Page 59 of Written in the Charts

Gypsy laughed again, holding her stomach. “What if he’s a martial artist and not a soccer player?”

“Then we’ll call him Jackie.” I raised an eyebrow and grinned. Maybe the baby’s moving wasn’t as creepy as I thought. Soon, he’d be here, and I’d be holding him, my little karate kid soccer player.

I looked up at Gypsy, now believing everything was going to be fine. “I love you, woman.”

“Woman?” She chuckled.

“Marry me?” The words surprised me as much as they did her. I watched her face contort to about a dozen different expressions before she burst out crying and nodded.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I told her, chuckling and leaning over her, lavishing kisses over her face. She captured my lips in hers and kissed me.

“I love you, Mr. Miller. And I want to be your Mrs. Miller for the rest of my life.”

I kissed her tenderly. “I want that too.” I didn’t have a ring, but I didn’t need one right now. This little man inside her was proof enough to the world that she was mine. And when she was allowed to walk around again, we’d pick one out together.

For the first time in almost a decade, I felt happy again. Thanks to Gypsy.

EPILOGUE

Gypsy

Two a.m. and it was a mad rush to the hospital. Evan had Derek on speed dial, but he was already at the hospital for a different mother, so all I had to do was breathe through the contractions and let him get my bag and help me to the car. The pain was excruciating, powerful contractions that sent fire through my back and down my legs. Multiple times, I had to stop and breathe deeply, leaning on Evan for support.

“You got this, baby. Come on now. Like they taught you. Deep breath in, then short puffs of air out.”

“Fuck off. You have no clue how bad this hurts.” I squeezed his hand, probably crushing some bones. I heard something crack, but he didn't even wince, which only made me angry.

“We’re almost to the car.” He lifted up under my arm again, bracing me to take a few steps, but I’d really waited too long. The contractions were a minute apart, and I barely had time to catch my breath before the next one came.

“Just tell Derek to come here. I can’t ride in the car that far.” I whimpered and screamed again, the pain too much for me. We were on the ground floor after a very long trip down the stairs. One of the tenants from the first floor opened the door and looked out, likely thinking someone was being abused. I wanted to mutter how it was just labor, but my water broke, making it look like I’d pissed in my leggings.

The woman’s eyes grew wide and she touched her fingers to her forehead, then chest, then each shoulder. Mumbling a prayer, she watched us pass her door, nodding and covering her mouth. I felt like I was being filmed for the making of some horror show by the look on her face, like she’d never seen a woman in labor before.

“Get me to the car,” I snapped, anxious to get away from the woman. I walked so fast that as the next contraction hit, I almost fell down. Evan braced me again, straining under the added weight.

“We’re almost there. Okay? Few more steps.” His car was running, lights shining in my face as we approached. He had the door open and my bag already in the backseat. He was a fucking saint for putting up with me like this, but it wasn’t my fault. They’d tried to warn me how bad the pain would be, but I wasn’t prepared for this. “Few more steps,” he said again, helping me navigate around the car door and position myself to sit down.

Another contraction hit, this time buckling my knees. Thankfully, my ass planted in the bucket seat of his sedan and I was able to curl into a ball, doubling over for a moment until it passed. When it was over, I swung my legs into the car and Evan buckled me in.

We made it to the hospital in less than ten minutes thanks to Evan’s driving. I’d have to scold him later for his speeding, but in the moment I was thankful to be climbing out of the uncomfortable bucket and into a wheelchair, heading toward pain medication.

A burly male nurse whisked me away from Evan, pushing my wheelchair toward the elevator, and mild panic hit me. “He can come, right? I mean, we’re not married yet, but I need him.”

“Relax, Miss. He will be up to maternity after he fills out as much of the intake form as he can. Your doctor is already waiting on you. He has another mother in labor, but he knows you’re coming.”

I tried to breathe through another contraction, but this one was the worst one yet. I screamed all the way up to the fifth floor, and when the elevator doors pushed open, Derek was there at the nurse’s station waiting for me. He turned to see me and smiled. “Gypsy!” He paused and looked up at the man pushing my wheelchair. “I’ll take her to room seven. You go prep the patient in four for a cesarean. She’s decided that’s the best thing.”

I whined as he turned my wheelchair and pushed it down the sterile hallway. There didn’t seem to be many occupied rooms, which meant it was quiet. Every yelp of pain echoed across the tile floors sounding like shouts in a cave.

“How far apart are they now?” Derek asked, turning my chair into the room.

“Less than a minute? I’m not sure.” I huffed, catching my breath as he helped me stand. He tossed a gown at me and helped me sit on the side of the bed.

“I’m going to get a nurse to help you dress. Then we can check it out.”

“Evan,” I whimpered.

“He’ll be up in a second, okay?”

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