Sinclair

I sigh, sitting down on the bed next to my mate. I give her a significant look as I humor her. She grabs her phone, eagerly pulling up the clock timer, never taking her other hand off her stomach.

“Okay,” she murmurs, looking down at herself. “Well, this contraction has been over for a little while,” she looks up at me. “Should we just wait for the next one to start the timer and time the interval?”

I breathe out in a huff, closing my eyes and working hard to control my anxiety. “Just start the clock and add two minutes, Ella,” I beg. “Please.”

“Okay,” she says. Then I feel her hand on my cheek. I open my eyes to look down into her sweet, excited face. “It’s going to be okay, Dominic. You heard Hank. I’m strong—there’s no reason to rush to the hospital yet.”

“There’s no reason not to,” I retort, giving her a steady stare. But my little mate wiggles closer, pressing herself warmly against my side. I lower my head to her hair, my heart still beating fast with anxiety and anticipation, and take a deep breath of her warm scent. She’s right, at least a little—there’s no harm in waiting a few minutes. As I work on my patience, I hear Ella clicking on her phone.

“Okay,” she chirps. “I texted Cora; she’s up and says she’ll meet us when we’re ready. But she says to text her the time between contractions when we have it. She also says it could be false labor,” Ella notes, looking up at me with an interested expression. “Since it’s so early. So, we might be panicking for nothing.”

I murmur a response—I honestly don’t know what—and wrap my arm around her, concentrating on being steady, where she needs me. Ella is excited, but deep down I know she’s anxious as well—how could she not be? Throughout this nightmare of a pregnancy, something’s gone wrong at every turn. I know that, like me, she’s on pins and needles, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The next few minutes are torture. Every instinct tells me to get up and move, to prepare, to do something. I could start the car, have it ready to go. I could double-check the hospital bag, although Ella’s packed and repacked it twelve times. I could rip that ridiculous stairlift out of the wall, now that we don’t need it anymore…

That, at least, would give me some satisfaction and burn off some of this anxious energy…

But I stay by my mate’s side, where she needs me. There’s no place else I’d dare to be.

“Ohhh,” Ella says suddenly, her hand sliding low on her belly as she closes her eyes tightly. “Okay,” she breathes. “I think this is…another one.”

I grab her phone. Eight minutes. “Ella,” I snap, “your contractions are only ten minutes apart. Please.”

“Ten minutes,” she says, frowning at the phone. “How is that possible? They just started—”

“Ella,” my voice is low with warning and anxiety. “Please, we’re going—”

“Fine,” she says, raising her eyebrows and putting her feet on the floor. “I think it’s too early, but oooooh,” she winces, shuddering with pain and pressing her eyes closed.

“What is it?” I breathe, leaning close and taking her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…sharp…” she says, her teeth gritted. “Ow, I didn’t think it would hurt this bad so early…”

“Enough,” I growl, scooping her up in my arms, my heart pounding. I head for the door, but she stops me, slapping my shoulder.

“The bag!” she cries, and I spin, squatting to grab it before leaping from the room. I pound down the hall, headed for the stairs. As I begin down them, Ella gasps and convulses in my arms. I freeze, holding her close, my eyes tracing the pained lines of her face.

“Ella,” I gasp, terrified. But there’s nothing I can do. I just hold her until she stops, until she opens her eyes and looks shocked, then down at her belly, her face going white.

“Down,” she demands. “Put me down. Something…something happened.”

Ella

I’m still wrapped in his arms as Sinclair jolts back into action, hurrying to the bottom of the stairs where he can put me down. I feel a sudden wetness between my legs, a sticky warmth…

God damn it, all I can think of is the blood I saw all over me on the temple steps when I’d nearly lost the baby, when I was so weak and exhausted.

What if…?

Did something go horribly wrong…?

Sinclair reaches the bottom of the stairs as I cling to his shoulders, panic racing through me. He places me steadily on my feet, and I look down at myself, trying to assess what I see in the darkness.

“Light!” I call, wiping my hand down my legs.

Sinclair flicks on the hall switch. Frantic, I look at my hand…it’s clear. There’s liquid, but it’s clear. I give a frantic little laugh as I stare at my hand and then down at my soaked pajama shorts.

“Ella,” Sinclair gasps, taking me by my shoulders, “Ella, please, what’s wrong—what’s happening—”

“My water broke,” I explain, still laughing, a little hysterical with relief. “I’m all wet—because my water broke.”

“Oh my God,” he murmurs, slumping against the wall and putting a hand to his head. “Ella—I thought—”

“It’s going to be all right,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Sinclair, we’re going to make it. I think…I think we’re both just really freaked out and traumatized by everything we’ve been through.”

He opens his eyes and looks at me, shaking his head.

“But from here on out?” I insist, looking at him with full confidence. “Everything is going to work out. Easy as pie. And soon we’ll have our baby.”

He smiles, pausing his frantic energy to brush my cheek with his finger and kiss me. But it doesn’t last long. “You’re right, trouble,” he murmurs, pulling away. “But if it’s all right with you, I’ll calm the hell down when we’ve got you safe and sound in a hospital bed.”

“All right,” I say, nodding. “But, um,” I pause, biting my lip, a little embarrassed. “Can you run upstairs and get me a change of pants? I can’t…I can’t leave the house like this. I look like I peed myself.”

Sinclair sighs, rolling his eyes, but he sprints upstairs to get me a change of clothes.

Five minutes later, we’re in the car, me breathing deeply as I feel another contraction start. I ride through the pain, Sinclair giving me worried glances, but the pain passes. We are quiet—Sinclair concentrating on the road, and me on relaxing between contractions, which…damn it, are they speeding up?

The streets are clear—everyone’s asleep—and I close my eyes and try to relax, breathing deeply in anticipation of the pain that starts to flare in my back.

Just as I feel the deep pulse of pain begin, my eyes fly open as I hear Sinclair curse.

“What—” I start, but the car twists suddenly to the side, skidding to a stop. And then, I scream.