Page 164 of First in Line

“Oh, crap,” I whimper. This one hurts more.

By the time the next contraction hits, I’m aware this is different. There’s a pattern. Maybe this is it.

Maybe I’m going into labor a couple of weeks early. Just when Jax is literally on the other side of the planet.

I stay still for another minute, listening to the silence of the house around me while the pain slowly fades again. My heart beats harder than it should. Something feels wrong.

The pain doesn’t completely disappear between contractions. My lower back aches constantly, and there’s a strange pressure low in my pelvis. It worsens when I force myself to sit on the side of the bed and stand up. I turn on my nightstand and walk to the bathroom, one hand braced against the wall.

Another contraction tightens through my stomach hard enough that I grip the edge of the sink until it passes.

“We promised Daddy we’d wait for him to return,” I remind Ophelia with a grunt. “He’ll be so sad to have missed your birth, baby girl.”

Then I feel it. There’s something sticky between my legs, coating the silk of my shorts. Did my water break?

I pass my hand over the soaked fabric and look at my fingers.

It’s blood. Dark and thick. And a lot of it, too. Not just spotting. I stare at it for a few seconds, trying not to panic. I’ve had light bleeding during most of the pregnancy. The obstetrician told me to come in if it increased. This is increased, right? I need to go to the hospital, active labor or not.

A wave of dizziness hits me hard enough that my knees nearly buckle. I catch myself against the counter with a gasp. Okay. Something’s definitely wrong.

My reflection startles me when I glance toward the mirror. I look awful. Pale enough that even under the warm bathroom light, my skin seems grayish. Another contraction tears through me, stronger this time, and I suddenly realize I’m sweating. I wipe shaky fingers beneath my nose before turning toward the door. I need to get Jada.

It’s as though my legs can barely carry my weight, weak beneath me. The guest room is at the end of the hallway. I make it halfway there before the next contraction forces me to stop altogether, bent slightly forward with one hand pressed against my stomach.

Jesus Christ.

“Jada?” I call weakly.

No response.

So I keep going, forcing my sluggish limbs to cooperate. When I finally reach the door, I open it without knocking. “Jada?”

She wakes almost immediately, sitting up in the dark. “Evie?”

“I think…” My voice comes out ragged, distorted by weariness and worry. “I think something’s wrong with the baby.”

She’s already switching on the bedside lamp before I finish speaking. The moment the light hits me properly, the instant she sees me, her expression turns into pure concern.

She notices the blood on my hand, then between my legs, which I can now feel dribbling down my inner thighs. Immediately, she goes into action and grabs her phone from the nightstand before rushing to me. She arrives just in time to steady me as my legs buckle.

My head spins, and it becomes hard to think. Another contraction rips through me so violently that I grab the doorframe with a whimper. Jada helps me down until I’m sitting on the cold floor, leaning against the hard edge of the doorframe. But she stays right here, comforting, gentle.

“Evie, sweetie, tell me what happened,” she urges.

“I was just having contractions, and there was a little blood, so I thought—”

“A little blood? Evie, that’s a lot of blood.”

“But it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve been resting. I’ve been doing what the doctor said. I promise.”

“Yes, I need an ambulance,” she suddenly says, her tone not as gentle. That’s when I realize she’s on the phone. “It’s my daughter-in-law. She’s pregnant, almost full term. She’s a high-risk pregnancy, and she’s bleeding. Yes, a lot.”

Jada gives them the address, puts the phone on speaker, and then sets it down on the floor.

“Can you hear me, ma’am?” the operator on the other end of the line asks.

When Jada doesn’t answer, I understand he’s talking to me. “Ye—yes. I can hear you.”