Chapter 36
LONDON
"Laney!" The desperation bleeds into my voice as I round the stone fireplace, scanning the empty living room, the lack of response putting me on edge.
"I'm in here," her voice drifts from the bathroom, strained but enough to slightly settle my anxiety.
"Laney." My hands grip the doorframe so hard my knuckles go white as I find her in the clawfoot tub, her hair plastered to her neck with sweat.
"What?" The single word comes out between pants, her eyes squeezed shut. "I said I didn't feel good. I just needed a bath. Baths always make me feel better. "
"You're not supposed to take baths this late in pregnancy," I remind her, already moving toward the tub.
She waves a dismissive hand. "My belly isn't submerged. It's fine. I just needed the warm water. My stomach hurts."
"What do you mean your stomach hurts?" I drop to my knees beside the tub, water soaking through my work pants. "Laney, you're nine months pregnant. If your stomach hurts, that's not nothing."
Her face crumples, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she looks away. "It's not that kind of hurt." Her voice drops to barely a whisper. "My stomach is upset. I've been running to the toilet every few minutes."
"Baby…" My hand finds the curve of her spine, feeling the tension coiled in every muscle. "Don't be embarrassed. You're growing our baby. You're fucking beautiful. There's nothing you could say that would change that. But I think we need to go to the hospital."
Her eyes snap to mine, wide with panic. "We don't need—" she cuts off abruptly, her body going rigid as she grips the sides of the tub.
For ten endless seconds, she can't speak, can't breathe, can only endure whatever's happening to her.
When it passes, she's paler than before.
"—to go to the hospital. I'm not due for another three weeks.
It's just an upset stomach and some back pain. "
"Back pain?" The words come out sharper than I intended.
"Yeah," she grinds out through clenched teeth, irritation and pain warring in her voice. "Why do you think I've been practically living in the bathroom?"
That's when I see it, the way she's bracing herself against the tub, the shallow, controlled breathing, the white-knuckled grip on the porcelain edge. This isn't an upset stomach. This isn't back pain.
"Okay." My hands slide under her arms, gentle but firm. "We're going. Right now."
"But I'm not?—"
"We're going to let the doctors tell us it's nothing." I meet her eyes, letting her see the fear I've been trying to hide. "But we're going. Please, Laney. For me. For our baby."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the exact second she stops fighting the truth her body has been telling her. Her shoulders sag in defeat.
"Okay," she whispers.
"Okay," I repeat, my voice steadier now that we're moving forward, my panic shifting into focused determination. We're having a baby.
"You're doing so good, baby," I murmur against her temple. "Just breathe through it. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like we practiced."
She nods weakly, sweat-soaked hair sticking to her forehead. The epidural wore off an hour ago, and they can't give her another one—not this close to delivery. Every contraction now is raw.
Fourteen hours. Fourteen hours of watching Laney's face contort with pain, of counting breaths between contractions, of being her anchor.
My hand is probably permanently shaped to hers now, crushed and reformed by her grip through each surge, and I couldn't care less.
I want the scar. She's so strong, but I wish I could take the pain from her.
If reshaping my hand helps her through it, it's hers.
"I can't," she gasps, her nails digging crescents into my palm. "I can't do this anymore. I'm so tired."
"Yes, you can." I brush the damp strands from her face.
"You're the strongest person I know. Remember that wild Mustang we found this summer?
Everyone said she was too far gone, too broken to trust again.
But you spent three months earning her trust, one gentle touch at a time.
You know how to fight through the impossible.
This is just like that. Except, at the end, we get to meet our baby. "
Dr. Martinez checks the monitor again, and her brow furrows. Something shifts in her expression, a tightening around her eyes that makes my stomach drop.
"Laney, I need you to give me everything you've got with this next contraction," she says, but her voice has an edge to it that wasn't there before. "Baby's heart rate is dropping. We need to get this little one out now."
Her words slam into Laney like a freight train, and her eyes snap wide, wild and terrified, darting between Dr. Martinez and the monitors.
"What do you mean dropping?" Her voice cracks. "Is my baby okay? What's wrong with my baby?" She tries to sit up despite the contraction building, her hands instinctively moving to her belly. "Please, tell me my baby's okay!"
I grab her by the shoulders and gently press her back.
"Hey, look at me. Look at me, heartbreaker.
" But I can see the panic taking hold—exactly what she doesn't need right now.
"Our baby is going to be perfectly healthy because her mom is going to give it everything she's got on this next contraction.
" I give her my hand. "Give it hell so we can meet our little girl. "
She closes her eyes, and her head rocks from side to side as tears slide down her cheeks. "You don't know it's a girl," she reminds me.
We decided to wait until the baby arrived to find out the gender.
All that mattered to us was bringing a healthy baby into the world, and with everything else on our plate—between renovating the cabin, building a barn for Laney's business, and planning a wedding—she didn't want to stress over names, themes, and clothing.
I squeeze her hand. "Give me one more big push and prove me wrong."
She nods, and I watch as she starts to breathe through the next waves of another contraction, her hand tightening around mine as she grits her teeth and prepares to give it everything.
I watch the monitor over her shoulder. The baby's heartbeat, which had been a steady gallop, now stutters and dips with each contraction.
"Push, Laney!" I'm practically shouting now, my free hand supporting her back as she bears down with everything she has left. "You've got this. Come on, baby, push!"
But something's wrong. I can see it in Dr. Martinez's face, in the way the nurses are moving with sudden urgency, checking machines, adjusting equipment. Laney's face is gray, her lips tinged blue, and when I look at the monitor showing her vitals, my blood turns to ice.
"Blood pressure's dropping fast," one of the nurses says, her voice calm but clipped. "Heart rate's irregular."
"Get me two units of O-neg, stat," Dr. Martinez orders then turns to me with an expression I've never wanted to see. "Sir, I need you to step outside."
The words rip through me as the room tilts, and suddenly, I can't breathe, can't think, can't process anything except the terror clawing its way up my throat. This can't be happening. This isn't real.
"What?" The word comes out strangled, broken. "No. No, absolutely not. I'm not leaving her."
"Sir—"
"I said NO!" The scream tears from somewhere deep in my chest, raw and desperate. My hands are shaking, my entire body vibrating with panic. "She's my wife! That's my baby! You can't make me leave!"
But even as I'm shouting, I can see Laney getting paler. The room is full-on spinning now, or maybe I'm spinning, and there's a blaring in my ears like I'm standing right next to a fire alarm.
Dr. Martinez grabs my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "She's hemorrhaging badly. Her blood pressure is crashing, and if we don't get this baby out in the next few minutes, we could lose them both. Do you understand me? Both of them."
The words punch through me like bullets. Lose them both. The phrase echoes in my skull, bouncing around until it's the only thing I can hear. My knees nearly buckle, and I have to grip the bed rail to stay upright.
"No," I whisper. "No, this isn't happening. She was fine. She was fine an hour ago. People don't just—" I can't finish the sentence, can't say the word die, because that would make it real.
"Sir, please." A nurse appears at my other side, and I realize distantly that I'm being surrounded. "The surgical team needs space. Every second we spend arguing is a second we're not saving your family."
Dr. Martinez moves closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "She's hemorrhaging. We need to get this baby out immediately, and I need my team to have room to work. If you want to help her, you need to let us do our job."
Hemorrhaging. The word detonates in my soul, tearing through every hope I've carried for the past nine months.
Lose them both. Lose your family. My God, why is this happening?
This isn't supposed to happen this way. We were supposed to go home together, all three of us.
No. I refuse to accept any scenario where we don't walk out together as a family the way it was always meant to be.
"Laney?" I squeeze her hand, but her grip is weaker now, her eyes unfocused. "Baby, look at me."
Her eyelids flutter open, and for a moment, she's there—really there. "Don't leave me," she whispers, and it's barely audible over the chaos erupting around us.
"Sir, please." A nurse has her hand on my arm, gentle but insistent. "The surgical team needs to come in."
I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers, memorizing the feel of her skin and the scent of her hair beneath the hospital's antiseptic.
"I'm not leaving you. I'm going to be right outside that door, and when you wake up, I'll be the first thing you see.
You and our baby. You hear me?" I grind out, fighting back tears, emulating strength when, inside, I'm shattering.