Epilogue
ALEXANDER
NINE MONTHS LATER
“Aleeexx. ALEX! Where are you?”
Haven’s voice hits every one of my nerve endings.
I’ve been on high alert the past week, thinking I can hear her calling. Only when I sprint to find her, she’s just there watching her television shows or playing with Everly. One time, she was scooping peanut butter from the jar with her finger and looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
And I have. I have lost my mind. If losing my mind is waiting for a baby to come.
The due date is way in the past, and now, we’re on borrowed time.
Honestly, at this point, I’m surprised I’m even on a different floor of the house as her right now because I’m usually glued to her side, but Haven loves her nighttime bath before bed, so that’s what I’m doing.
I don’t even question whether I’m imagining her voice as I turn off the taps, sprint along the hallway, then down the three flights of stairs two at a time to the foyer, where I find Haven standing in a puddle.
“What happened?”
“My water broke.”
I’m staring at her, waiting for her to freak out, but she’s weirdly calm. Taking her hand, I guide her over to the bottom stair and check my watch because I’m now zoned in.
“Did your contractions start? Are you in pain? Are you aching?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m always aching, Alex. I’m carrying around a kettlebell every day.”
I check my watch again. “When did your contractions begin?”
“Um . . . this morning.”
My brow drops, my gaze flicking from the time and back to Haven calmly sitting on the step and staring up at me with her innocent green eyes. “What?”
“They started this morning.”
“THIS MORNING! Haven, it’s nine o’clock.” I check my watch again. Yep. Nine. And when I glance out the windows, it’s dark. The streetlamps in Eaton Square are lit. It’s definitely nighttime. “How did I not know?”
“Because I didn’t tell you.”
“Haven—”
“Because you’re freaking out.” She stares at me accusatorily, so I do my best to breathe. “I was in labor with Everly for forty hours. Telling you this morning would have been pointless.”
“No, I could have—” I stop talking at her raised eyebrow. “Okay. Fine. I’m assuming you’ve been timing your contractions.”
“Still seven minutes apart.” She nods.
“And can I take you to the hospital now?”
“Yes, I think it’s time.”
It’s time. It’s time. Our baby’s coming. The most important thing that I can do is not freak out. Yet that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Haven might be all chilled, but she’s done this before.
She’s grown a human, so she knows what to expect and when to expect it.
I don’t. I missed it all with Everly, and while I try not to think about that too much, I’ve also spent the last nine months making sure this pregnancy is an enjoyable one for Haven.
“Okay. Don’t panic. We practiced for this. The bag’s been by the door for a week.”
Her hand reaches for mine, and she gives it a little reassuring squeeze. “I know.”
Taking a step back, I peer up toward the ceiling where the balustrade runs around the perimeter of the foyer.
“Clementine. CLEMMIE. Move your arse.”
“Babe, don’t wake up Everly.” Haven adds, “And you’ll need to tell Natalie we’re leaving.”
Fuck. I forgot about our nanny.
She’s been with us since Haven was six months pregnant, because we decided that two babies under one was not something we could handle without help.
And truly, she’s been a godsend because it’s meant Everly’s schedule hasn’t been disrupted while Haven and I have been back and forth to doctor’s appointments.
And when this time right here finally arrived, we wouldn’t have to worry about who’d take care of Everly for us.
I’m debating whether to sprint up the stairs and tell her myself when Clementine leans over the banister at the top of the house and takes in the scene below.
“Oh my God, is it time? Is it?”
“Yes, it’s time. Hurry up. Can you tell Natalie we’re leaving? And grab me a hoodie?” I add. Even though it’s been thirty degrees Celsius in London today, I have no idea what it’ll be like in the hospital.
As Clementine disappears, I glance back down at Haven. There’s a smile on her face, her cheeks are more rounded and pink than ever, and she looks so fucking beautiful with her enormous swollen belly that for a moment I can’t speak.
She holds her hands out to me, and I slowly pull her to her feet, where she wraps her arms around my neck. She can barely reach, however, because she’s still almost a foot away from me due to the beachball-sized bump between us.
“Alex, take a deep breath.”
I try, but my heart’s racing too fast. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
I’m still trying when Clemmie thunders down the stairs, taking the last four in one go, just like we all did as children, and tosses my hoodie at me.
“Oh my God, you guys. Oh my God—” she squeals, jumping up and down in a way I do not appreciate.
“Clementine!”
She snaps her fingers and draws a hand over her face. “Okay, I’m calm. But let’s get the fuck out of here. At least the roads won’t be too busy.”
“Exactly. It’s a nine-minute-and-twenty-three-second average journey. At this time of night, we should be on the quicker side of things,” I tell them, snatching the car keys from the hall console, along with the go bag.
I’m totally confident in my assessment too.
I’ve driven the route at every hour of the day. I know the bus routes to avoid, and I’ve studied the side roads.
I even hailed a black cab and paid the cabbie to drive me around all afternoon. There’s a reason black cab drivers in London have to spend three years studying “The Knowledge” before they’re given the keys, and that’s shortcuts.
Clementine tuts. “You’re such a geek for knowing that.”
“Hey, I’m not taking any chances.”
It’s why we relocated from Valentine Nook to the Burlington family house in Eaton Square two weeks ago—so that Haven was near her doctors if she needed them.
Being here saves me from having an early heart attack because driving two hours along the M4 with Haven in labor is not an experience I wanted.
The house is also fully staffed, in case Lando or my mother decides to stay on a whim, which makes things a million times easier because all my time is spent concentrating on what Haven needs, such as holding her hand and helping her down the front steps into the waiting Range Rover.
“In the back,” I remind Clementine, something she rolls her eyes at because it’s not the first time I’ve told her. Not the second either.
Every day since the week before the due date, we’ve been over and over the plans for getting to the hospital.
“Babe, you okay?” I ask as she eases herself onto the seat.
Haven nods but grabs the front of my T-shirt before I can pull back. I assume it’s to kiss me, but as I lean in, she groans really loudly.
“Fuck. Alex.” She huffs her words, and her entire face screws up in pain. “We need to go. Oh God.”
I don’t want to tell her I told her so, but I really hope this isn’t what her contractions looked like since this morning, because how the fuck did I miss them? “Babe, remember your breathing . . . slowly in and out.”
“I’ll take over,” Clemmie whispers, easing Haven’s clenched fist from my shirt into her hand, and slides in next to her so I can jump into the front seat.
Tossing the go bag over to the passenger side, I wait for Haven’s face to unclench. “Clementine, are you timing contractions? Did you start the clock?”
“Yes, Alex.”
My hands are on the steering wheel, but I turn around one last time, my eyes meeting Haven’s. “You ready to go and meet our baby?”
She nods. “Yes, let’s go.”
Miles might think I drive like a granny, but not today. Not fucking today.
Hitting the timer on the dashboard clock, I peel out of the parking space and into the road. We reach Sloane Square in three minutes.
“Clem, take my phone. Speed dial two is the doctor. Can you let her know we’re on the way?”
“Speed dial two? You’re so keen. Where am I on the list?”
“You’re not. I bumped you,” I snap, maneuvering around two double-deckers so that I can get a clear run of the road.
“You’re lucky your wife’s in labor. Otherwise, I’d punch you. Dick,” she grumbles, which does raise a smile and momentarily assuage my anxiety. “Hey, there’s Holiday.”
My gaze briefly flicks from the road to the side of the bus where a full advert for Holiday’s new play is pasted on.
It’s been running for six weeks now, and the reviews have described it as one of the best things she’s ever done.
Haven and I went on opening night with the family, and for someone who typically uses Shakespeare as a sedative, I managed to stay awake for the entirety.
By the time we make it onto Fulham Road, Haven’s breathing becomes heavy and labored again.
“Clem?”
“Nearly six minutes.”
“Hang on, babe. We’ll be there so soon.”
Slipping the car into the next lane, I hit the accelerator. The road’s clear, so I couldn’t give a fuck about the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit.
“Al, slow down, you just got flashed by the camera.”
“And?”
I’m focused on the road, but Haven’s breathing through the end of her contractions. “Don’t argue, just let him do his thing. He’s freaking out—”
“Then the question is, why aren’t you?” drawls Clementine.
“Because with Everly, I was in labor for forty hours. We still have some time.”
I’m thinking that if this goes on for forty hours, I’ll probably have a heart attack from all the anxiety. But one thing that does make me chuckle is when we pull up to the main entrance of the private wing, and I hit stop on the timer.
We’ve made it in eight minutes fifty-one seconds.
“Yes. Suck it, Miles,” I crow, jumping out and yanking open the side door. “Clem, switch spots. Get in the front.”
My eyes land on Haven. Her face is pink and glistening with sweat. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“No, I’m good. But can we get inside?”
“You bet, baby.” I wink and turn around, only to come face to face with a security guard.
“You can’t stop here.”