EPILOGUE
“Oh God,” I whisper, bolts of shock pulsing through me as I jerk upright in the dim light of our bedroom.
Damp sheets cling to my skin.
“What’s wrong?” Travis murmurs, sleep thick in his voice. He props himself on one elbow and peers at me, concern widening his eyes.
“My water... I think it just broke.”
He’s out of bed in an instant, panic lacing every word. “What? What do you mean? What does this mean? Oh fuck.”
“It means,” I say, clutching my belly. “This isn’t a drill.”
“Fuck.” He scrambles for clothes, tossing aside shirts until he finds a pair of sweatpants. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get you to the hospital, don’t even panic.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Travis, breathe. It only just started. This can go on for a long time. Just grab the bags, and we’ll go.”
His gaze flickers. “I should run next door, tell your mom. She’ll freak out if I don’t.”
“Okay, I will get changed. You go tell her,” I say, pushing to my feet, my stomach so tight it’s uncomfortable.
He nods, hair mussed, voice shaky. “Okay. I’ll get your mom. You get changed. Then, hospital.”
God, the poor man is a nervous wreck.
For someone who can sing in front of thousands of people, he isn’t coping with this small event.
Well, it’s not exactly small, but still.
I shuffle into the bathroom. Everything is wet. I feel messy. I clean up and pull on a loose cotton dress and a pair of old pantiesthat I have no doubt will not make it through the next few hours. My feet shuffle downstairs, each step slow and careful. At the front door, my mother, Chief, and Travis burst in like a hurricane. Jesus. They’re acting like someone died.
“For Christ’s sake, you lot, I’m not having contractions yet!” I exclaim, laughing. “It’s a baby. Not the end of the world. Calm yourselves.”
My mother hurries to me. “Are you having contractions? How far apart? Should we call the hospital?”
“Mom,” I say, taking her hand and squeezing. “I’m okay. Only a few tight pains. Call them, see how long we should wait before going in. Tell them my water has broken.”
Chief hands her the phone. She disappears into the hallway, murmuring medical details. I close my eyes, breathe slow, and sit down. The first contraction begins, gripping my stomach with fierce intensity that has me crying out and clutching my belly. “Scratch that, contractions,” I call between breaths.
“Fuck,” Travis barks, rushing over.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, as the contraction fades.
“They said time them,” Mom informs me, her eyes wide. “If they get to five minutes, we should go in.”
I nod.
Chief plops next to me on the couch, cracking open a beer and handing one to Travis.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I say, raising my brows. “Father, not every occasion calls for a beer.”
Chief laughs. “I’ll have one then, I’m stressed too, you know.”
I raise my brows. “Oh really?”
“Yeah really. You’re about to push a baby out of the body I helped create, that’s a big deal.”
“Please never say that again,” I groan, then look to Travis. “You good?”
