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“Nah.”
It probably is too early for him. I’m becoming a bore. “Oh, okay. What are you going to do?”
“Take a shower with you,” he says, surprising me. I expected him to say he was going to go play his guitar.
My smile comes back as he starts to pull me out of the room. “I’d like that.”
FIVE
KONNOR
“Konnor,” is said in a painful voice. I roll over, my arm and leg stretching across the bed until I feel something wet, forcing me to wake up. What the hell? Is that piss?
I open my eyes, or try to anyway, groggy from how hard I was sleeping. The room is dark and the air is blowing on my face from the ceiling vent above. They’re trying to close again. “Konnor,” pierces my ears in a distressed tone, jolting me up in bed.
I blink over and over, trying to focus my eyes on the black to see something, but when it’s slow to come, I reach over and turn on the bedside lamp. Presley isn’t in bed. Her comforter and the top sheet are turned down and I see the large wet spot I felt. “Presley? You piss in the bed?”
“It hurts,” she bellows, causing all the blood to drain from my face. I jump out of the bed, running toward the bathroom and flip the light switch when I get through the doorway. Why the fuck she’s in the dark, I don’t know. She’s sitting straddled on the toilet in nothing but her tee shirt, her hand on her belly.
When she looks up at me my heart sinks. Her face is soaked from tears like she’s been suffering in silence. “What’s wrong?”
“My water broke.”
“Shit. Let me get dressed and I’ll get your hospital bag out of the closet. That’s where you put it, right?” I stress, my adrenaline starting to pump. Fuck. I’m about to be a dad. Since Chloe was born, I know a little more about what that entails than before Presley got pregnant, and it makes me nervous.
“Konnor!” she yells at me as I turn to leave in a rush. I turn back toward her. “I don’t think I have time.”
My nerves tangle in knots. “What do you mean you don’t have time?”
“I’ve been in here a while.”
Stress takes over. “What is a while, Presley?”
Her teeth grit together and she growls out, then takes several deep, rhythmic breaths. I start pulling at my hair, watching her cry through whatever is happening to her. “A few hours,” she says, as if she feels temporary relief.
My brain processes that phrase more quickly. “What the fuck, Presley? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
She’s still crying. “It’s the middle of the night. My water breaking woke me up. I expected a rush of liquid, but instead it was like a steady stream coming and going, like it was leaking instead of bursting. I’ve been right here for a lot of it trying not to make a mess. Mom said she was in labor for hours with each of us, the maximum twelve with Preston and the minimum being six with Paxtyn, her third pregnancy. The first one is supposed to take the longest. She told me once I get to the hospital that I won’t be able to get out of bed if I get an epidural. I was just going to let you sleep and get through the easy part of it at home, but I think I’m almost fully dilated. I don’t know why I’m progressing so quickly. Sayler was at the hospital all day before she started pushing.”
I run my hands up and down my face in a panic, not knowing what to do. Her face contorts into something horrible again and she screams out, “It hurts! I think I need to push.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do, Presley? The plan was simple: you tell me when to drive you to the hospital.”
More tears fall from her eyes. It’s gutting me to watch her like this. We had a plan. The same plan every couple has. I don’t know what to do with this. She reaches down between her legs and does something. “I feel hair. I need you to catch her.”
My lungs constrict and I can’t breathe. My heart is pumping like I’m on speed. “I can’t. I don’t know what to do. I’ll call 9-1-1.”
“Konnor! I need to push. Just fucking catch.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble, running toward her and lifting her off the toilet. “You’re not dropping my daughter in the fucking toilet.”
I haul her back toward the bed and lay her on top, her butt at the edge. She’s doing that breathing thing again. “Get the trash can.”
“For what?!” I scream out, stressed to the max.
“The placenta! Stop asking questions and do. Get that blue bulb looking thing on the counter too.” I bolt to the bathroom and grab both, bringing them back. “Put the trash can under me to catch it when it’s time.”
I do as she says. When I glance up, she’s pulling her legs back with her arms linked behind her knees, spreading herself. My eyes zone in on her pussy, realizing exactly what she meant by dilated. I’ve never seen anything that looked like that. Then I notice it—the black circle inside that looks like wet hair.
