Page 119 of Wylder Ranch
She holds her hands out to me, and I slowly pull her to her feet, where she wraps her arms around my neck. She can barely reach, however, because she’s still almost a foot away from me due to the beachball-sized bump between us.
“Alex, take a deep breath.”
I try, but my heart’s racing too fast. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
I’m still trying when Clemmie thunders down the stairs, taking the last four in one go, just like we all did as children, and tosses my hoodie at me.
“Oh my God, you guys. Oh my God—” she squeals, jumping up and down in a way I donotappreciate.
“Clementine!”
She snaps her fingers and draws a hand over her face. “Okay, I’m calm. But let’s get the fuck out of here. At least the roads won’t be too busy.”
“Exactly. It’s a nine-minute-and-twenty-three-second average journey. At this time of night, we should be on the quicker side of things,” I tell them, snatching the car keys from the hall console, along with the go bag.
I’m totally confident in my assessment too.
I’ve driven the route at every hour of the day. I knowthe bus routes to avoid, and I’ve studied the side roads.
I even hailed a black cab and paid the cabbie to drive me around all afternoon. There’s a reason black cab drivers in London have to spend three years studying “The Knowledge” before they’re given the keys, and that’s shortcuts.
Clementine tuts. “You’re such a geek for knowing that.”
“Hey, I’m not taking any chances.”
It’s why we relocated from Valentine Nook to the Burlington family house in Eaton Square two weeks ago—so that Haven was near her doctors if she needed them. Being here saves me from having an early heart attack because driving two hours along the M4 with Haven in labor is not an experience I wanted.
The house is also fully staffed, in case Lando or my mother decides to stay on a whim, which makes things a million times easier because all my time is spent concentrating on what Haven needs, such as holding her hand and helping her down the front steps into the waiting Range Rover.
“In the back,” I remind Clementine, something she rolls her eyes at because it’s not the first time I’ve told her. Not the second either.
Every day since the week before the due date, we’ve been over and over the plans for getting to the hospital.
“Babe, you okay?” I ask as she eases herself onto the seat.
Haven nods but grabs the front of my T-shirt before I can pull back. I assume it’s to kiss me, but as I lean in, she groans really loudly.
“Fuck. Alex.” She huffs her words, and her entire face screws up in pain. “We need to go. OhGod.”
I don’t want to tell her I told her so, but I really hope this isn’t what her contractions looked like since this morning, because how the fuck did I miss them? “Babe, remember your breathing . . . slowly in and out.”
“I’ll take over,” Clemmie whispers, easing Haven’s clenched fist from my shirt into her hand, and slides in next to her so I can jump into the front seat.
Tossing the go bag over to the passenger side, I wait for Haven’s face to unclench. “Clementine, are you timing contractions? Did you start the clock?”
“Yes, Alex.”
My hands are on the steering wheel, but I turn around one last time, my eyes meeting Haven’s. “You ready to go and meet our baby?”
She nods. “Yes, let’s go.”
Miles might think I drive like a granny, but not today. Not fucking today.
Hitting the timer on the dashboard clock, I peel out of the parking space and into the road. We reach Sloane Square in three minutes.
“Clem, take my phone. Speed dial two is the doctor. Can you let her know we’re on the way?”
