Page 129 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

The pressure was relentless, like the world was determined to squeeze every ounce of strength out of me. I paced the living room, my hands braced against my lower back, as I tried to breathe through another contraction. The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, mocking me with how slowly time passed. My feet shuffled across the hardwood, pausing every few minutes when a contraction hit and stole the breath from my lungs.

“Should we go to the hospital yet?” Kannon asked. He was calm but I could hear the concern. His eyes followed me as I made another lap past the couch. He stood near the door, car keys in hand, ready to spring into action.

“No,” I panted, gripping the edge of the recliner for support. “The midwife said I could labor at home for a while. We’ve still got plenty of time. The insurance only covers so much time in the hospital. We can’t waste it on little labor pains⁠—”

Another wave hit, cutting me off mid-sentence. It rolled through me, fierce and unrelenting. I closed my eyes, gripping the chair tighter.

“Breathe, Buttercup,” Kannon murmured, suddenly by my side. His hands rubbed soothing circles on my back. “Every contraction gets us closer to meeting our baby. You’re doing amazing. You are a rock star. A total badass. This baby is going to come out wearing leather and raising hell.”

His words were like anchors, keeping me grounded. He knew just how much joking to add to keep me from completely spiraling. I nodded, unable to speak, waiting for the pain to ebb. When it did, I let out a long, shaky breath and opened my eyes.

“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl yet,” I said, managing a small smile. “What kind of parents are we, going into this blind?”

“The kind who are up for an adventure,” he said, grinning at me. “Besides, I’ve got a hunch. I’m calling it—it’s a boy.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s just because you want someone to teach to ride a dirt bike.”

“Damn right.”

I laughed, but it turned into a groan as another contraction hit. This one was sharper, faster. I clung to Kannon, letting him bear some of my weight as my body worked through it.

“Okay,” I said when it passed, my voice shaking. “Maybe we should start thinking about heading to the hospital soon.”

Kannon’s eyebrows rose. “Now you’re ready? Woman, I’ve been trying to get your fine ass into the car for hours. I’ve actually been researching how to deliver a baby. You’re so damn stubborn, I was convinced that it was going to be on me right here in our living room.”

I shot him a glare. “Well then you better get me to the car.”

He helped me over to the door, one arm supporting my waist while the other held the hospital bag I had packed weeks ago. Outside, the morning was just breaking, a soft dusky light filtering through the clouds. It seemed fitting that our child would be born with the dawn.

In the car, I leaned back against the seat, trying to relax as Kannon drove. The streets were quiet, most of the world still asleep, unaware that a life-changing event was unfolding for us. Kannon kept glancing at me. His jaw clenched whenever I winced or gasped.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Drive like Lucia, please,” I managed to say through gritted teeth. The hospital wasn’t far, but each minute felt like an eternity.

“We want to get there in one piece,” he said. “I’m being safe. You told me to be a safe driver.”

“That was before I was in labor!” I yelled. “Step on it, Kannon. I swear, if we hit one more red light⁠—”

“Okay, okay!” he said, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Hold on tight.”

He stepped on the gas and whipped through the mostly empty streets. I grumbled something incoherent, breathing hard through the next contraction. By the time we pulled up to the hospital, I was practically climbing out of the car before it stopped moving. I knew the baby was coming.

“This kid is just like his father,” I groaned. “No patience.”

The delivery room was a blur of activity. Nurses buzzed around, voices calm and practiced, guiding me through the process. Kannon stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand and brushing damp strands of hair out of my face.

“You’re doing so good, Buttercup,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’re almost there.”

I didn’t have the energy to respond, but I squeezed his hand, grateful for him in a way I couldn’t put into words. The doctor walked into the room, his hair a mess, like we had woken him from a deep sleep.

“I hear we got one in a hurry to meet his parents,” the doctor said with a smile that felt way too giddy for my current pain level.

I cursed. “Now, dammit. He’s coming now!”

Nurses adjusted equipment and prepared for the imminent birth. Kannon’s grip on my hand tightened, his presence a vital comfort as the final stages of labor washed over me.

“Deep breaths, Merritt,” the doctor instructed, donning gloves with practiced ease. “On your next contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can.”