Page 97 of The Best Shot

“The baby. It’s too early. It’s too early, Yaz.”

I was already headed for the trailhead, the narrow dirt path zigzagging through scrub and rock down the side of the ridge.

Two miles.

“How long have you been having them?”

“Since this morning. I thought it was nothing. I thought it would stop. But now they’re⁠—”

“They’re what?”

“Closer together.”

I picked up speed, boots sliding on loose gravel.

“How close together?”

“Ten minutes maybe. Less now.”

“And the last one?”

“Just now.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “God.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s okay. I just need you to breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” she said, immediately panicked.

“Okay. Good.”

“What if something’s wrong,” she said. “What if I did something? I’ve been so stressed, the doctor told me to rest and I haven’t been sleeping and⁠—”

“CeeCee.” I ducked under a low branch without slowing. “No. We’re not doing that. This isn’t something you did.”

“You don’t know that⁠—”

“I know you. Now breathe. Slow.”

She breathed. I kept moving.

“I need you to call 911,” I said.

Silence.

Then, “It might be nothing.”

“Maybe.”

“If it’s nothing I just wasted⁠—”

She stopped. Started again.

“I can’t afford an ambulance if it’s nothing, Yasmine. I don’t have—I’m not—the insurance situation is⁠—”