Page 232 of Pucking Sweet

“I love you,” he says. “Poppy?”

Fuck, I have to tell him. “Yeah, she’s here too.”

He searches the room for her, seeking out the warmth of her light.

“No, she’s here in the hospital.”

He looks to me, confused.

Fuck, just tell him. “Bud, she’s in labor.”

His eyes go wide as his heart rate spikes on the machines.

“No, no, no,” I say as the nurses surge forward to check his leads.

“Sir, just try to breathe.”

“Mr. Morrow?”

I stand and look down at him. “Okay, don’t fucking do that. Calm down, bud. She’s fine.”

“Go to her,” he says on a breath, his eyes turning fierce.

“Your problems are a bit more pressing—”

“Fuck that. You go—be with Poppy.”

“I’ll go,” I assure him. “I’m going right after this. You two are gonna drive me fucking crazy, I swear.”

“It’s too early,” he says, squeezing my hand tight.

“She’s thirty-seven weeks. That’s good, right?” I glance around at the nurses. “Is that good? Our girl is in labor at thirty-seven weeks.”

“Thirty-seven weeks is good,” one of them quickly assures us.

“Yeah, that’s practically full term,” says another.

“If I die—you have to stay,” he says at me.

My stomach flips as I glare down at him. “What did you fucking say?”

“You’ll be such—a good father. I want you to promise me.”

“Cole—”

“Use my ring. It’s in—my sock drawer.”

“Stop,” I growl. “You’re just getting a pacemaker implanted. That’s a goddamn outpatient procedure.”

He shakes his head. “You take care of them. Sign the papers. If he’s mine, adopt him—”

“Stop,” I say again, my tears falling. “Cole,please…”

“Don’t make him play hockey—if he doesn’t want to.”

I cup his face, careful not to jostle the oxygen mask. “You arenotdying, do you understand me? I am not done loving you, Cole. Poppy’s sure as shit not done. And our son hasn’t even fucking started. Youlive, do you hear me?”

“Don’t let her name him—after a plant—or a fruit,” he says on another labored breath. “No Lime. No Oak or Twig.”

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