43. Chapter 43
forty-three
Sadie
Waddling. That was what I did now. Eight months in and I was miserable. My hips ached, my back carried a constant dull throb, and I practically lived in the bathroom thanks to a bladder the size of a shot glass.
Amy, Mel, and Kate had been taking turns running The Rolling Scone so I could take maternity leave. Amy covered most of the weekdays, and I only had to hear Beck complain about it once, but one look from both of us, and he backed down fast.
Mel took Saturdays. Kate popped in when she could, sometimes with baby Evie in tow, who charmed every customer in the place. And Liv was getting an absolute kick out of being the boss when she was on shift.
I was so happy with my little family. My Grammy knew exactly what she was doing when she nudged me toward Copper Ridge.
It was Sunday now. And that was the one day I was allowed to do anything bakery-related. Diesel had rules. I baked, but under his supervision. He made sure I took breaks, lifted the heavy stuff, and, of course, taste-tested at least one of everything.
But I was done for the night. My whole body ached, and there was a weird cramp in my lower back I couldn’t seem to shake. It would fade for a while, then slam into me again—sharp and deep enough to make me pause mid-step.
Really annoying.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, watching me like I might fall apart if he blinked.
“Yeah. Just stuffed full of baby and my body’s complaining,” I said, waving him off.
He glanced at his watch, brows furrowing. I ignored it. I was tired. All I wanted was hot tea, a foot rub, and maybe to melt into the couch until morning.
He sat beside me, and I automatically propped my feet in his lap. His big hands wrapped around my ankles, kneading slow circles into my arches while I queued up a movie I knew he liked. That way I could zone out without him fussing.
Another cramp tightened in my lower back and I wiggled, trying to ease it.
He gave me one of his stoic, man-deep-in-thought looks. The kind that used to make him seem grumpy but I’d learned meant his brain was working overtime.
The ache passed, and my eyelids got heavy. But just as I started to drift, the pain came again, sharp enough to make me hiss and shift against the cushions.
His stormy eyes met mine.
“Every fifteen minutes,” he said.
“What?”
“Your back hurts every fifteen minutes.”
“Why are you timing it? It’s a back cramp, not my stomach.”
His brow ticked. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you’re gonna tell me your water breaking is just ‘spilled tea.’”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. I’m eight months pregnant. Everything hurts. My back just… hates me.”
He kept rubbing my foot, but I could feel his gaze like a weight. “Sadie.”
I sipped my tea, deliberately ignoring the warning tone. “It’s fine. Maybe I sat too long. Maybe I stood too long. Maybe I angered the Pregnancy Gods by eating the last éclair instead of sharing.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Pretty sure the Pregnancy Gods don’t work in fifteen-minute intervals.”
Another cramp curled low in my spine. I hissed through my teeth, shifting on the couch. He checked his watch again.
“That’s four,” he said.
“Four what?”
“Four contractions.”
“They are not contractions. Contractions feel like—” I waved vaguely in the air. “Like worse.”
His jaw flexed. “We’ll see how much worse they get before you admit I’m right.”
I gave him a squinty glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Not enjoying it. Just preparing to carry you to the truck when you finally believe me.”
Another cramp hit—sharper this time, curling low in my stomach before stabbing into my back. My breath caught. “Ow.”
He stopped rubbing my foot. “Sadie.”
“Okay… maybe that one was—” My sentence broke off as something warm and wet slid down my leg. I froze, every nerve ending going electric.
The hum of the refrigerator was suddenly deafening. The citrusy soap on my hands smelled too strong. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, quick and uneven, while the scratchy seam of the couch cushion dug into my thigh.
His gaze flicked down. “Sadie,” he said again, slower now, like I was some skittish animal he didn’t want to spook.
“That is not tea,” I whispered.
“Nope.” He was already on his feet, moving with that heavy, no-nonsense stride that made the floorboards creak. The sound was too much. Everything was too much.
He grabbed the hospital bag from beside the door like it had been there for weeks.
(Which, knowing him, it had.) Door. Keys.
His movements blurred into sharp snapshots in my brain, each one louder than it should be.
Zipper teeth clacking. The metallic jingle of the key ring. His boots hitting the hardwood.
“Let’s go.”
“But—”
His eyes locked on mine. The room went muffled. All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and the faint rush of blood in my head.
This is happening.
I couldn’t get enough air. My throat was tight. My hands shook. The couch cushion seam dug into my thigh like it was trying to brand me there.
“This is happening,” he said again, steady.
And somehow, the words—his voice—cut through everything.
I wasn’t stubborn anymore.
I was terrified.
And so, so grateful.
Diesel was calm.
Calm enough for both of us.
Diesel
I didn’t want Sadie to see how rattled I was, so I pasted on a calm face, but my hands were shaking as I wrapped them around the wheel. My heart was thundering like I was the one about to give birth, not her.
I threw her a smile that felt about as steady as wet paint. “We’re going to be okay. You’re going to do fantastic.”
“Easy for you to say,” she hissed mid-contraction, teeth clenched around the words. “I’m the one about to push the kid out.”
I swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic. “Yeah, well, sunshine, if glaring at me could speed things up, you’d already be crowning.” I tried to make a joke, but it came out more desperate than funny.
Another wave hit her, stiffening her jaw. Her hand flew to my arm, and she squeezed tight enough that I could feel her nail groove in the fabric of my shirt. I nearly jerked the wheel to the curb.
“Hold it together, Diesel,” I mouthed to myself. But the tight coil in my gut was starting to unravel like an old sweater.
“I swear, you’ve got this. And I… I’ll do anything I can to help you. I wish I could take that pain for you.” The words nearly broke my voice.
Sadie’s exhale was sharp and shaky. She managed, “Congrats, you’re halfway to being useless.” Her smirk hit me like a life raft. I nearly cracked.
And then: a siren. Blue and red lights pulsed through the windshield. My heart plummeted.
“Hang on, just a bit further,” I murmured, turning on the hazards, trying to act calm, but I could feel the panic sweat rolling down my back.
Sadie squeezed my arm, voice edged with humor and grit: “Do you even know where we’re going yet?”
I snapped out of my dizzying fog. “Hospital. The one with the birthing—it’s straight ahead—I’ve got this.”
She gave me a look that said, "More convincing performance, please".
I swallowed. “I love you.”
She cracked a breathless laugh. “Not the time for soft stuff,” she joked, but I felt it. She was my anchor. My everything.
The siren blared louder, and the cop was right on my ass, lights flashing like a damn carnival. Any sane person would’ve pulled over.
I wasn’t any sane person.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. “Not today, officer. Write me up later, I’ve got bigger things to deal with.”
Sadie’s laugh came out strangled. “Are you—are you seriously running from a cop right now?”
“Not running,” I corrected, jerking the truck around a minivan. “Just… refusing to stop.”
Her face pinched with another contraction, and she grabbed the handle above the door. “Diesel!”
“Focus on breathing, sunshine. I’ll focus on making sure our kid isn’t born in the front seat of my truck.”
The cop hit his siren again, and I could practically feel the man cussing me out from behind his windshield. I didn’t even glance at the rearview mirror. My eyes locked on the green hospital sign ahead, as if it were salvation.
“You’re gonna get arrested,” Sadie groaned through clenched teeth.
“Then I hope they’ve got a family plan,” I shot back, heart hammering as I floored it through a yellow light. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re in a hospital bed.”
“Diesel!” she yelled, half in pain, half in disbelief.
I risked a look at her, saw the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the way she was fighting to keep it together, and my chest clenched so tight I almost did lose it. I wanted to scream, to punch the steering wheel, to beg the universe not to screw this up for us.
Instead, I forced out, “I’ve got you. I swear to God, Sadie, I’ve got you.”
Her hand fumbled over the console, found mine, squeezed until my knuckles popped. “You better,” she whispered.
We roared into the hospital drop-off lane with the cop still glued to my bumper. I slammed the truck into park and threw the door open like a man possessed.
Two nurses bolted out with a wheelchair, eyes wide, probably taking in Sadie’s red face and my wild one. Behind us, the cop screeched to a stop, storming toward me.
“Sir, do you have any idea—”
“Write me a ticket later!” I barked, scooping Sadie into my arms before she could argue. “She’s having my baby!”
The nurses surged forward, and the cop just stopped, dumbfounded, as I barreled past him and into the hospital.