38
Penny
Six weeks later…
“Beck,” I whisper into the darkness, tugging at the heavy arm he has draped over me. “Beckett, move .”
I can’t help but smile as he hums and nuzzles his face into my hair, despite my urgent need to pee. The hand he has splayed out over my stomach flexes, and then the idiot presses his dick into my ass.
“Stop,” I whine, wriggling in his hold. “I need to pee. Get off.”
He chuckles deeply, right into my ear, and I roll my eyes as he once again grinds himself against me, before releasing me and rolling onto his back.
He’s fast asleep again before I even reach the doorway to the ensuite.
“This is getting a little beyond a joke,” I whisper to my stomach as I flick on the light and drag my feet across the tiled floor of the bathroom. “Mumma needs sleep, little man. I can’t be waking up every hour on the dot to pee. Give me and my bladder a break, would you?”
Being thirty-eight weeks pregnant is no damn joke.
Baby boy’s head is so damn low it feels like he’s going to fall the fuck out of me, I need to pee constantly, and if I’m awake, so is he, whether that be because he feels like kicking the shit out of me, or because he’s got the hiccups.
I sigh in relief as I lift my nightie, slide my panties down and sit, my eyes still squinting against the far too bright light of the bathroom. That is, until I look down, and I see red.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper, my body freezing up at the sight.
My underwear are soaked, and there are streaks of dry blood on my inner thighs.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe myself with.
More blood.
“Beckett,” I call out, my voice barely loud enough for me to hear, let alone to wake him.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself, raising my feet to slip out of my underwear before standing, leaving them on the floor by the toilet, and walking back across the bathroom to the doorway. “Beckett,” I manage to call again, this time much louder, and he jolts awake.
“What? What is it?” Within seconds he’s flung himself out of bed. “What’s wrong?” he asks, reaching me in four large strides.
“I… I’m bleeding,” I whisper as he cradles my face between his hands.
He frowns, as if trying to process what I’m saying, but the moment he spots blood trickling down my thighs, his face pales. “Fuck,” he grunts. “Okay, okay, okay,” he mutters. “You’re okay,” he assures me, nodding before turning and racing over to his bedside table to retrieve his phone. Quickly, he taps at the screen and then holds the phone to his ear as he stumbles across the room.
I watch him, and the world feels as though it’s moving in slow motion.
He explains to the emergency operators what’s happening and retrieves me something to wear from the tallboy. I get dressed as if on autopilot, and then, before I can blink, I’m in his arms, cradled against his chest, and he’s whispering all the right things into my ear, but none of them sink in.
“You’re okay, Love. We’re okay. The doctors will be waiting when we get there. They’re going to take care of you. It’s all going to be fine, I promise.”
In a daze, I stare at him as he places me in the passenger seat of his car, taking in every feature of his face. Once he has me buckled in, he shuts the door and sprints to the driver’s side. As he pulls his own seatbelt across his wide chest, a thought crosses my mind, and I frown down at my stomach.
Cautiously, I place my hand over the ribbed material of my black singlet, stretched tightly across my belly, and I wait.
The baby isn’t kicking.
Why isn’t he kicking?