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Two and a half months later
I’ve had some back pain, but I’m so excited to be performing tonight in Greensboro, I ignore it. Rubbing my stomach absently, I grin out at the crowd.
“You’ve touched your stomach six times,” Turner murmurs, walking up next to me to stare into my eyes.
“I’ve had some pain,” I respond softly. The crowd thinks we’re deciding on the next song, or that he’s checking on me, because that’s just Turner. Wincing as the pinch gets stronger, I bite my lip.
“Are you in labor, Lennon O’Reilly?” Turner growls and I shrug.
While I wasn’t paying attention on the drive up here because the guys distracted me with orgasms on the bus, I’m starting to feel them now. The tour gave us a loaner bus when we have shows that aren’t local. The label wanted to make certain I was comfortable while I was pregnant, even though I’m picking and choosing the dates I perform.
Unfortunately, it looks like I’m definitely in fucking labor.
“Can we do one more song?” I ask hopefully. This is our first performance together after our recording hiatus. Kissing me hard, he agrees.
I mean, sex can bring on labor, so I didn’t do this to myself.
“So, we are going to have to cut tonight short, because I’m pretty sure I’m in labor,” I confess to the crowd.
Gasps and worried shouts ring through the air, and I raise my hand. “I have one more song in me, so let’s do this, shall we?” I ask. “Let’s do…Together We Roar!”
The crowd screams, and I know we’ve chosen well. I always love how animated everyone becomes as they sing the chorus back to me, but by the time I’m walking off the stage, I feel the pain of my contractions.
“Lennon, what do you need?” Uncle Jordan asks, eyes searching my face.
“A hospital,” I moan, swaying through the pain. As soon as I can take a full breath, I continue. “Someone needs to call my doctor, too, please. We are four hours away from home, but she lives less than three hours from here,” I tell them.
I’m finally safe enough for a regular hospital to be an option. Three weeks ago, Greg’s men tracked down Grant. I can’t believe that he managed to escape from them time and time again. The guys and I agreed that I was too pregnant to fly, so they flew out to a rural area in Montana, where he was hiding out. Someone saw his face, recognized him, and called the tip line.
Derek and Orion made Grant scream for hours, and they were sweet enough to stream the video live for me. I ate popcorn and cheered. No one said anything about being normal when you’re pregnant. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and then the boys fed him to the pigs at a farm not far from them. They took over a barn for their fun, and I know Orion loved every second of it. They blew me feral kisses at the end, and I’ve never felt more loved.
Turner makes the call, and my uncle starts herding us towards the exit. “I’ll find the closest hospital with the best rated labor and delivery ward,” Uncle Jordan promises.
Roark picks me up, and I decide to save my energy, resting in his arms. Quickly, we all get on the bus, and Derek insists on timing my contractions. Uncle Jordan drives us to the hospital, giving the driver the rest of the night off.
Turner’s phone rings, and he answers it. “Dr. Zane?” he asks.
“Let me talk to Lennon, please,” she says, not bothering with niceties.
“I’m here,” I promise, in between contractions.
“What’s your pain level, one through ten?” she asks. I wince, because of my high tolerance for pain.
“I’m at a level three unless I’m in the middle of a contraction,” I tell her honestly. “They’re about five minutes apart at the moment, it looks like.”
“Hmm, okay. I’m in my car and on my way to you. The best labor and delivery ward is thePeters Health Women and Children’s Hospital,” she explains. Glancing at Derek, he nods, confirming that’s where we are headed.
“Okay. I’m—” I can’t finish my sentence as a contraction crashes over me and I moan in pain. Orion pressed on the base of my back, helping to mute it a bit.
As I gasp for breath, shuddering, I continue my sentence. “We’re on our way there, so we’ll see you soon.”
“Damn, your pain tolerance is very high if you can still talk,” Dr. Zane mutters. “Please keep an eye on how close those are. I have a feeling this baby may be in a hurry.”
The next half an hour is a blur of activity as we get to the hospital and wait in a waiting room. Apparently, this is a busy time for them. The guys rub my back, walk with me, and even rock me through contractions for the next hour and a half as I labor.
Dr. Zane comes rushing through the doors, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she broke multiple speed limit laws. “Lennon, why aren’t you in a bed?” she asks, seeing me immediately. All of the other women have been brought back, and I honestly feel ignored.
Turner has been ready to start yelling, so my doctor came just in time. “They won’t bring me back,” I explain, eyes closing as another contraction hits, and I swear this one lasts a lot longer.
