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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Bane

NOVEMBER 12TH

Emma braces both hands against the kitchen island and bends over it before I can finish pouring coffee, and every piece of information I’ve read about labor disappears from my head while I cross the room.

I put one hand against her back and the other around her arm. “Talk to me.”

She keeps her eyes closed as she breathes through whatever has stopped her halfway between the refrigerator and the stool. “Give me a minute.”

Her fingers tighten against the countertop, and I glance toward the clock, trying to work out whether I’m supposed to time this from the beginning or from when I noticed.

By the time her shoulders ease, she’s already reaching for her phone.

I look at the timer on the screen. “You’ve been timing them?”

Emma straightens carefully and takes a drink of water. “Since about three.”

I check the clock above the stove, then turn back to her. “You’ve been having contractions for more than four hours?”

“They were mild at first, and you were asleep.”

The fact that she apparently considered my sleep more important than mentioning labor makes my jaw tighten. “You should’ve woken me.”

“I would’ve if anything changed.”

“Emma, you’re having twins.”

She gives me the patient look she’s perfected over the last few months whenever she thinks I’m drifting too far into protective territory. “I’m very aware of how many babies are in there.”

Another contraction starts before I can answer.

Her expression changes, and I get my arm around her as she leans into me, gripping my forearm and she breathes through the pain.

I watch the clock this time, keeping my attention on the seconds because having a task is preferable to standing here as she hurts and being unable to do anything about it.

When the contraction passes, I check the time. “Four minutes since the last one.”

Emma releases my arm and rubs a hand across her stomach. “Before that it was six.”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

She catches my wrist when I reach for my phone. “Call Dr. Keller first. She told us to check before leaving unless my water breaks or they stay close together.”

“They’re already getting closer.”

“Once.”

“We’re calling while we get ready.”

I dial the obstetrician’s office and head toward the hallway before Emma stops me. “The bag’s by the elevator.”

I halt halfway to the bedroom and look toward the entrance.

I moved it there myself three days ago after deciding the bedroom was too far away if we ever needed to leave quickly.

Emma’s mouth curves.