Chapter 10 Skye
TEN
SKYE
The moment Sawyer walked out that door, I thought that was it.
What a strange thought to even have about a man who technically isn’t mine, who never could be in our current reality.
This isn’t a fairytale where the characters get their happily ever after.
This is real life, and I am about to give birth to a baby that isn’t his.
A baby that’s already been abandoned once by her daddy.
Putting any expectations on Sawyer hadn’t been fair to him, but it’d been so easy to slip into the ease of what a family could look like with him.
It was wrong, and I know that.
And now, I’m reaping the consequences.
Or I was until he came in like my knight in shining armour and told me everything I wanted to hear.
I can’t help but sob as he washes his hands before stepping up to me.
The shower isn’t big enough for the two of us—really only just big enough for me—but he does catch some of the spray from the open shower curtain as he bends to look at me.
The last thing I want to do is meet his stare.
I’m terrified of what might be waiting for me in those dark, warm eyes.
What else can he break of mine that I’m not willing to give him?
But I also can’t help myself from meeting his gaze. “Breathe, love. Just breathe,” he murmurs, gently brushing my hair back from my face. “How far along?”
“Fifteen minutes but dropping quickly,” I reply, easing out of my hunch. “Not close enough for the hospital—”
“The roads still have snow, but they are being cleared,” he interjects, all matter of fact. “It’s going to take us over thirty to get from here to the hospital. What would you tell a patient with that information?”
I stare at him for a long moment, heart pounding.
I’d tell that patient she should have been on the road half an hour ago to give herself time.
Labour isn’t linear; it can change just as quickly as the weather, for good or for bad.
Doesn’t matter if you’ve had the best pregnancy of your life leading up to D-day, there’s always something that can go wrong.
And even though we get told to turn expectant parents away when they aren’t close enough, the weather doesn’t care.
Slowly, I stand, feeling the muscles in my lower back and abdomen contract. “Okay. We have to go.”
Sawyer nods once before wrapping an arm around my back and helping me out of the shower. Somehow, he turns the water off as he does, grabbing the towel hanging behind the door and wrapping it around me.
“I’m going to get you a pair of sweats and a flannel,” he says, running his stare over me. “Dry off. I’ll be back in a second.”
Before he can turn, I take his hand. “How did you know?”
How did he know to come storming in here like a fairytale hero? How did he know I was in labour?
“I noticed you wince,” he replies slowly. “In my gut, something told me I needed to get back here. That something was wrong. And I’m glad I listened to it.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because I promised you I would be by your side for this,” he says, cupping my cheek. “And I might be a broken man, but I would never break my promise to you.” His gaze flickers to my stomach, which cramps uncomfortably. “Or her.”
There’s no point in stopping the tears lodged in my throat. They fall freely, sliding down my cheeks. I barely manage to bite down on a choked sob as he wraps his arms around my trembling body. For a quiet, long moment, he holds me. Draws me in closer and holds me tight to his chest.
“I might not be the best man,” he says quietly, voice so gentle it hurts, “but I think I can be better. For you. For both of you.”
How does he not know that he already is a good man?
That he doesn’t need to be better because he’s already perfect?
He isn’t the scary, terrifying beast he thinks he is.
He isn’t the broken man he tries to make himself out to be.
Sawyer might be quiet, a little reserved, and maybe even broody.
But that doesn’t make him bad. It doesn’t make him broken.
I want to say those words but let out a low groan as another contraction grips me instead.
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen labour, how many hands I’ve held during the worst of it, how many people I’ve seen push out literal watermelons.
It still takes me by surprise how much it actually hurts.
The pain is like a fire being lit inside me. It tears right through my body, especially my lower half, and it makes every single nerve in my body tingle with pain.
Sawyer holds me through it, rubbing his hand up and down my spine. The touch alone makes me shiver; the physical contact is more calming than I expect it to be.
A few seconds later, it passes, and I can finally breathe again.
“Can you walk?” he asks, voice gruff but still gentle.
I release a shaky breath and nod. “Yes.”
“Okay. We’re going into the bedroom. We’re going to get you dressed, and then we’ll go to the hospital.”
There’s something so calming about the protective, assertive nature of this man. Hell, I’d even go as far as to call it sexy. I’ve never had anyone—maybe except for my little sister—be like this with me. And normally, I wouldn’t take well to it.
But with Sawyer, I let him take the lead. I hand over the stress of all the things I have to do, and he takes it all in stride. This man doesn’t realise how much I appreciate him being the one at my side. I don’t think I would have been able to trust anyone else as much as I do him.
We hit the hospital almost an hour later, my contractions only a few minutes apart, the pain becoming almost too much to bear. Pressure builds in my lower abdomen, becoming so overwhelming it has me bowing off the seat to relieve some of the pain.
The logical side of my brain knows we need to hurry.
With the speed at which this hit, I have little time left.
Over the last few years of being in labour and delivery, I’ve witnessed a handful of car deliveries.
The ones who don’t make it in time, who got turned around only to make it back once the baby is born.
I’m at risk of doing the same. I know that.
But the brain in control, the one that only feels pain and pressure and can only breathe through it, isn’t letting the logic come out. Instead, I grip the oh-shit handle above my head, my other braced beneath me on the leather seat.
In the distance, I hear the familiar noise of the hospital.
Ambulance engines rumble by the ER doors.
Paramedics and patients coming and going.
I notice the fire truck by sound before I even see it parked nearby.
There’s police cars, too. The Sheriff is here somewhere. There must have been an accident.
I know I should instruct Sawyer and point him towards a different entrance closer to the maternity ward.
But the pain traps me in a silent state I can’t escape.
My body convulses as another ninety-second contraction grips me, only three minutes after the last one.
Panic crawls at the edges of my consciousness, but by some miracle, it didn’t take complete control over me.
Sawyer’s warm hand landed on my thigh, somehow activating a wave of calm. “Talk to me, baby,” he says, voice low. “I don’t like how quiet you are.”
I release a heavy breath, which sounds almost like a laugh. “You don’t want to know what I’m feeling right now.”
It feels like my insides are being twisted, reshaped, and pummelled. I’ve known what to expect since I finished nursing school. Never had rose-tinted glasses regarding childbirth. I’ve seen the beauty and the horror of it. Watched life come into this world and life leave.
Pressure in my lower back and stomach makes me groan.
“Skye?” Sawyer questions as he pulls into the only parking space outside the hospital. Even though the snow has mostly stopped, there’s a wind picking up remnants of the blizzard, flicking it against the windshield of the truck.
The pressure doesn’t ease, leaving me with only one thought. “She’s coming,” I tell him, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m having this baby now.”