Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I break off at the door, leaning on Hunter as another contraction spirals through me like a pain tornado. This one is even longer and more intense than the first, leaving me panting as I say, “Yeah. Downstairs. Let’s go before another one comes.”
The stairs are a slow process, each step careful, deliberate. The old wooden steps creak beneath our feet, the sound echoing through the empty alley below. The March wind whips through my hair, but I don’t mind the cold. Even just two contractions in, the pain already has me feeling overheated and sweat breaking out on my upper lip.
“Almost there,” Hunter says as we reach the bottom. “I’ll get you in the passenger seat, then go grab the car seats.”
“Great,” I say, adding in a teasing tone, “if that private equity billionaire thing ever dries up, I think you have a bright future as a valet.”
“Nope. I hate people too much to go into customer service.” He opens the passenger’s side door, guiding me inside. “My resting asshole face would kill my tips.”
I grin up at him, appreciating the joke. “Very true. It’s good you know yourself so well. The car seats are in the third storage area.” I point toward the wall of wooden storage compartments nestled beneath the stairs and small back balcony. “On the first big shelf, right above the beach wagon.”
He hurries into the shadows. The motion-sensor light flickers on, but it apparently isn’t enough for him to see. He pulls out his cell, turning on his flashlight, before locating the proper door and grabbing both car seat handles with one hand.
A moment later, he’s back at the car, depositing them in the back seat.
“The bases,” I say, trying to turn over my shoulder, but unable to twist with my giant stomach in the way. “We’ll need the bases to attach them to the car later. Maya and I were going to install them tomorrow, but obviously that won’t be happening.”
“Bases,” he repeats, frowning.
“The big black plastic things at the back of the shelf,” I say, pointing back toward the storage area. “Just reach in there. You can’t miss them.”
It takes him another moment to turn his flashlight back on and locate the bases. By the time he returns to the car, I’m in the middle of another contraction, one that draws a low moan from my throat as it reaches its peak before slowly fading away.
“Five minutes since the last one,” Hunter says, checking his very expensive watch that probably costs more than my car as he slides into the driver’s seat. “That’s fast.”
“It’s not slow,” I agree, fear tickling the back of my neck. “But labor usually takes hours.”
“Usually,” he agrees, sliding Chum Bucket’s key into the ignition. He catches my gaze. “But maybe our girls are overachievers. Like their mother.”
“More likely they’re just stubborn,” I counter. “Like their father.”
“Says the most stubborn woman I know,” he murmurs, affection in his tone.
I smile. “These poor kids. They don’t stand a chance. They’re destined to be as pigheaded as they come.”
“Destined for greatness, you mean,” he counters, shifting into reverse before pausing again. “I assume we’re going to St. Barts?”
I shake my head. “No, the Methodist hospital. So, head north. St. Bart’s doesn’t take my insurance.”
“St. Bart’s is closer,” he mutters, scowling as he backs out of my spot into the alley. “Next time, you’re going to the closest hospital, with the best doctors.”
“I don’t know about next time, buddy,” I say, secretly thrilled that he’s even kidding about more babies. It proves he’s ready for this. Maybe even more ready than even he realizes just yet. “The only way I’m even thinking about getting pregnant again is if the universe makes me a solemn promise to only give me one at a time from now on.”
“I think that’s fair,” he says. “And a reasonable request after giving us two the first time.”
Us…
It’s a sweet word, one I appreciate now more than ever.
The streets of Sea Breeze are quiet as we drive. Thursday nights are usually pretty calm this time of year, with the annual wave of tourists still a couple months out and most of the bars closing early. Only the Clam Shack still shows signs of life, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk, where a few hardy locals brave the March chill, waiting for a table to open in the tiny restaurant.
“You should call your doctor,” Hunter says as he navigates through town. “Let him or her know we’re on our way to the hospital.”
“Already done. I texted Dr. Saunders earlier while I was peeing,” I say, pulling my cell from my purse. “She’s going to meet us there in thirty minutes or so. But I should call Maya. She’s my labor coach.”
I hit Maya’s contact number, and she picks up on the first ring. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him,” she says by way of greeting. “Blood is really hard to get out of hardwood.”