I trust myself to go down the stairs alone right now.”

“You’re not fat, you’re pregnant and perfect, and I’ll be right back,” he says, pressing a swift kiss to my forehead before hurrying toward the door.

I watch him go, gratitude swelling in my chest.

An hour ago, I thought I’d be doing this alone. Now he’s here, solid and steady and worried and reassuring, ready to help however he can.

Tears prick my eyes. After eight months of missing him, of wondering if I’d ever feel anything like what I felt with him, he’s here. Not just physically present, but here for all of it. All of me, all of the mess, all the chaos, and most importantly, here for these two little girls. They won’t have to grow up without a father, the way I did. They’ll know their dad cares about themandtheir mom.

I believe Hunter will keep the promise he made with his hand over my belly. That wasn’t just a promise, it was a vow. I felt that truth with everything in me. Even if therapy and loving each other isn’t enough to make our happily ever after a reality, he’s never going to let our girls down.

But I really hope we can make happily ever after a reality…

I love this man so damned much.

He appears at the top of the stairs barely two minutes later, breathing hard as he says, “Your car is a piece of shit. I’m buying you a new one before we drive back from the hospital. If I’d known you were going to go into labor, I wouldn’t have let Mom take my car. We’ll be lucky to make it fifteen miles in that thing, let alone all the way to the hospital.”

My lips twitch. “Oh, it’ll be fine. Chum Bucket is a great little car. You’ll see.”

“Chum Bucket,” he mutters as he slides an arm around me, helping me across the room. “Named for that hideous gray and pink paint job, I assume?”

“I thought I could paint her myself with spray paint,” I say, stepping into my unlaced boots by the door. That’s where they were! Congratulating past me on her cleverness, I add, “But turns out that leaves your car looking like shit. Though in my defense, I was only nineteen at the time and?—”

I break off at the door, leaning on Hunter as another contraction spirals through me like a pain tornado. This one is even longer and more intense than the first, leaving me panting as I say, “Yeah. Downstairs. Let’s go before another one comes.”

The stairs are a slow process, each step careful, deliberate. The old wooden steps creak beneath our feet, the sound echoing through the empty alley below. The March wind whips through my hair, but I don’t mind the cold. Even just two contractions in, the pain already has me feeling overheated and sweat breaking out on my upper lip.

“Almost there,” Hunter says as we reach the bottom. “I’ll get you in the passenger seat, then go grab the car seats.”

“Great,” I say, adding in a teasing tone, “if that private equity billionaire thing ever dries up, I think you have a bright future as a valet.”

“Nope. I hate people too much to go into customer service.” He opens the passenger’s side door, guiding me inside. “My resting asshole face would kill my tips.”

I grin up at him, appreciating the joke. “Very true. It’s good you know yourself so well. The car seats are in the third storage area.” I point toward the wall of wooden storage compartments nestled beneath the stairs and small back balcony. “On the first big shelf, right above the beach wagon.”

He hurries into the shadows. The motion-sensor light flickers on, but it apparently isn’t enough for him to see. He pulls out his cell, turning on his flashlight, before locating the proper door and grabbing both car seat handles with one hand.

A moment later, he’s back at the car, depositing them in the back seat.

“The bases,” I say, trying to turn over my shoulder, but unable to twist with my giant stomach in the way. “We’ll need the bases to attach them to the car later. Maya and I weregoing to install them tomorrow, but obviously that won’t be happening.”

“Bases,” he repeats, frowning.

“The big black plastic things at the back of the shelf,” I say, pointing back toward the storage area. “Just reach in there. You can’t miss them.”

It takes him another moment to turn his flashlight back on and locate the bases. By the time he returns to the car, I’m in the middle of another contraction, one that draws a low moan from my throat as it reaches its peak before slowly fading away.

“Five minutes since the last one,” Hunter says, checking his very expensive watch that probably costs more than my car as he slides into the driver’s seat. “That’s fast.”

“It’s not slow,” I agree, fear tickling the back of my neck. “But labor usually takes hours.”

“Usually,” he agrees, sliding Chum Bucket’s key into the ignition. He catches my gaze. “But maybe our girls are overachievers. Like their mother.”

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