Page 233 of Pucking Sweet

“Yeah, and no flower names. I got it.”

“Okay, we need to go,” the nurse calls out. “They’re ready for us in the OR.”

I kiss his brow. “Name him now. Cole, name our son. Before they take you back.”

He looks to me, tears in his eyes as they start rattling up the rails of his bed, readying him for transport.

I brush a gloved hand over his hair. “Cole, baby, please. Name our son.”

He pulls the oxygen mask away from his mouth. Licking his lips, he says our son’s name. Then they take him away from me, bringing him to a place I can’t follow.

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“Can someonepleasetell me what’s happening with my partner?” I ask for the twentieth time, pacing the room in my hospital gown and nubby socks. “Colton Morrow. He was brought into the cardiac ICU an hour ago, and we’ve heard nothing since.”

“Let me ask at the nurse’s station again,” says the nurse, leaving the room.

I look to Claribel. “Will you please go check?”

“And leave you here alone?” she says with a raised brow.

“I will fire you,” I cry, pointing a shaking finger at her. “This is insubordination!”

She shrugs, looking back at her phone. “Go ahead.”

I cry out to the heavens in frustration, both hands on my belly. I’ve never done very well with feeling this helpless. I’m Poppy St. James. I always have a plan. I’m organized. I have lists. Of course I had a baby bag all packed and ready. Of course the nursery is set, and my birthing playlist is sync’d on all our phones. I knew exactly how this would go. I’d wear the robe I handpicked, and my hair would be braided, and Lukas would rub my feet while Colton held my hand. I wanted to feel ready to become a mother. I wanted to feel calm, and centered, and freaking prepared!

Instead, I’m pacing like a wild animal with my ass hanging out in this thin hospital gown. It’s a lurid shade of yellow, with little bunnies all over it. And I don’t have my soft arch-support slippers. I have these ugly maroon hospital socks. I don’t even have my baby bag. Oh god—I don’t have a diaper, a onesie, a freaking carrier. How will I even take this baby home?

Worst of all, I don’t have my loving, supportive partners. I have Claribel on her phone and Jake Price is standing like a bouncer in thehallway. Colton might be dying with active heart failure a floor away. And where is Lukas?

Emotions crash in at me on all sides, making me feel like a rag doll tossed in the waves. “Right, here’s what we’re gonna do,” I say, pacing back over to the window. “He’s just gonna stay in.”

“What?” Claribel looks up over her phone.

I glance down at my belly, feeling the baby kick into my spleen. “Do you hear me in there? You are not coming out. Not today. No way. So, just stop kicking me, and take a freaking nap.”

“Poppy, you’re already at seven centimeters—”

“Who freaking asked you,” I shout at her.

She just holds my stare. “They are not going to let you leave when your waters have broken and you’re at seven centimeters. You are having this baby today, boss. It’s happening. Make your peace with it.”

I shake my head, tears welling. “I’m not ready.”

She sets her phone aside. “Are you serious?”

“What if I can’t do it? What if I’m a terrible mother? What if I raise him to hate me, and cut me out, and loathe every time the phone rings with my call?” I should freaking know. It’s been four months since I last took one of my own mother’s phone calls. We haven’t spoken since the wedding. It’s certainly not for her lack of trying.

“Not possible,” Claribel says gently. She crosses over to me and tucks my messy hair back behind my ear. “Poppy, you are literal sunshine. It’s annoying how positive and wonderful and upbeat you are. Truly. Working for you has been the bane of my existence.”

I smile. “Really?”

“Really,” she deadpans. “You’re gonna be a great mom, and this kid is gonna love you.”

“You think so?” I say on a sniffle.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be the kind of mom who bakes cookies from scratch, and loves to finger paint, and pick up shells at the beach.”

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