Page 96 of Pregnant in Plaid
"I—yes. Maybe. I don't—" Another contraction cuts me off, and I double over.
"That's a no." He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, which is a minor miracle considering I'm currently the size of a small whale. "Tessa, grab her shoes and coat. We're going to the ER. Now."
"I'll call Trace," Tessa says, already moving.
"No!" I grab her arm. "Don't. He doesn't want to?—"
"He absolutely wants to," Gage cuts me off. "Call him."
He carries me through the cabin, moving fast, and suddenly we're outside in the freezing night air. The cold hits my face like a slap.
"Keys are in my coat pocket," Gage tells Tessa as she rushes ahead to open the truck door.
She helps him ease me into the front seat, and I'm hit by another contraction before I can even buckle my seatbelt. I cry out, gripping the door handle.
"How far apart are they?" Gage asks, already starting the engine.
"I don't—two minutes? Three?"
"Shit." He floors it, the truck fishtailing slightly on the snowy road before the tires catch.
Tessa's in the back seat, phone pressed to her ear. "Come on, pick up, pick up—Trace? It's Tessa. Patrice is in labor. Her water broke. We're heading to the hospital now... No, I'm serious... Trace, you need to come. Now."
I can't hear his response, but Tessa's expression softens. "She needs you," she says quietly. Then, "We'll be there in ten minutes. Drive safe."
She hangs up and sit forward in her seat to look at me. "He's on his way."
I want to argue. Want to say he doesn't need to come, that I can do this alone. But another contraction steals my breath, and all I can do is grip the seat and try to breathe.
"That's it," Tessa coaches. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You've got this."
"It's too early," I sob. "What if something's wrong? What if the baby?—"
"The baby is going to be fine," Gage says firmly, taking a turn way too fast. "Dr. Martinezis the best. And babies born early do really well. You hear me? Everything's going to be fine."
I want to believe him. I do. But terror has wrapped around my chest like a vice, squeezing tighter with each contraction.
The hospital lights appear ahead, bright and stark against the dark sky. Gage pulls up to the ER entrance and throws the truck into park.
"Stay here," he tells Tessa. "I've got her."
He's out of the truck and opening my door before I can protest, lifting me out with the same efficiency he probably used in combat situations.
"I can walk," I manage.
"Not fast enough." He's already moving toward the entrance, where a nurse is rushing out with a wheelchair.
"How far apart are the contractions?" the nurse asks as Gage sets me carefully in the chair.
"Two minutes, maybe less," Gage answers when I can't.
"Water broke?"
"About ten minutes ago."
The nurse nods, already pushing me through the automatic doors. "We've got you. You're going to be okay."
Another contraction rips through me, and I cry out, gripping the wheelchair arms.
