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Her gaze snaps to mine, a reminder that she doesn’t know the real me, the man hidden behind the hockey helmet and roar of a crowd, or the headline of a blog.
“Yeah,” she whispers, then grabs onto the door and my arm as another contraction hits her. “Can you possibly drive any slower?”
My eyes snap to the odometer and see that I’m driving slower than my grandma, but hell, I’ve got the mother of my child in my front seat. If there was ever precious cargo, it’s them.
“Briggs, I’m going to have the baby on the floorboard of your truck if you don’t. Fucking. Drive,” she screeches. This time her voice is garbled with pain and it has me slamming my foot down on the accelerator.
I’m prepared for a lot of shit. My mother letting herself in my house unannounced, Coach banishing me because I’ve got a behavior issue, my friends fucking with me because it’s their life goal to make me crazy, but this? A baby being born in my front seat?
Nope. Not prepared at all. My foot inches down on the accelerator even harder as I press the caution button to let the cops know to please not pull me the fuck over, or we’re both going to have our hands full.
"Breathe, Maddison,” I croak, as her short fingernails cut into my arm, ready to break the skin. “We’re almost there.”
With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she nods, breathing in deeply then back out again, never letting up on her hold.
Somehow, I get us to the hospital in one piece, without Maddison actually giving birth in the front seat, and thank fuck I had the sense to call ahead because a nurse with a wheelchair meets us at the front door of the ER.
Maddison’s whisked away, leaving me with a nurse wearing a pair of dark pink scrubs.
“Where do I go?”
She looks at me with a smile. “Well, Dad, looks like you’re going to meet your little one. Time to let Mom get settled in her room. Follow me.”
I used to think I wasn’t a squeamish guy. I mean, playing hockey I’ve seen injuries that would make even the strongest stomachs turn. Bones splintering through legs, missing teeth, cuts so deep you can see the tendons and muscles underneath.
But nothing, and I mean fuckingnothing, compares to what’s happening right now.
"Oh god,” Maddison cries, squeezing my arm so tightly, I lost all feeling in it so long ago that I’m worried I might never actually be able to hold a hockey stick again.
If you would’ve told me twenty-four hours ago that I would be in a hospital room, watching the mother of my child giving birth to our daughter, I would have laughed in your face.
Really, I would’ve said you were insane and walked away.
Honestly, I can’t even believe it myself. I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet. I glance down at the white of Maddison’s knuckles as she clutches my arm in a death grip. Her beautiful face is covered in a fresh sheen of sweat and her makeup is smeared, as she gets ready for another contraction.
I’ve learned a lot in the past three hours. For one, I am so fucking glad I play hockey and didn’t decide to become a doctor or something, because I’m feeling a bit queasy.
Every time she pushes and lets out a strangled cry, the knot in my stomach tightens even further. I am not cut out for this, not by a long shot. And when the doctor asks if she wants mirrors so we can watch as she gives birth?
I almost pass out on the floor, adamantly shaking my head, even though it’s her call and I’ll support whatever she chooses.
I’m safely staying up here. With my eyes closed. At all costs.
How is this even my life right now?
It seems unbelievable, but I know better. I remember that weekend more vividly than anything else. It was the best weekend of my life, and even after she left, I looked everywhere for her. I was fucking devastated, and that’s saying a lot for a guy who’s only ever had one relationship in his life. Look how that ended, though. I thought I had fucked it up, somehow, as usual but what really happened was even worse. I can't believe that Conrad had a hand at something so fucked up.
Maddison lets out what can only be compared to a Viking warrior’s battle cry and pushes so hard her face turns beet red as she bellows.
“You’re doing amazing, Maddison, you’re almost there!” Her doctor, Dr. Brown, says with a smile. Completely unfazed. “Oh, I see hair!”
Then, he lifts a bloody glove and the floor begins to sway beneath my feet.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My stomach knots, impossibly tight, and the urge to vomit suddenly hits me full force.
“Mr. Wilson? Are you okay?” the nurse asks quietly, and I’m afraid if I answer her, I’m going to throw up in the middle of the birth of my kid.
