Page 268 of Josephine and Clay

She’s exhausted and in pain. Afraid, though she’s trying not to be. And still, she's the one holding me together.

That's who Josie is. It always has been.

I lean close until my forehead touches hers.

“You’re here,” I say quietly. “I’m here. The babies are here. We’re doing this together.”

Her breath shakes. “Together.

Another contraction rises before I can answer, and she crushes my hand hard enough to make my vision flash white.

I don’t pull away.

I wouldn’t if she broke every bone.

When they finally say it’s time to push, the room changes.

I feel it before anyone explains it.

The air sharpens, people move faster, a second team waits near the warmer because twins require more hands, more eyes, more everything.

The doctor’s voice stays calm, but there’s a focus in it that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Josie hears it too.

Her eyes find mine. Her guard slips, and I finally see the fear she's been hiding.

I cup her face. “Hey.”

She swallows. “Hey.”

“You listen to me, okay?”

She gives a tiny nod.

“You’re Josephine Wright,” I tell her, because somehow that feels like the only thing that matters. “You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met, and the toughest by a country mile.”

A weak laugh breaks out of her.

The nurse smiles.

“You built a life here by yourself. You carried our babies when everything was uncertain. You gave me a chance when I didn’t deserve one yet.” Her eyes fill. “So don’t you dare tell me you can’t do this, Doc.”

The contraction comes hard.

She bears down. The whole room moves with her. I don’t know how long it lasts. Time breaks apart into pieces, the doctor's count, Josie's cry, the monitor's rapid pulse.

My own voice saying things I barely remember.

You’re doing it.

I’m here.

I love you.

That’s it, baby.

Again.