CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KADE
I answer my phone with a smile already on my face.
“How was the final shift?” I ask.
“Kade?”
My smile fades. “Mrs. Wainwright? Why do you have Eden’s phone?”
She chuckles softly. “I couldn’t work out how to use it. Aren’t the screens big these days? Nothing like my old Nokia. I don’t even have a touchscreen.”
I let out a short laugh, but unease creeps in fast. “Is Eden okay?”
There’s a pause too long. “I thought she’d be with you by now.”
My stomach drops. “She’s not with me,” I say, my heart immediately picking up speed as I push to my feet and glance out the window.
“Oh. She left to come to you.”
“We didn’t have plans,” I reply, confusion knotting tight in my chest.
“No, she said she needed to tell you something.”
My throat closes. Tell me something? My mind spirals instantly, is she having second thoughts or regrets? Last night replays in my head on a loop.
“But that was a while ago now,” she continues. “I just found her phone when I was locking up. She must’ve left it behind in a rush.”
“How long ago?” I ask, already grabbing my coat.
“Well . . . at least forty-minutes.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, ending the call as I bolt for the door.
The door slams behind me as I take the steps two at a time. Almost an hour. With no phone.
My bike roars to life beneath me, and I tear down the track, gravel spraying as I hit the road hard. The wind slices against my face, but it does nothing to cool the heat flooding my veins.
She wouldn’t just wander off. Not Eden. Not like that.
My mind fills the gaps with worst-case scenarios. Panic sits heavy in my chest, clawing, suffocating. I replay the last thing she said to me. Her smile this morning. The way she’d kissed me like it meant something.
Jesus Christ.
I take the turn towards the farm lanes without slowing, tyres screaming as I lean into it. The road narrows, hedges closing in, the rain slicking the tarmac until it shines under my headlight.
And then I see her.
Bent over at the side of the lane, one hand braced against the fence, the other clutching her stomach. Her dress is darkened at the hem, clinging to her legs. Her hair is plastered to her face, her shoulders shaking.
“Eden!” I shout, already skidding the bike to a stop.
She looks up at the sound of my voice, eyes wild, panicked, and then another pain rips through her because she cries out, a sound that goes straight through me.
“I . . . I couldn’t . . .” She gasps, trying to straighten but failing. “I think the baby is coming.”
I’m off the bike and at her side in seconds, my hands hovering, terrified of touching her wrong, of doing anything that makes this worse.
“Hey. Hey, look at me,” I say, forcing calm into my voice even as my heart pounds so hard, I swear it might break my ribs. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
Her hand fumbles for mine, and when I close my fingers around hers, she clings on like I’m the only solid thing left in the world.
“My waters,” she pants. “They . . . they broke.”
The world tilts. Labour. Now. It’s early.
I swallow hard, nodding even though my head is spinning. “Okay. That’s okay,” I lie smoothly. “We’ve got this.”
Another contraction hits and she cries out, folding into me, her face buried in my chest. I wrap my arms around her instinctively, anchoring her.
“I left my phone,” she sobs. “I just wanted to talk to you. Oh god, I’m not ready. I don’t even have all the stuff I need.”
My throat tightens painfully. “None of that matters,” I say fiercely. “We can get all that sorted.”
I glance down the empty road, rain pouring now, and there are no houses in sight.
I press my forehead to hers. “We’re getting you to the hospital,” I tell her as I pull out my mobile phone. “But first, we’re getting you comfortable. Can you breathe with me? Just like class.”
Her eyes squeeze shut as she nods, trying to follow my lead.
In through the nose.
Out through the mouth.
I pull my jacket off and wrap it around her shoulders, shielding her from the cold and the rain, my hands steady even though everything inside me is screaming.
“I’ve got you, Queenie,” I murmur, my voice breaking despite myself. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
I call emergency services with shaking hands, keeping Eden tucked against my chest as another shiver runs through her.
“Ambulance service. Is the patient breathing?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “She’s conscious. She’s in labour. Thirty-seven weeks.”
We exchange details. My name. Eden’s name. The phone number in case we get cut off.
I tighten my hold as Eden whimpers. “We’re on a side road,” I say when she asks for the address, then I rattle off the farm address and do my best to explain exactly where we are.
“Okay,” the operator says calmly. “I need you to get the patient somewhere she can lie down. I’ll need you to examine her.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “Examine her?” I bark. “We’re on a bloody farm lane. It’s pouring down and I’m on a motorbike. There’s nothing here.”
“Is there any form of shelter nearby?”
“No,” I snap, panic bleeding into my voice. “You just send an ambulance?”
“There’s been severe flooding in the village just down from you,” she explains. “All available units are currently tied up. We need to establish how far along Eden is.”
“It’s far enough,” I growl. “Her contractions are close together.”
Eden looks up at me, her eyes glassy. “What are they saying?”
I press a kiss to her damp hair. “Nothing, Queenie. You’re doing amazing. Everything’s fine.”
I scan the road, rain blurring my vision, then my eyes land on the track leading back towards the farm.
“Okay,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. “After the next contraction, do you think you can sit on the bike? Sideways. We need to get you somewhere you can lie down.”
She nods weakly and relief crashes through me so hard, my knees almost buckle.
I end the call without waiting for the dispatcher to respond.
“Breathe with me,” I murmur, helping Eden through the next contraction, counting low and steady until it passes.
Then I swing onto the bike and lift her carefully in front of me, settling her sideways, her legs dangling as I keep one arm locked tight around her.
“Hold on,” I whisper into her hair as the engine roars to life. “I’ve got you.”
And then I ride.
The second I stop outside the farmhouse, relief hits me so hard, it’s almost dizzying.
Lights blaze on inside as I kill the engine. I haul Eden into my arms and carry her towards the door like she weighs nothing, like I haven’t got a trembling, contracting woman about to bring my kid into the world clutched against my chest.
The door flies open before I can knock.
“Oh my god,” Pete says, eyes wide. “Is it happening?”
“Yes,” I snap, already moving past him. “And unless you’ve secretly trained as a midwife, we’re doing this blind.”
He scrambles out of the way. “Get her upstairs. I’ll get towels. And, uh, hot water?”
“Good man,” I mutter.
Upstairs, I lay Eden down carefully, stripping off my soaked jacket and tossing it aside before grabbing towels and pressing them into her hands.
She laughs weakly between breaths, water still dripping from her hair. “Well,” she pants, “I suppose this counts as the water birth I wanted.”
I snort despite myself. “If this was the plan, Queenie, I feel like Jan should’ve mentioned the motorbike-in-a-thunderstorm part.”
She huffs a laugh that turns into a groan, fingers digging into my arm. “You’re . . . not funny.”
“I am absolutely hilarious,” I say, brushing wet hair back from her face. “You’re just side-tracked.”
Another contraction rolls through her, and I drop the jokes instantly, grounding her the way I’ve learned—steady voice, steady hands, eyes locked on hers.
“Breathe,” I murmur. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it. I’ve got you.”
When it passes, she slumps back against the pillows, soaked, exhausted, but fierce as hell.
“I really didn’t plan to do this on the farm lane,” she mutters.
“Yeah,” I say softly, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’ve always been an overachiever.”
Her lips twitch. “And I planned on buying the baby things this week.”
I laugh again. “You have nappies, clothes, and a basket. She’s got everything she needs.”
“She,” Eden repeats with a tired smile. “That’s the first time you’ve said ‘she’.”
I kiss her on the forehead. “Yeah, well, maybe a mini you is just what I need to keep me in line.”
Outside, rain hammers the roof like applause, thunder rolling in the distance.
Pete returns, immediately with hot water and towels. Then he drops in front of the open fire and stacking logs. “Is the ambulance coming?” he asks.
I glance at Eden, who’s watching me. “Yeah,” I lie. “On its way.” My mobile rings, and I check the caller I.D. “That’s them now, calling back,” I say, connecting the call.
“Kade, it’s the ambulance service. I need you to listen to me very carefully,” the woman says, calm but firm. “Are you somewhere safe now?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Inside. She’s lying down.”
“Good. I need you to check how far along she is. This doesn’t mean the baby is coming right now, okay? We just need information.”
Eden’s eyes fly to mine. “What does that mean?” she asks, panic flashing across her face.
“It’s okay,” I lie smoothly, squeezing her hand. “They just wanna know what’s going on.”
I put the phone on speaker and kneel beside the bed.
“Kade,” the woman continues, “I’m going to talk you through this step-by-step. If at any point Eden says stop, you stop. Understand?”
“Yes,” I say. My mouth is dry.
“Eden,” the woman adds gently, “you’re doing brilliantly. This is just a quick check.”
Eden nods, jaw clenched. “Okay.”
“Right,” the dispatcher says. “Kade, during the next contraction, I want you to look—only look—and tell me if you can see the baby’s head.”
My stomach drops. I swallow hard and nod even though she can’t see me. “Okay.”
Another contraction hits, and Eden cries out, fingers digging into my arm. I lean in, heart hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else.
“I’m right here,” I murmur. “Breathe with me. You’re safe.”
Then I carefully, respectfully, terrified out of my fucking mind, do as the operator asked.
“Oh god,” I whisper.
“Kade?” the dispatcher prompts.
“I . . . I can see something,” I say, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady. “Just a little. Not much.”
“That’s okay,” she says calmly. “That means the baby is very close, but it doesn’t mean you need to push yet, Eden. Ambulance is en route, but given the weather, we need to prepare for the possibility of delivery there. Are you ready to listen?”
My chest tightens, fear and awe crashing together.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”
Eden looks up at me, eyes glassy but fierce. “Don’t you dare panic,” she pants.
I laugh breathlessly, brushing her hair back. “Too late, but I’ve got you. I swear.”
The woman’s voice continues, steady and grounding, walking me through breathing, through positioning, through keeping Eden calm.
And as I kneel there, soaked boots on a farmhouse floor, holding the woman I love while our child prepares to enter the world, one thing cuts through the fear clear as day—
Nothing I’ve ever done has mattered as much as this moment.
EDEN
One second, I’m breathing, counting like they told me to—slow in, slower out—and the next, my body folds in on itself like it’s being split open from the inside.
“Oh . . . god,” I gasp, clutching at Kade’s arm. “Kade—”
“I’ve got you,” he says immediately. “I’m here, Queenie. Breathe with me.” His forehead presses to mine. His breathing matches mine, even though I know he’s terrified. I can feel it in the way his arm tightens around my shoulders, the way his hand never leaves mine.
I’ve never felt so exposed, yet so powerful.
Another contraction rips through me, and I cry out, the sound raw and animal and completely mine. There’s no embarrassment left. No pride. Just instinct.
“I can’t,” I sob. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” he says without hesitation. “You are doing it.”
The room smells like rain and hay and something metallic in the air. I’m soaked through, trembling, my hair plastered to my face, my dress ruined. This is not the birth plan. This is not the pool. This is not calm.
“Where’s Pete?” I ask. “He can’t be in here. He can’t see me.”
Kade nods. “He’s gone, Queenie. He just started the fire to warm you up.”
The voice from the phone floats in and out, calm and steady, but it’s Kade I focus on. Kade’s hands. Kade’s voice. Kade’s eyes when he looks at me like I’m the bravest thing he’s ever seen.
“There’s pressure,” I pant. “So much pressure.”
“I know,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “That means you’re close. You’re almost there.”
Another wave hits, and my body bears down without asking my permission. I scream his name, gripping him like an anchor. “I need to push,” I cry.
And then . . .
Something shifts.
A release. A burn. A moment that feels endless and instant all at once.
“I can see the baby,” Kade says, his voice breaking completely now. “Eden . . . oh, my god . . . I can see our baby.”
I sob, half-laughing, half-crying. “Please . . . please don’t let go.”
“Never,” he chokes. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I push again, everything in me focused on this one final thing, this one impossible moment.
And then . . .
A cry.
Sharp. Small. Perfect.
The sound hits me right in the chest.
“Oh,” I breathe. “Oh . . .”
Kade is crying. Properly crying. I hear it in the way he laughs through his tears, the way his voice shakes as he says, “You did it. Eden, you did it.”
He grabs a fresh towel and crouches between my legs. Then he places the bundle on my chest, and the world narrows down to warmth and weight, and a tiny, wrinkled face scrunched-up against me.
My baby.
Our baby.
I’m sobbing now, my whole body shaking as I cradle instinctively, like I’ve always known how.
Kade’s hand covers mine, big and steady and reverent. “Hi,” he whispers to the baby. “Hi, baby.”
Something in me finally unclenches.
I look up at him—this man who broke me, who lost me, who found his way back not with words but with staying—and I know with absolute certainty that whatever happens next, we did this together.