Page 3 of Tight End

“We need to get to a hospital.” Davis smiles and strokes the side of her face. “You can do this. Everything is going to be perfect. I’m right here, and I promise I won’t leave your side.”

He’s always the voice of reason, always the guy you want around in a crisis because he never sweats anything. Even now, with his kid about to be born three weeks early, the guy looks cool as a cucumber.

For as long as I can remember, he was always the rock. Dad would stow himself away in his office with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whenever shit went sideways and Davis would pick up the pieces.

So I’d totally expect him to grab this situation by the balls. He’s going to be an amazing dad. His kid is lucky to have him.

Kid. Holy fuck.

She really is coming tonight.

I grab my phone and pull up the Uber app, swiping to find a car and a nearby hospital. “I just got an UberX. It’ll be downstairs in five minutes.”

“Clear the path! Lady’s having a baby!”

Lane lets out a whoop and I high five him on the way out. “You’re gonna be an uncle. Uncle fucking Rock Star.”

My heart pounds as we make our way to the side entrance of the theatre. A couple of my security guys tail us to make sure we get to the car without being accosted by fans.

Allie yells and moans and screams every few minutes and my chest tightens every time. “Shit, man, that doesn’t sound good,” I mutter to Davis.

“She’s in labor,” he says calmly. “She’s having contractions.”

“I feel like my uterus is being sliced into with a goddamn samurai sword,” Allie howls, clutching her midsection.

We finally make it outside and hustle over to the Ford Expedition parked at the curb. Davis opens the back door and helps Allie into the backseat before sliding in after her. I run around to the other side and pull open the door before jumping into the truck. Davis stabs his phone screen, and after a few seconds, he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Was that the doctor?” Allie wheezes, holding her belly.

Davis nods. “Voicemail.

“Oh my God, what are we going to do? He has my birthing plan. We need him!”

The driver glances at us over his shoulder. “She isn’t gonna have that baby in my backseat, is she?”

“Just watch the road and drive the fucking car,” I say.

Davis rubs her back, whispering in her ear, and I clutch her hand.

“Squeeze it if shit starts to hurt again.”

I barely get the words out before her hand becomes a goddamn vise. “Jesus Christ,” I yell. “Good fucking thing I’m done playing for the night. But I need that hand for our next show, so be gentle.”

Her head whips around, her blue eyes slanting me a glare. “Fuck you, Brix,” she says through gritted teeth.

Then she turns to Davis. “I’m so scared.”

The driver looks back again just as the traffic light in front of us goes from yellow to red.

“Red light,” I growl at him.

He whips his head around and slams on his brakes, skidding to the middle of the intersection. Blinding headlights flash in my periphery. I turn my head, my mouth opening to let out a yell that never geta a chance to hit the air before the car plows into us.

The skull-shattering sound of metal crushing against metal assaults my ears, my stomach roiling at the noxious smells of smoke and searing rubber. I rub the side of my head where it slammed against the window. Everything aches.

“Davis,” Allie cries. “Wake up. Please.”

With one hand on my head, I slowly turn toward her and Davis, a sharp pain shooting down the base of my neck.

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