Page 88 of Possession

And as we plunge into the night, the only thought in my head is a cold, steely resolve.

I’m coming, Megan.

Hold on, baby.

Chapter 28

Is This Your First?

MEGAN

The chaotic hum of the emergency room swirls around me as I press my hand against my stomach, the pain pulsing in waves. Every nerve in my body is raw, fraying with each jolt, each sensation that crashes through me. I try to tune out the nonsense Lena and Christian are mumbling.

“What kind of language is Lars speaking?” Lena’s voice pierces through the discomfort.

“Hell, if I know,” Christian mutters, his eyes flicking toward Lars, who’s barking something that sounds distinctly Nordic and unrestrained. “I’ve never heard him use it before.”

“I wonder if Hunter knows he speaks it?”

“If he does, he’s never mentioned it. Kind of wild, right?”

I clench my fists and grind my teeth, the dull ache in my lower back throbbing with the rhythm of each heartbeat. “Could you two be quiet!” I bark, shooting them a glare through the haze of pain. “Lars is the only one trying to get me and my baby some help.”

“Aww, Megan, that’s not true,” Lena says softly, her hand rubbing circles on my lower back, trying to soothe me. Her touch is warm and comforting, but the pain is relentless, digging its claws deeper by the second.

Christian steps away to take a call, leaving Lena and me to watch Lars work his magic—or his frustration—on the nursing staff.

“Is that Hunter?” I shout after him, hoping for a sliver of reassurance, but Christian just shakes his head, and disappointment hits me in a fresh wave of irritation.

Where is he? I need him here, not only to talk me through this but to bulldoze our way past this waiting room full of people. He’d know what to do, know how to get us the attention we need. Lars is already causing a scene, his low, aggravated voice slipping in and out of Danish. I’ve never seen him this upset before, and from the looks of it, neither has anyone else.

The nurse, looking overwhelmed and exhausted, finally raises her head and meets my gaze. We exchange a look—a silent understanding that we’re both at our limits. She grabs an empty wheelchair, her sigh almost inaudible under the fluorescent hum of the hospital lighting. “Can you sit?”

I nod, carefully lowering myself into the seat, feeling every movement jolt through my body like an electric current.

“How far along are you?” she asks, a tired kindness in her voice.

“Eight months,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Has this pain been constant?”

“It’s been building up all day,” I admit, a shiver of worry slipping through me. “But now it’s…it feels like more than that. Could I be in labor? It’s too early, isn’t it?”

The nurse’s expression is neutral, reassuring, but firm. “It could be labor. At eight months, you’re in a relatively safe range.We see plenty of babies born around now who are perfectly healthy.”

That should calm me, but her words hang in the air, the uncertainty prickling my already frayed nerves.

I force a weak smile and nod, but the worry gnaws at me. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

The nurse’s gaze softens, a hint of sympathy slipping through. “Is this your first?”

“Yes,” I whisper, almost embarrassed by how lost I feel.

“It’s normal to feel overwhelmed,” she assures me. “A lot of first-time mothers are shocked by how intense the pain can be. I’ll do my best to get you a bed soon, but right now, we’re packed.”

A ripple of irritation passes through Lena. “So what, she should have the baby on the waiting room floor?” she snaps, surprising even me. Lena’s normally the calm, collected one, but seeing me like this must be setting her off.

The nurse raises a brow but keeps her composure. “We’ll get her seen,” she says, holding up a calming hand. “If you can, try to call your OBGYN’s emergency line. We’re overextended tonight.”

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