Page 48 of Glass Wings

Her fork clatters against the plate.

“Harley?” I’m out of my chair in a heartbeat.

She sucks in a sharp breath, both hands gripping the counter edge. “Easton …” Her voice breaks, and when her eyes lift to mine, they are wide, glassy with fear.

Then I see it, the sudden dark stain spreading down the front of her leggings and dripping onto the tile.

My stomach drops. “Shit. Harley, your water⁠—”

“I know.” Her breath hitches. “It’s too early.”

For half a second, the room spins. Thirty-four weeks. She is early, and if it’s my fault I will never forgive myself.

“Look at me, Little Bird,” I say, forcing my voice to be steady even though my heart beats like a jackhammer. “You and the baby are gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

Another gush of fluid hits the floor, and her face crumples, her free hand digging into my arm. “Easton, I’m scared.”

“I know.” I press my forehead to hers, swallowing hard. “But I swear to you, I’m not letting anything happen to you or our baby. We’re going to the hospital right now.”

She nods, body shaking as tears slip free. I kiss them away quickly, then guide her toward the door.

She fumbles with her phone in the passenger seat, knuckles white around it. Her breath breaks into sharp little gasps between groans. When Kennedy finally answers, Harley manages to get the words out, her voice trembling but steady enough that Kennedy understands. She snaps into action on the other end.

By the time Harley hangs up, Kennedy’s already promised to grab the hospital bag, call our parents, and meet us at the hospital.

Again, I’m grateful for her. Kennedy has this way of turning chaos into a checklist, and right now I need that. My head is anything but clear.

All I can focus on is the sound of Harley’s breathing and the miles of road left between us and the hospital. Every time she winces, clutching her belly, it’s like a knife is twisting deeper in my chest.

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache. My mind keeps circling back to the same jagged thoughts. If she loses this baby because of stress I caused, I’ll never forgive myself. If last night was too much, if being with me pushed her body too far⁠—

I can’t finish the thought.

And worse, if something happens to her … if I lose Harley …

I blink hard, the road blurring for a second before snapping back into focus. No. I can’t let myself go there. Not now. Not ever.

I reach across the console, my hand covering hers, and anchor myself in the heat of her skin. “I’ve got you,” I say, even though the truth rattles in my bones. I keep making promises I have no power over.

But in that car, with her breathing breaking and my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest, it’s the only thing I can give her.

Twenty-Five

HARLEY

The delivery is blurry in my memory, more shadow than detail. There were bright lights, masked faces, the steady chant of orders barked over the sound of my own cries. I remembered the tearing ache in my body, the burning fear in my chest, and Easton’s voice, ragged, pleading, telling me to hold on.

Then absolutely fucking nothing.

What I do remember is the silence that followed.

No newborn cry.

No tiny wail breaking open the air. Just silence, and the world collapsing in on itself.

When I wake, my arms are empty.

My stomach is empty.