Page 90 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

I nod.

She goes to a standing cabinet and pulls out one. The one Declan bought is nicer. It’s pressed against my stomach. “Let’s time this out. If it gets faster or slower than ten beats of what it is now, I want you to call me. And we can get you both back in here and take another look.”

Sighing, she nods. “Okay, how about I see you again in two weeks? If you guys are good with these ultrasounds, and I see Mister Moneybags doesn’t have a problem, then I can fit you in to check on him again.”

“Please.” I’m fighting tears. I don’t care if she says he’s fine. It doesn’t look fine—it looks terrifying.

Declan’s hand is in mine. I cling to his strength.

Declan

I’m grateful as fuck for the repeated ultrasounds. They soothe Miranda, even if at first glance, each time, I know her heart jumps at the sight of our son’s cord wrapped around his neck.

Honestly, it fucks with me too. But I don’t dare say it out loud. Miranda is too upset already. The one we did two weeks ago had her clinging to me all night long, the same as the first time we saw it a month ago.

Since Miranda is now at thirty-six weeks, I’m going to push the doctor on whether or not something can be done manually. He’s getting so much bigger every day. I can tell Miranda is growing uncomfortable—he has to be, too.

Except as the doctor is doing the measurements with Jennifer. She’s flipping back and forth between the one done two weeks ago and the one done a month ago. I don’t miss the way her jaw tightens.

“Okay, I’m seeing something here. He’s fine. Remember that. But he’s not growing at the rate he should be, so what I want to do is admit you today. Give you a few days to get plenty of steroids in because we need to get his lung health up as much as possible before we deliver, and I believe we need to deliver as soon it’s determined the steroids have done their thing.”

Miranda’s hand could break mine if she tightened it anymore.

“Since he’s in breach, we’re going to do a cesarian. I know you wanted a natural birth, but I just don’t think that’s safe with the cord around his neck.” She looks to me. “Good job, Mister Moneybags. Without these ultrasounds, we would have no way ofknowing and getting out in front of this. You saved your baby from…”

I see the hell in her eyes and squeeze Miranda’s hand back.

“All that matters is you saved him. I’m going to call the hospital now. They’re going to send an ambulance to come get you. I’ll see you there in a few hours.”

Declan

Miranda is stressing me out by how quiet she’s been since we got here almost two hours ago. We’re at Northwestern in the Prentice Women’s Hospital because I was told it was the best labor and delivery in the metro area, and I’m impressed by the care she’s gotten so far. Even if it’s clear the nurses are afraid of me—they’ve all been kind and gentle with Miranda and worked to calm her fears.

“Is there anything besides the bag we packed for the hospital that you want from the house?” I ask Miranda as I see the message from Colm that he’s good to retrieve what I need from the house.

She shrugs. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Okay, I’m going to have Colm pick us up some dinner. What sounds good?”

“Manicotti with sausage from Dominic’s club and tiramisu please.”

I give him the order along with mine and warn him about parking when he gets here.

I’m ending the call when the doctor entersbefore knocking.

“Okay, take a deep breath. I promise everything is going to go easily. They’re prepping the steroids now. You’ll get a shot today, then one tomorrow then you’re going to deliver the day after tomorrow. I’m scheduling the cesarian for six p.m. I’ll be in to see you the day of the cesarian.”

Bristling at the idea of this going on for several days, I shake my head when she asks if we have any questions. Miranda clearly has more but doesn’t ask them.

Once the door is closed behind the doctor, I’m in the seat beside her bed. “Hey, everything is going to be good. He’s going to be a pain in the ass from the very beginning. That’s all. If it were my girl, we’d be at home happy as clams waiting for her to come when she’s supposed to.”

Her smile is forced, and her nod is stiff.

“Talk to me. What are you afraid of?”

“What if he didn’t get enough air? What if he has delays or…something?”

I hear the real question, the one she’s afraid to ask. “Then we’ll figure it out. It might mean a harder road for him and us, but we’ll be good.” I promise her.

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