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He looks down at the wet porch, then back at me. “You okay?”

“I’m standing in amniotic fluid while seventy-five sugar-high children walk past our house and judge me. Do I look okay?”

His eyes soften, locking onto mine with an intensity that completely blocks out the Halloween chaos around us. "You look beautiful."

The words knock the remaining breath right out of my lungs.

Terror has been sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach ever since my water broke. The reality of having to push a human being out of my body is no longer a hypothetical future problem—it’s a right-now problem, and I’m utterly terrified.

But the steady, unwavering devotion in his voice melts through the panic like a blowtorch.

My knees tremble, and it has nothing to do with labor. I sink a little more of my weight into him, a shaky breath rattling out of me as I bury my face in his neck, seeking out his warm, clean scent. I just let myself hold on to him, soaking in the absolute certainty that he isn't going anywhere.

"You ready to meet our baby, Goldie?" he asks.

“No,” I mumble against his skin.

I feel the rumble of his chest as his mouth twitches into a smile against my hair.

"Don't you dare laugh at me right now, Maverick."

"I would never," he murmurs, his arm tightening around my waist.

"Good." A few beats of his heart go by under my ear as I close my eyes and breathe. “And you know I can’t wait. I just wish you could push them out instead of me.”

This time he does laugh, but I let him have it.

Then I blow out a breath and find that place inside of me that’s always pushed me to do the uncomfortable. The place that lights up at pushing boundaries and exceeding expectations.

And I cling to the energy I find there. To the trickle of excitement starting to turn into a river.

Because I have a feeling I’m really gonna need it.

CHAPTER 42

SUMNER

Whoever invented the epidural deserves a goddamn Nobel Prize.

For the first few hours after we got to the hospital, Goldie was gripping the bed rails so hard her knuckles were white, breathing through the kind of pain that made me restless and my chest ache because I couldn't fix it for her. But once the anesthesiologist worked his magic, the tension completely drained out of her.

Now, she’s propped up against the hospital pillows, sipping ice water and looking way too relaxed for a woman about to push a human being out of her body.

"I’m just saying," Colston announces, tossing his phone onto the uncomfortable visitor’s couch after hanging up a FaceTime call with Trace where he bragged about being in the room with us. "Trace can claim the number one best friend title all he wants, but who’s currently in the delivery room? Me. And who isn’t here? The second best friend."

I lean my forearms against the edge of Goldie’s bed. "You’re only here because you were with us when her water broke and you drove us here."

"Semantics," Colston says, waving a hand. "I’m part of the inner circle. Hell, the night-shift nurse thought you and me were a couple and Goldie was our surrogate. Remember?"

“How could I forget?” I drawl, sinking onto the side of the bed and kissing Goldie’s fingers.

She snorts around her straw. "She did ask how long you two had been married."

"Which you thought was hilarious instead of correcting her," I remind her, though a smile pulls at my mouth.

"It was hilarious," she counters. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looks exhausted, her messy bun sliding sideways and her makeup long gone, but she’s so fucking beautiful my chest gets tight just looking at her.

The door pushes open, and our day-shift nurse, Sarah, walks in and puts on a fresh set of gloves. "Alright, guys. Let’s do a quick check and see where we’re at. We've been hanging out at eight centimeters for a while."