Chapter 28 Charlotte
TWENTY-EIGHT
CHARLOTTE
The polyester graduation gown itches against my skin as I shift uncomfortably in the hard folding chair. My swollen belly presses against the fabric and creates a tent-like silhouette that no amount of strategic draping can disguise.
Around me, my classmates fidget with their caps and whisper excitedly to each other. They’re unencumbered by forty extra pounds and a tiny human using their bladder as a trampoline. But despite the discomfort, pride swells in my chest as I scan the crowded auditorium.
I made it.
Despite everything. Morning sickness during practical exams, swollen ankles during long styling sessions, and the drama that nearly destroyed my family. I’m actually graduating.
My eyes find Koda instantly among the sea of faces.
He sits five rows back and his massive frame dwarfs the delicate folding chair beneath him. Even from this distance, I can see the pride radiating from him as he watches me.
His dark eyes never leave mine. When our gazes lock, he offers that half-smile that still makes my heart skip a beat eight months into our relationship. Beside him sits Dana, elegant as always in a tailored dress, her perfectly styled hair making me smile.
I smooth my gown over my belly for the hundredth time and feel our daughter shift and roll beneath my palm. At thirty-nine weeks, she’s running out of room in there.
“Just a little longer, baby girl,” I whisper. “Let Mommy get her certificate first, okay?”
Ms. Lowell approaches the podium and taps the microphone twice before launching into her commencement speech.
I try to focus on her words about achievement and bright futures, but my mind keeps drifting to the past year.
From my first clumsy attempts at a basic blunt cut to the intricate updo that won me first place at the showcase.
From the moment I discovered I was pregnant to the night my father found out about Koda and me. From Adrian’s obsession to the night Koda saved my life.
So much has happened, yet somehow, I’ve landed here, ready to start the career my mother loved so much.
“Charlotte Palmer.”
My name jolts me back to the present.
I push myself up from the chair and feel oddly weightless despite my enormous belly. The walk to the stage seems miles long, but I manage to climb the steps without waddling too obviously.
Dean Fletcher smiles as he hands me my certificate. His handshake is firm and congratulatory.
“Exceptional work, Ms. Palmer,” he says quietly. “Your mother would be proud.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I accept the rolled certificate. I turn toward the audience and search for Koda’s face again. I find him instantly.
His smile is so wide it must hurt.
That’s when it happens.
A tight band of pressure wraps around my lower back and abdomen and steals my breath for a moment. I freeze. One hand instinctively moves to my belly. The sensation isn’t painful exactly, just intense. Different from the Braxton Hicks contractions I’ve been experiencing for weeks.
I force myself to keep moving and carefully descend the stairs as the pressure subsides.
Just a practice contraction, I tell myself. They’ve been getting stronger lately.
Back in my seat, I take deep, measured breaths, the way we practiced in birthing class. The certificate rests in my lap and I run my fingers over the embossed lettering. I focus on the texture to distract myself.
Twenty minutes left of the ceremony. I can make it.
Then another contraction hits, stronger this time. I grip the sides of my chair and try to keep my face neutral as the pressure builds, peaks, and finally releases.
Eight minutes since the last one. Too close together for comfort, but still not definitive.
“You okay?” Sierra whispers from the seat beside me and notices my white-knuckled grip.
I nod and give her a weak smile.
The remaining graduates receive their certificates in a blur as I focus on my breathing.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Relax the shoulders. Visualize opening like a flower.
All the techniques from those classes Koda faithfully attended with me, his massive frame comical among the pregnant women on yoga mats.
Another contraction rolls through me just as the dean invites us to move our tassels from right to left. This one demands my full attention. The pressure is so intense I have to bite my lip to keep from making noise.
Six minutes since the last one. Definitely not Braxton Hicks.
“Congratulations, Class of 2026!” The dean’s voice booms through the speakers.
Caps fly into the air around me. I toss mine weakly and immediately return my hand to my belly as I feel the baby shift and drop lower.
A strange popping sensation deep inside me makes my eyes widen.
Did my water just break?
The ceremony dissolves into chaos as graduates hug each other, squeal, and pose for photos.
I stand slowly with one hand on my chair for support. I scan the crowd for Koda. Another contraction begins building and I close my eyes. I breathe through it.
“Charlotte.” Koda’s deep voice cuts through the noise around me.
I open my eyes to find him standing before me. Concern is etched across his rugged features.
“What’s wrong?”
I grab his forearm and my fingers dig into the solid muscle there.
“I think the baby’s coming,” I whisper.
Koda’s expression shifts instantly from concern to focused determination. One large hand moves to the small of my back, steady and warm.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“About five minutes now,” I admit and lean into his strength. “And I think my water just broke.”
He nods once, all business now.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes, but—”
Another contraction cuts me off. This one is strong enough to make me gasp. Koda’s arm circles my waist and supports me as I breathe through it.
“I’m getting you to the hospital. Now.”
Another contraction rips through me as Koda navigates through afternoon traffic.
I’m sprawled across the backseat with my graduation gown bunched around my waist. One hand braces against the car door while the other clutches the leather seat. The pain builds like a wave and crests higher and higher until I can’t hold back a low moan.
Through the rearview mirror, Koda’s eyes meet mine. They’re dark with concern and something else.
Fear.
Not that he’d ever admit it. My big, tough mountain man, who’s faced down dangerous criminals without flinching, looks terrified by the prospect of me having our baby.
“Four minutes apart now,” I gasp as the contraction subsides. It leaves me panting and sweaty. “And getting stronger.”
“Almost there,” Koda promises. His deep voice is steady despite the tension radiating from his massive shoulders. He runs a red light and earns angry honks from other drivers. “They can fucking ticket me,” he mutters and presses the accelerator harder.
In the car behind us, I glimpse Dana on her phone. She’s presumably calling my dad.
The thought of him witnessing me like this, sweaty and in pain and decidedly undignified, should embarrass me. Instead, I feel a desperate need for him to be there. Despite everything that happened, despite how he discovered about Koda and me, he’s still my dad.
I want him to meet his granddaughter.
Another contraction builds before the previous one fully fades. I bite down on my knuckles and try not to scream. The pain is nothing like I imagined. Not sharp or stabbing, but crushing, overwhelming, like my entire body is being compressed in a vise.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant through gritted teeth. All dignity is abandoned.
Koda pulls into the hospital emergency entrance with a screech of tires. Before I can even reach for the door handle, he’s there. He scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing despite my very pregnant state.
A nurse appears with a wheelchair, but Koda ignores her and carries me straight through the automatic doors.
“My girlfriend’s in labor,” he announces to the startled admissions desk. “Contractions less than four minutes apart.”
The next few minutes blur together. Forms are shoved at Koda. A nurse helps me out of my graduation gown and into a hospital gown. My vitals are taken while another contraction tears through me.
I grip the nurse’s hand so hard she winces.
“Let’s see how far along you are, honey,” the nurse says once the contraction passes. She checks me quickly and her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re already at seven centimeters. This baby’s in a hurry.”
Seven centimeters.
The knowledge both relieves and terrifies me. No time for an epidural then. I’m doing this the old-fashioned way, whether I want to or not.
They wheel me to a delivery room. Koda never leaves my side. His hand engulfs mine, steady and warm despite the tension radiating from him. Another contraction builds and I squeeze his fingers so hard I expect to hear bones crack.
He doesn’t flinch. He just leans closer and his forehead touches mine.
“Breathe through it,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Just like we practiced.”
But we didn’t practice this. This tsunami of pain that makes the room blur around the edges. Sweat drips down my face. My hair is plastered to my forehead and neck. The contraction peaks and forces a sound from my throat that doesn’t even sound human.
“I can’t do this,” I gasp when it finally ebbs enough for me to speak. “It’s too much.”
“You can,” Koda says with absolute certainty. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Charlotte. Stronger than you realize.”
Another contraction follows almost immediately and steals my ability to respond. My fingers clutch the bed rails. My knuckles are white with strain. The pressure builds until I’m certain something inside me will shatter. I arch my back and a primal scream tears from my throat.
“She’s transitioning,” I hear a nurse say. “Won’t be long now.”
Time loses all meaning.