Chapter Twenty #2
I was so consumed by it that at first, I didn’t notice the dark figure appearing in the doorway.
It wasn’t until the pain finally began to ebb that I registered the presence—tall, silent, watchful.
For one terrifying second, I thought Dennis had somehow found me.
Then recognition dawned through my pain-fogged mind. Not Dennis. Not Burke. Sterling.
“Sterling,” I whispered, his name escaping my lips on a sob of relief.
He moved with that unnatural grace of his, crossing the room in three long strides and dropping to one knee beside me.
His eyes—so like Burke’s in color, but so different in expression—scanned me quickly, professionally, taking in my position on the floor, the way I clutched my stomach, the sweat plastering my hair to my forehead.
“Danny,” he said, his voice steady in a way that immediately calmed something wild and terrified inside me. “Where is everyone?”
Another contraction seized me before I could answer, stealing my breath and arching my back against the hardwood floor.
I felt Sterling’s hand slip into mine, strong and sure, and I squeezed it with a strength born of desperation, probably hard enough to break the fingers of anyone who wasn’t a former SEAL.
Sterling didn‘t flinch, just held my hand and waited for the contraction to pass, his eyes never leaving my face.
When I could breathe again, the words tumbled out in a rush.
“Burke’s with Rawley and Macon, fixing the north pasture fence.
They left hours ago. I had the walkie-talkie, but I can‘t find it now. The baby’s not supposed to come for two more weeks.
I don’t know what—“ Another contraction cut me off mid-sentence, this one even stronger than the last.
Sterling nodded once, decisive. “How long between contractions?”
I shook my head weakly. “I don’t know. Maybe three minutes? They’re getting closer.”
He didn’t waste time with questions or panic. In one smooth movement, he slid his arms beneath me and lifted me from the floor as if I weighed nothing at all. I felt the solid strength of him as he carried me through the house, his steps sure despite my awkward weight.
“Which room?” he asked, already heading for the stairs.
“Master bedroom,” I gasped, clinging to his neck as another contraction threatened. “End of the hall.”
Sterling took the stairs two at a time, his breathing barely altered by the effort of carrying me. He shouldered open the bedroom door and gently laid me on the bed, his movements careful but efficient.
“Where’s the walkie-talkie?” he asked, already moving to search the room.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I thought it was downstairs. Maybe in the kitchen? Or the living room?”
Sterling disappeared from the room, and I heard the sound of quick footsteps as he searched the house.
I tried to focus on my breathing, the way Dr. Winters had taught us in birthing class.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Slow and steady. But another contraction hit, and all technique fled my mind as pain consumed me once more.
When Sterling reappeared in the doorway, his expression told me everything I needed to know. No walkie-talkie.
“Phone?” he asked, already pulling his cell from his pocket.
“Charging downstairs,” I said, gesturing vaguely in what I hoped was the direction of the living room. “Called Burke earlier, but they’re probably out of range. Service is spotty in the north pasture.”
Sterling was already dialing, his face set in that neutral mask he wore like armor. I watched as he listened, then pulled the phone from his ear with a barely audible curse. “No signal.”
Of course not. That would be too easy.
He moved to the bed, sitting on the edge with that contained energy that always made me think of a coiled spring. “I need to check your progress,” he said matter-of-factly.
I nodded, beyond embarrassment at this point. Sterling’s hands were gentle as he pushed up my shirt to feel my stomach, his touch clinical but not cold.
“Another contraction coming?” he asked, eyes on his watch.
As if on cue, the pain built again, stealing my breath and rational thought. Sterling counted aloud, his voice steady, grounding me in the midst of the agony. “That’s thirty seconds,” he said when it finally passed. “And it’s been less than two minutes since the last one.”
He met my eyes, and I saw something there that sent a fresh wave of fear through me. Concern.
“Danny,” he said, his voice still steady but with a new urgency. “I don’t think you have time to get to the hospital. This baby is coming now.”
“What?” Fresh terror coursed through me. “No, no, no. We need to get to the hospital. I need Burke. I can’t have this baby here!”
But even as I protested, another contraction seized me, stronger than all the others. I screamed, my body curling around the pain.
“It’s okay,” Sterling said when I could focus on him again. “I’ve delivered babies before, three of them actually. You’re going to be fine.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve delivered babies?” It seemed impossible—this lethal man with his cold eyes and deadly skills, bringing new life into the world.
He nodded, already moving around the room with purpose, gathering towels from the bathroom, checking the drawers of the nightstand. “Afghanistan. Twice in a village when we were pinned down by enemy fire. Once in Iraq during an evacuation.”
Of course he had. Sterling probably knew how to perform open-heart surgery with a pocket knife and dental floss too.
“I’m going to kill your brother,” I groaned through clenched teeth as another contraction rippled through me.
A ghost of a smile touched Sterling’s lips—so brief I might have imagined it. “I’ll help,” he promised, efficiently arranging pillows behind my back before moving to the foot of the bed.
He draped a sheet over my lower half, preserving what little modesty I had left. “I need to check how far along you are,” he explained, his voice taking on that neutral, professional tone I’d heard him use when discussing security measures or threat assessments.
I nodded, beyond caring at this point. The next contraction hit as Sterling checked me, and I arched off the bed with a cry that felt torn from the depths of my soul.
“Eight centimeters,” Sterling announced when I could focus again. “Moving fast.”
Terror and disbelief warred inside me. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not without Burke. Not without doctors or midwives or any of the medical support I’d counted on.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “Sterling, I can’t.”
Sterling moved to the head of the bed, his eyes finding mine with surprising intensity. “Yes, you can,” he said, each word precise and weighted. “You are stronger than you know, Danny Jenkins. I’ve seen it. Burke sees it. And now you’re going to see it too.”
The fierce certainty in his voice shocked me. Sterling rarely said more than was absolutely necessary, and he never spoke in platitudes or false reassurances. If he said I could do this, he believed it.
And somehow, impossibly, that made me believe it too.
“Okay,” I whispered, nodding as I steeled myself for what was to come. “Okay.”
Sterling returned to the foot of the bed, rolling up his sleeves with military precision. “We’re going to do this together,” he said. “Just like the plan always was, except I’m standing in for my brother. He’s going to owe me big time for this.”
Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the utter surreality of having my alpha’s identical twin brother about to deliver our child—I found myself laughing weakly. “The biggest.”
Sterling nodded, satisfied, and began to prepare the bed with the same methodical efficiency he brought to everything. He folded towels at the foot of the bed, arranged pillows to support my back, and set a glass of water within easy reach on the nightstand.
Another contraction hit, stealing my breath and my laughter, reminding me with brutal force that this was really happening.
Our baby was coming, ready or not. And Sterling Callahan—the most dangerous man I’d ever met, the darkness to Burke’s light—was the only one standing between me and doing this completely alone.
God help us all.
Another contraction tore through me, stealing my breath and bending me double against the pillows. I’d thought I understood pain before this—Dennis’s fists, broken ribs, the constant fear that had been my companion for so many years—but this was something else entirely.
This was my body splitting apart, tearing at the seams, demanding that I surrender completely to a process I couldn’t control. Through the haze of agony, I heard Sterling speaking, his voice steady and sure as he outlined what would happen next.
“I need to get more supplies,” he was saying, already moving toward the door. “Clean towels, hot water, something to tie off the cord.”
Panic surged through me, drowning out even the pain for a moment. I lunged forward, my hand shooting out to grab his arm with desperate strength.
“Don’t leave me,” I begged, my voice breaking on the words. I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again, even for a minute. Not now, not when each contraction felt like it might tear me apart completely.
Sterling froze, his eyes meeting mine with an expression I’d never seen on his face before—something almost like tenderness breaking through that carefully maintained neutrality.
“I won’t be long,” he said, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. He patted my arm awkwardly, the gesture somehow more touching for its clumsiness. “Just going to the kitchen and back. You’ve got this, Danny.”
I forced myself to release his arm, nodding shakily as I sank back against the pillows. “Hurry,” I whispered.