Page 51 of The Rebound
I sigh in relief, immediately calmed by his deep, warm voice that wraps around me like a comforting hug. “My water just broke. Can you come?”
Saint inhales sharply. “Yeah. On my way.”
He makes it to my place in record time, probably three minutes or less. It’s enough time for another achy feeling to grip my stomach down low. This is what contractions feel like, I’m guessing.
When I let him in, his hands fly up to my face, smoothing my hair into place and gazing down at me in concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. Have you had a—”
“Contraction? Yes, a couple minutes ago. Can you grab the—”
“Hospital bag? Closet, right?”
While I slump against the side of a chair, Saint rushes past me and grabs the duffel he helped me pack a few weeks ago—complete with a robe, a few fresh changes of clothes, a bag of toiletries, and a bag filled with baby clothes and necessities. Oh, and a phone charger with an extra-long cord, of course.
My second contraction hits me in the parking garage. This one is longer and even more intense than the first.
I groan against the pain, leaning my full weight against Saint, who holds me up like I’m just some cotton blowing in the wind. Meanwhile, I feel like there’s an entire planet’s worth of gravity dragging me down.
“Take a deep breath. I’ve got you,” he says, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly as he just holds me in the middle of the parking garage.
I think I’d be more panicked if he weren’t here with me. But in Saint’s arms, I feel safe. Secure. Even if things are about to spiral out of our control.
I’m not sure how many contractions hit me before we make it to the hospital and I’m tucked into a bed. Five? Six? As the nurses prep me, I hold Saint’s hand with the grip of someone hanging off a cliff’s edge.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask him.
He shakes his head and presses soft kisses to my white knuckles. “Not at all.”
“This is awful.” I scrunch up my face, tears of pain leaking from the corners of my eyes and sliding down my cheeks. I feel delirious, like a scared little kid.
“I know, baby,” Saint murmurs. “You’re gonna get through it. Just breathe with me.”
He takes a breath, and I stare into his eyes as I follow his lead. We breathe together. In and out. Together, we breathe through the next contraction and every one that follows.
Saint stands beside me when I get my epidural, and waits for hours with me in the little hospital room. When his stomach rumbles, I kick him out to go get some breakfast in the hospital cafeteria. He walks back into my room not half an hour later, and the doctor says it’s time.
Together, we breathe through the doctor’s commands topush,push,push. We breathe through every second, on and on for what feels like hours until a tiny, shrill cry signals the very first breath of my healthy, newborn baby.
I have a son.
• • •
“You sure he’s safe back there?” Walker asks as he turns the key in the ignition.
We both glance into the rearview mirror to quadruple-check on little Caleb. He’s sound asleep, safely bundled away in the car seat. I thought about riding back there with him, but I don’t want to seem like a crazy lady. It’s only a few minutes’ drive back to the condo.
“Seems like,” I say, gazing at my son’s sweet face.
He’s so perfect and tiny. Though, he sure didn’t feel tiny coming out of my ... unmentionables. Walker checked his voice mails after sleeping late, and made it to the hospital about an hour after Caleb was born.
“What else can I do for you today?” my brother asks.
He’s been bending over backward, trying to make up for sleeping through my phone calls when I was going into labor. I’ve told him over and over again that it’s okay, everything worked out just fine. But despite my reassurances, he’s still pretty remorseful.
