My fingers clench the steering wheel, the leather slick from my sweaty palms. “I’m going to need you to stay in there a little longer, baby girl,” I grit through my teeth as another contraction ripples through me.
The pressure makes my vision go blurry, and I ignore the alarms going off in my head as I glance at the clock on my dash. “And you’re gonna need to give me more than three minutes between these. I refuse to give birth on the side of the road,” I add, trying to drive in a straight line.
My insides feel like they're twisting around themselves, but I refuse to stop this car on a road with no street lights.
According to the GPS, I have 22 miles before I’ll reach the closest hospital, and I’ll need at least that to come up with a story to tell the doctors about why the hell I’m driving towho knows wherein active labor.
When I left, I didn’t really know where I was going—but now? I need to make a decision.
To be fair, when I started driving three hours ago, I didn’t know these contractions were the real thing, especially because the Braxton Hicks have been killer the last two days.
It didn’t hit me until ten minutes ago thatthesecontractions weren’t stopping but instead getting dangerously close together.
And I’m less than three days away from her actual due date.
The gushing of liquid between my thighs that I’ve had the pleasure of sitting in for the last half an hour was another clue that this was in fact the real thing.
I look in my rearview mirror for what seems like the millionth time, but I can’t ignore the feeling that Trevor came after me.
I know it’s a small chance considering I left him unconscious on the kitchen floor—the pain in my fingers and the dull ache on the left side of my face feeling like tickles compared to the tightening of my uterus—but at least I made it out of there.
Tonight was the last time.
I try to inhale and focus on the road in front of me as I wait for the pain to subside, reminding myself that my whole life has been a plethora of pain, and this is nothing compared to that.
If anything, this pain is beautiful. It means something. It means that I’ll meet my baby girl soon. My love, my light, the reason I made it to 25, the reason I left in the middle of the night, the reason for starting all over.
No matter how scary this all feels, it isn’t scarier than looking into the face of someone who is supposed to love you as they hurt you in ways you hoped they would never do again.
Or at leastpretendedto hope—part of you knowing they always would.
The thought of running away—fighting back—was inconceivable these last five years. But tonight? Tonight was different.
“Come on. Just give me half an hour,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to do the deep breathing that is supposed to help with the pain. One of my hands comes to my stomach, rubbing over the swell in hopes to find some sort of relief.
I let out a shaky exhale, the effects of the adrenaline from earlier tonight finally dissipating to a memory.
“Hold tight, baby girl,” I say to my belly as I feel the contraction wane. I know I have a minute or two to breathe before another one comes barreling through, and I take the moment to glance at the GPS on my phone.
It’s darker than sin outside, the only light on the road coming from my headlights. The trees of the wooded area I’m in make the two-lane road feel even smaller than it already is, and I haven’t passed another car in over an hour.
I take my eyes off the road for two seconds before I feel pain radiate through me—another contraction takes my breath away. The muscle spasms and the squeezing in my stomach make my vision go blurry, and then I’m struck with another type of pain. This one is piercing and hitting me on every inch of skin exposed by my nightgown and accompanied by screeching metal, crumpling impact, and a suddenthud.
I thought the road was dark, until I fell into complete darkness.
CHAPTER 3
JACK
Fuck today.
After my conversation with Chief Sanders about his job offer, I finally got out onto the lake. I told him I would let him know my decision in a few days—tellingmyselfthat I need at least that to think about what the fuck I’m going to do about the looming return home that seems to be becoming more and more of a possibility as the days tick forward.
And I had plenty of time to think today because I didn’t get a single catch.
Not even a fucking bite.
It’s like the fish were refusing to take the bait of an unemployed firefighter, hiding in a cabin, who can’t even light a goddamn match without his heart rate speeding up.
