Page 81 of The Jackpot Screwer
Watching her warily, I ran a hand over her stomach but felt no movement of any kind.
“Honestly, Carter, I’m fine. Now go and let me finish getting ready.” Giving me a quick kiss, she then moved away to apply some lipstick in the mirror.
She seemed at ease, but I was determined to watch her carefully for the rest of the night.
* * *
“I don’t know why you can’t tell us what names you’ve decided on,” Darcy said, sitting back in her seat at our small dining table. “I still like Burlington after Great-Grandpa.”
Bronte rolled her eyes. “Mom, I’m not calling a child of mine Burlington.” She rubbed her back and I noted that it was the third time she had in the last half hour. “It’ll get called Burly or something else just as stupid.”
“I always thought James was a good name,” Jim offered.
“People might think I’m naming it after Jim Wickerson, or worse Jimmy Foster.”
My jaw tightened at the thought of our douchebag fire chief, but I chose to stay silent for once.
“But why, I’m your dad? Of course, you’d be naming it after me,” Jim argued.
“Hey, hold your horses,” my dad cried. “Other grandpa here.”
“Exactly,” Bronte sighed. “It’d have to be James-Henry or Henry-James and that’s too much of a mouthful, and whose name would go first, and we don’t even know if we’re having a boy yet.”
“You okay?” I asked when I saw her try to hide a wince.
“Hmm. Anyone want more coffee?”
“You sit, honey, I’ll get it,” Mom said and gave Bronte’s arm a rub. “One more cup and then we’ll all go.”
“It’s still early,” Dad protested.
“Honey, Bronte needs her rest.” Mom got up from the table and squeezed past his chair. It was all a little snug, seeing as we only had room for a small table.
“I’m fine,” Bronte protested.
She didn’t look fine, I had to be honest. Her face was as pale as the china we’d eaten from and there wasn’t much color in her lips either. I leaned into her and placed an arm around her shoulder and as I did, she grimaced again.
“Lollipop, what’s wrong. Tell me.”
Eyes brimming with tears looked up at me and her bottom lip trembled. “There’s something wrong. I’m sure of it. I’ve been having pain all day, but for the last hour or so it has gotten worse.”
Panic kicked me in the gut as I watched a tear roll down her cheek. We were so close, yet too damn far away. The baby couldn’t be coming. Not yet, it wasn’t time.
“Mom,” I cried, my eyes still on Bronte. “Call Dr. Baskin and tell him we’re going to the hospital. Numbers on the refrigerator. Call Nancy too, she’ll take Mani.”
“What?” Darcy cried and pushed up from her chair to get to Bronte. “Sweetheart, what’s happening?”
“I have so much pain, Momma,” she sobbed. “My back hurts and my stomach is hard and keeps tensing and... ah shit. I know I can’t be, but I think they’re contractions.”
Bronte’s hand reached out and grabbed my shirt, pulling me to her and screwing the cotton between her fingers.
“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of the chair.” Darcy nodded to Jim who had moved to her side with my dad. “You two get her on her feet. Carter, honey, you go get her bag.”
“Bag,” I repeated. “Bag, where’s the bag?”
“My side of the bed. Next to the nightstand,” Bronte gritted out.
Scrambling to my feet and almost sending my chair toppling over, I rushed toward the hallway to get to the bedroom. Mom was talking on the phone, pacing up and down while she did. I had never wanted a hug from her so much in all my life. Wasting no time though, I ran into the bedroom and went straight for the small suitcase that Bronte had packed a little over a week ago. I’d given her shit about it being far too early, but she’d insisted. Like she’d had some damn premonition or something.
