Page 83 of Dublin Charmer
So, we’re doing this.
Watching every season of Grey’s Anatomy makes me qualified to deliver a baby, right? I keep my voice steady despite the tension coiling inside me. “I see the top of her head. It won’t be long now.”
I hope.
Damn, if there is any justice in the world, the universe will not fuck with me right now. Laine and Baby Q shouldn’t have to suffer due to my lifelong streak of shitty luck.
Harper looks from between Laine’s knees to me wide-eyed.
I shrug and the two of us continue to pretend we know what we’re doing.
Nora holds Laine’s hand, murmuring encouragement as her contraction crests.
“Do you feel like you’re ready to push?” I ask.
“I do.” Laine groans, her voice demented by the pain. “But I don’t want my baby born in a bunker during a fucking gunfight!”
I chuckle. “That boat has sailed, girlfriend. You’re about to give birth to a Quinn—a true warrior baby.”
“I want Tag!” she shouts, grimacing through her contraction.
“I know you do. And the moment things are safe, Finn will send him down.”
Laine sags as the pain lessens and I take another look. Good god, I don’t think I can have kids after this. Her vajajay will never be the same.
“Is she coming?” Nora asks.
“Not yet. Rest up while you can, Laine. When the next contraction hits, I want Nora to help you sit forward and you’re going to push.”
And if the baby’s positioned right, all will be well.
Maybe.
I think.
“How are you so calm?” Harper whispers quietly.
“I’m not. I’m freaking out.”
“Well, you’d never know.”
“Good, because if we panic, she’ll panic and then shit will go sideways.” What I don’t say is that when you live your life expecting disaster, you learn to function through it.
Gio sits in the corner, still weak but present. Having him back, safe and intact is still a miracle I haven’t had time to fully process.
“Think happy thoughts,” I suggest, trying to distract her before things get dicey. “What’s at the top of your list?”
Laine laughs, then winces. “Tag singing in the shower. Old Irish songs his mother taught him.”
The image of the fearsome Tag Quinn singing in the shower makes me smile. These past weeks have shattered everything I thought I knew about the Quinns. They’re criminals, yes, but also family—fiercely loyal, unexpectedly kind.
“What else?”
She doesn’t have time to tell me because she gasps and starts to curl forward.
“Nora, support her, help her sit up. Laine, push… push now!”
I’m in the catcher’s position, my heart hammering. One minute the top of the baby’s head is pushing forward and the next, it’s popped free and out in the world. “Okay, excellent. Her head is free. Rest now, and on the next contraction, we’ll work on her shoulders.”
