Page 68 of Deny Me
“Don’t worry, you hear me?” Charlotte told her. “We’ll be with you. We’ll help you through this, I promise.” Not that she knew even as much as Becky did, but she knew how to hold a hand, and she’d do that for as long as she could.
“What if I’m wrong and I’m bothering everyone for nothing?”
“Have you been through this before?” Charlotte asked. “Do you know for sure what labor feels like?” She didn’t mention that labor could feel different from woman to woman and pregnancy to pregnancy. Becky knew that; she just needed the reassurance.
“No.”
The word went tight, and Becky started to pant. Charlotte glanced at the clock. Four minutes. She needed to get down the hall.
“Breathe, hon. Just breathe, nice and deep.”
The covers shifted against her, and King sat up on the opposite side. She didn’t have to tell him what was going on—he immediately began getting dressed, pulling his phone out to text at the same time. Notifying his team, Charlotte was sure. She had a feeling the effort wouldn’t be in vain.
She talked Becky through the contraction, then hung up. “I need to wake Mom.”
King rounded the bed and pulled her into his arms. His shirt brushed roughly over her bare nipples, and she had no more than a moment to wonder why she was naked before King lowered his head and took advantage of her surprised gasp.
That’s when she remembered: King had bathed her, dried her off, and tucked her in, not bothering with pajamas. Because she’d been upset and unable to sleep. Because she’d had to face the fact that Wes was dead.
King’s kiss gentled as her body went stiff. His openmouthed passion softened, turned tender, from sizzling heat to warm comfort. Slowly he backed off, his hands rising to cup her face. When she opened her eyes, King was gazing down at her, sadness glittering in his stare. How long would they feel this way? How long would thoughts of Wes bring grief?
A long time. She knew that from experience.
King brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You get dressed. I’ll get your mom.”
Her first instinct was to protest. King was the last person her mom would want to see. But right now any battles between them had to be put aside—Becky mattered, nothing else. “Okay.”
He drew her close once more. “You okay to do this?”
With his warmth surrounding her, she felt like maybe, just maybe she could. “I’ll be fine.” She gave him a final squeeze before stepping back. “Go on. I’m right behind you.”
King left. Charlotte scrambled for a bra and panties, a T-shirt and some jeans. Labor meant she needed comfort; who knew how long it would last. Snatching up a sweater and a hair tie for a ponytail, she shoved her feet into tennis shoes and headed down the hall.
At Becky’s door she knocked gently, then pushed inside without waiting. The living room glowed from a single lamp on a table beside the couch. Becky’s blanket was a jumbled mass there, where she usually sat, but no Becky. Charlotte was just about to call the girl’s name when the door to the bedroom opened and Becky came out. She wore sweats and a maternity T-shirt, and her hair was damp.
“Shower?” Charlotte asked. They’d discussed this when Becky had created her birth plan with Susan—the young woman had insisted she wasn’t going to the hospital without shaving her legs. Susan had laughed and assured her if the baby was coming fast enough, she wouldn’t be worried about hairy legs. Still, the shower was written into Becky’s plans.
Becky gave her a somewhat pained grin. “Before I called you.” She tugged one pant leg up to show off a swollen ankle. “See, no hair.”
Charlotte had always felt a connection to Becky, something special, but at that moment her heart swelled with such tenderness, it was as if Becky were her own daughter. She walked across the room and pulled her into a hug. Becky’s arms wrapped around her waist, gripping tight, and Charlotte felt her shaking.
“You’re gonna be just fine, hon, I promise,” she whispered into Becky’s hair, beginning a slow sway intended to soothe both their nerves, but especially Becky’s. “You daughter is on her way. Soon you’ll get to hold her in your arms.”
Becky laughed, then gasped. As she hunched over, Charlotte released her to give her room, rubbing a hand up and down the young woman’s back. “Still about every four minutes?” she asked.
Becky panted, one hand on her knee, one on Charlotte’s bicep to steady herself. “Yeah,” she said tightly.
As they breathed through the contraction, Charlotte pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed Susan one-handed.
“Didn’t I just see you today?” Susan asked by way of greeting. Her friend’s voice was sleepy but unsurprised.
“I think you’re gonna see us again in an hour or so at the hospital too.”
“I figured.” The sound of movement came through the line. “How far apart are the contractions?”
“Four minutes.”
Susan hummed in response. “I’d advise you to get her there ASAP. Teenage moms sometimes deliver pretty fast. There’s no telling how quickly she will progress.”
