Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Luna kneels in front of her. “We’re here. It’s okay. We’ll get Thatcher.” She rests a hand on Jane’s arm, and I’m glad she’s here to be a comforting force to her cousin.
“Donnelly,” Frog says, alarmed and wiggling her earpiece. “I can’t hear anything.”
I’m messing with the radio frequency. Static crackles in my ear, which is better than no sound. I might be able to get something through comms.
“You remember how to get back to the start of the maze?” I ask Frog.
“I think so, yeah.”
“Take Luna. As soon as you two get cell service, call 911, then the med team. Meet the paramedics at the entrance,” I instruct. Luna hears and comes over to us. “You’re gonna need to lead them here, to the center. There’s no time for anyone to get lost.”
“Okay, okay,” Frog nods repeatedly. “I can do that. Luna?”
“I’m ready. Let’s go.” She’s about to jog away, but she wavers, just to ask very quietly, “Do you know how to deliver a baby?”
Baby.
B.A.B.Y.
Even spelling it in my head doesn’t make it seem real. My pulse is trying to go haywire. “Only if watching Grey’s Anatomy counts. You?”
“Roswell,” she names another TV show. “Think you have more experience since this is a human baby, not an alien.”
I don’t know if I can do this, I want to tell her. But like most things in my life, I try to believe I can. “I’ve got it,” I nod to her. “Stay with Frog.”
She nods back, then races off with her young bodyguard.
Returning to Jane, I squat beside the mom-to-be, fiddling with the radio while I talk. “How bad’s the pain?”
She breathes through her teeth. “It’s…dreadfu—” Her gritted scream cuts off the word. She’s white-knuckling the fountain on either side of her thighs. A knot lodges in my throat.
Come on, comms. Come on. I click the mic at my collar. “Donnelly to SFO, anyone hear me?” Nothing. “Donnelly to SFO, am I coming in clear?” I keep my voice even-tempered. Unpanicked. Even if I feel like that meme where I’m sitting in a house burning on fire.
Jane blows out a staggered breath, tears wetting the creases of her eyes.
“You think it’s false labor?” I ask in desperate hope. She’s had some scares before and raced to the hospital. Maybe that’s why she kept her pain undercover, thinking they’re false contractions.
Plus, she’s early.
It could just be more of the same. A giant false alarm.
Please, God.
“No…this feels different…it’s pushing lower…” She looks at me with pure fear, silent tears dripping down her cheeks. “I’m going to have this baby.” Her voice shakes. “I’m so scared.”
Pure adrenaline suddenly rushes through me.
I don’t like how she’s sitting on the fountain, so I help her off the stone. She lies down on the soft dirt, her knees bent and legs naturally spread. She’s trying to shimmy off her panties, but more tears invade her eyes and the contractions painfully grip her limbs.
Being helpful and all, I reach beneath her skirt and pull her underwear off for her. They’re wet. Maybe her water already broke. Fuck. This is happening, isn’t it? Fuckfuck.
“It’s okay if I look?” I ask still trying to be calm even if I’m silently screaming I can’t believe this is fucking happening.
“Yes,” she says into another scream. “Hurry!”
On one knee, I quickly peer between her legs. No baby’s head is breaching through Jane. Good signs? I have no clue, but I can one-hundred percent tell she’s dilated. A lot. And that definitely means labor. Meredith Grey would be so proud of me, I think.
She might need to push, but I can’t be sure. That uncertainty wedges a knife in my ribcage. I hate not knowing. Hate not being the best person for this job. Because I know that’s Farrow. But I’m gonna do my best. “Take big breaths,” I tell her. “Everything seems fine. No baby yet.” Facts. Sticking to those sweet facts.
“Are you sure?” She groans into another anguished noise, which only causes me to move faster. I’m unhooking my radio, twisting the knob that changes frequencies.
“Pretty sure,” I tell her. “As sure as I can be.” Again, I stay calm for Jane. “Ambulance is on its way. You’ll get out of here in no time. Then you can laugh about how you almost had a garden baby.”
Jane focuses on my voice and her breathing.
“You can call her Olive Garden Moretti.”
She almost laughs, the noise caught in her throat. “Thatcher…hates that restaurant.”
I know. “I don’t know what he’s got against it. Their breadsticks are dope.”
Jane fights through another contraction, and I check between her legs. No head, but she’s extremely dilated and she seems to be resisting the natural urge to push. This baby is coming.
Am I about to deliver a baby?
Jane and Thatcher’s baby, to be exact.
My pulse is so loud I’m surprised that I hear slight chatter in my ear. But that chatter—it’s a gift from the heavens themself. I lift my mic to my lips. “Donnelly to SFO? Can you hear me?” Please.