Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
When we round the corner, the obvious answer is yes.
With one eye open, I wedge myself against the back wall on one side of the room. Thankfully, a discreet sheet covers everything I’d rather not see. Maxon holds Keeley’s hands. Harlow scoops ice chips into her mouth. Britta gives her last-minute advice.
Over Keeley’s rhythmic pants and the monitors she’s hooked up to, the atmospheric music overhead abruptly goes quiet. Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” takes its place seconds later, suddenly blaring from the overhead speakers.
“Who changed the music?” the redhead demands with a scowl between contractions.
“I did,” Maxon offers. “That meditative crap wasn’t working—”
“It’s supposed to help me focus.”
“Screw that. Journey will help you push like a champion. And it won’t put the rest of us to sleep while we wait.”
Keeley grips his hand tighter and leans in with a scowl, teeth bared. “So this is about you?”
“No, sunshine.” He backpedals. “Of course not. But you’re always making mixes for everyone else to encourage them. I’ve been putting this one together for a while. To show you that I’m thinking of you and our daughter. To tell you both that I love you.”
Another contraction hits. The pain seems to ramp up. Keeley groans and sobs at once. “That’s wonderful and terrible. I practiced my breathing to the other music.”
“It sounded like whales humping.”
Everyone erupts into laughter, including me. Before it dies down, Keeley bows as the contraction seizes her. She grips Maxon’s hand with all her might and screams.
The midwife, a Hawaiian woman in her fifties who looks both efficient and calm, rushes in and makes a beeline for the mother-to-be. “I’m going to check you now, Keeley. You’re probably close.”
The redhead nods. “I think so.”
Journey’s rock anthem slides into the Kelly Clarkson tune “Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You).” It was one of my mom’s favorite songs. She worked out to it while she could. She fought death to it. At the end, she told me that even though cancer was getting the last laugh, the tune had definitely helped her stay as strong as she could during her last days. For that, she was thankful.
I really wish she was still here. She would be able to read Bethany so much better than me…
“Nine centimeters,” the midwife says happily.
Suddenly, Keeley tenses and squeezes Maxon’s hand in a death grip once more as she growls out in agony. “Are you kidding me?”
“No,” the midwife assures. “You’re almost there.”
“I meant my husband. What were you thinking with this song?”
I can’t see Maxon’s face but I swear I can hear him swallow audibly. “Giving you encouragement, sunshine. From one lady to another. Kelly has had kids. Birth didn’t kill her, just made her more badass.”
Keeley rolls her eyes, and I’m thinking Maxon made a decent save of the situation—until he opens his big mouth again.
“Of course, Kelly didn’t wait until January first to go into labor and bypass a whole year’s worth of a tax break…” he grumbles.
Harlow leans across the distance and slaps her oldest brother upside the head. “You just keep digging yourself a deeper grave, fidiot. Shut up while she’s still letting you breathe.”
Griff nods. “I admit that I can sometimes be oblivious, but—”
“You mean insensitive,” Harlow cuts in.
Britta represses a smile and nods, sending her husband a fond glance.
“Whatever.” Griff waves her away. “But even I wouldn’t say something that douchy.”
“But you thought it,” Maxon contends.
When Griff doesn’t answer right away, everyone laughs again.
Keeley giggles, too—until another contraction wracks her, her entire body jolting.
Maxon leans in. “Breathe, sunshine. You got this.”
“You fucking breathe! I’m trying to—ahhhh!”
“You’re doing great,” the midwife encourages. “I see the top of the baby’s head.”
Evan pokes Maxon in the back. “Don’t lock your knees. You’ve lost the color in your face. Medically speaking—”
“Save the explanation, babe.” Nia caresses his arm, then turns to Maxon. “Breathe, buddy.”
Evan frowns. “But if he understands what he’s doing that may cause him to faint—”
“Don’t you dare faint on me!” Keeley shouts, huffing in between her words. “Do you hear me, Maxon Miles Reed? If you pass out, I’m going to—” She jolts again. “Oooh!”
“One more good push, Keeley.” The midwife nods enthusiastically. “One more, and you’ll be a mother.”
“And I’ll be a father,” Maxon mumbles. “This is really happening. Oh, shit…” He loses more color.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…” Griff parrots the song still playing overhead.
“Bite me,” Maxon growls back.
“How about you hold my hand?” Keeley demands of her husband.
“I am. Sunshine, could you let up a bit? I think you’re about to break it.”
“Giving birth is breaking my vagina!”
It’s taking everything I have not to howl with laughter. Britta doesn’t even try to stop herself. Neither does Harlow or Nia. Even Evan looks as if he’s repressing a roaring guffaw.
Noah starts to sweat, then leans over to his wife. “Is this how you’re going to be when you give birth?”