Page 182 of Angel

I clambered out of the sheets just in time as a rush of liquid flooded my legs, puddling onto the floorboards.

Angel rubbed his eyes as he woke, knifing up in bed to stare at me in the dim light. ‘The hell?’

Another flood followed.

‘Honey, my waters have just broken,’ I choked out.

He threw off the comforter, rounding the bed with speed.

‘OK, breathe, we’ve got this,’ he said, more to reassure himself than me.

He helped me into the bathroom shower as another stab of agony rolled through me.

He cleaned me up fast, dressing me in comfy sweatpants, a long-sleeve top, thick socks, and Ugg boots.

He switched on the hallway lights, guided me downstairs into his SUV, and then dashed back inside to grab our overnight bags at high speed.

He drove like a madman through the quiet, star-lit streets of Nashville, his hand gripping mine all the way.

‘If you don’t drive faster, Angel, I’m delivering this kid in your front seat,’ I panted through another rolling surge of pain.

‘You breathe, mama, and do whatever you need to,’ he growled. ‘Fuck my seats.’

We reached Ascension Saint Thomas Hospital in record time.

Angel slid into a parking slot and bundled me out.

We burst through the double doors, where a veteran nurse named Brenda swept us into a delivery suite with practiced, no-nonsense swiftness.

Angel left to get our gear while the nurses prepped me.

‘Alright, tough guy, brace yourself,’ Nurse Brenda instructed when he returned. ‘She’s already fully dilated and wracked with contractions.

Dr. Keller, my assigned obstetrician-gynecologist, strolled in an hour later, checking the monitors while the steady beat of our baby’s heart echoed through the room.

The atmosphere in the room turned electric, filled with my deep inhales in between quiet curses, and the midwife’s quiet instructions.

Angel squeezed my hand. ‘Push, Roxy, you’re doing amazing. Just keep pushing.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I swear, if you say push one more time, I’ll snap your wrist in two!’

I made the utterance as I crushed his hand with enough force to crush steel as another strong contraction hit.

With one last ferocious effort, a loud, healthy cry shattered the quiet room.

Dr. Keller placed our tiny daughter onto my bare chest, wrapped warm in a soft pink blanket.

She opened her smoky grey eyes, and I swooned.

Along with a sweet, rounded face and dusky curls, she was the spitting image of her father.

‘Hi, Mila Tabitha Forrest,’ I sobbed, tears blurring my vision as I stroked her fine hair.

‘So beautiful, she has your nose and a little pixie face,’ my husband murmured, enraptured.

‘Her eyes are all you, and her lush mouth,’ I whispered, glancing up at Angel as he wiped his eyes.

Angel pressed his lips against my temple, his finger wrapped by her tiny hand as she gripped him with surprising strength.