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Seven missed calls!
And she knew. She’d have seen that screen as well as I did. She knew, yet she sat and plucked at her lettuce and chicken.
On the very last ring before I hang up and sprint to her house, Iz answers and has me collapsing into my chair with relief. “Izzy? What’s up?”
“Jimmy?” Her cries of pain have me out of my chair in an instant.
“Bubs, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” I throw money on the table, grab my coat, and sprint out the door.
“Can you come? Please?”
“Yeah, baby. I’m already on the way. Are you okay?”
“Bean’s coming. Help me.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t hang up, okay? I’m already in my car. Just hold on a minute.”
“Please hurry,” she cries. “Please hurry.” I hit the gas and peel out of my parking spot. My car is a stick shift, so I work with one hand and a chin to change gears and steer, because no way in fuck am I releasing my left hand; the hand that holds my phone. The hand that holds my connection to Izzy. “I’m bleeding, Jim. Really bad. I need your help.”
“I’m two minutes away, baby. Hold on for me.” I skid around the corner and speed along Third. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“He’s coming.” She cries out in pain. Contraction. She’s having contractions. “Right now.”
“Not right now, Izzy! I’m on your street. I can see your car. Hang on.” I speed into her driveway and tear up the handbrake. “Are you up and walking? Is your door unlocked?” When the silence drags on, I sprint from my car and work my keys into her front door. “Izzy, honey, open your door. I need you to open the door right now.”
I step back and consider windows. I’ve broken into this house a billion times. I’ve broken into Jon’s. I’ve broken into Kit’s. Years of sneaking into Iz’s bed have made me a pro at getting through windows that don’t belong to me. “Izzy! Open the fucking door!”
Without words, she starts working on the locks. I listen to the scrape of metal on metal, and as soon as she cracks the door, I jam my foot in the space and shove my cell in my pocket. “Good girl. Now step back, baby. Be careful.” I gently work the door. If I shove, I’ll hit her.
As soon as I’m in, I freeze. Tear stained cheeks, hiccups tearing at her chest. Shaking hands. She’s in the same clothes she wore to court today, the same clothes I studied her in as she gave her testimony, but now, her pants are soaking wet with blood.
“Jesus, Iz. Okay.” I throw my arm around her hips and pull her close. “Let’s go. We’re going to the hospital.”
No way am I delivering a baby on the living room floor.
Leaning heavily against me, she walks a few steps, but stops and buckles in pain. Her stomach tightens under my hands. Her contraction wrings her from the inside out.
Oh my God, oh my fucking God.
Izzy’s having a baby tonight.
I wait for her painful breathing to slow, then I urge her forward. I can’t do this here. I can’t do this alone. I need to get her to the hospital.
We move forward another ten steps before another contraction has her hunching forward and crying out. It’s been barely more than a minute since the last. Definitely less than two minutes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’ve spent so much fucking time Googling this shit, I know for a damn fact that two minutes apart contractions are bad for a woman who isn’t even at the hospital yet. She’s going to have Bean on my shoes. And I won’t know how to catch properly.
“Come on, baby. We can do this. We’re almost there.” I’m tempted to simply lift her up and toss her in the back. “A few more steps. We can do it.” As soon as we get to the Jeep, I push her into the passenger seat and fasten her belt. Sprinting to my side, I throw myself in and tear out of the driveway.
Thanks to fucking Christ, the hospital is only minutes away, so it takes less than two minutes before I have us skidding into the hospital emergency room driveway.
“Come here, Bubs.” My soft words are a complete contradiction to my panicked heart. I don’t bother letting her walk this time, I simply scoop her out of the bucket seat and run through the automatic doors. “Help us, please!” Half a dozen nurses pop their heads up. “She’s having a baby. And bleeding. Lots.”
In a wheelchair and flying down a hallway barely seconds later, we’re led into an elevator and moved up a couple floors as a nurse asks us questions. Lots and lots of questions.
We step into the maternity ward and have medical personnel running around in some kind of coordinated chaos. “Room 2301!”
