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“Doctor, I’m so glad I reached you. Your…um, friend is here. She’s in labor.”
“Friend?” My heart stops. “What? Sta… Ana is there? At the hospital?”
“Ana Michaels. Yes, she walked in an hour ago. She’s having contractions. We have you down as her emergency contact. We paged Dr. Federov, who signed off on her ultrasound. She doesn’t have an OB listed on her chart.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Ana’s in labor.
She’s not been abducted.
Maybe she dropped the phone somewhere along the way.
Wait, she’s at my hospital? When did she get there? I was just there! What a fucking waste of time.
Rushing back down the stairs, I call Lucy and ask her to keep Sophie because I actually have an emergency. I hate pushing my daughter off on someone else, and once Ana is stable, I’ll come back and get Soph.
With the traffic cleared up, I reach the hospital in record time. At the parking garage, I leave my car on the apron and toss my keys to the attendant, citing an emergency. My feet pound the wet pavement, splashes of water hitting my ankles.
I jog to the emergency annex a few doors down from the main entrance and shout to the receptionist, showing my I.D.
“Open the doors!”
They swing open, and like a maniac, I check all the bays.
But it’s Ana’s screaming that leads me to her.
I’ve never delivered a baby, and Sophie was born via scheduled C-Section.
“I’m here.” I rush to Ana’s side, and the way her red-rimmed eyes lock on mine weakens me. Gripping her hand, I push my face into hers and repeat, “I’m here.”
“I came to see you, and my water broke,” she mutters through clenched teeth. “God, this hurts.”
“Her contractions are very close,” the nurse informs me. “Dr. Federov is on his way. He said it’s too late to give her an epidural.”
“Fuck,” I mumble. “Okay, baby. I’m gonna get you through this. I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain. I’d take it away if I could.”
A gurney shows up, and she’s wheeled into an emergency delivery room.
“Where’s Federov?” I shout out to the nurses’ station.
“He’s on his way,” an admin nurse at the desk answers.
A labor and delivery nurse coaches Ana on breathing. “He’ll be here, honey.”
“Don’t…want…Federov,” Ana says in a strained voice between quick breaths. “Russian.”
That makes me laugh, and I whisper, “He’s not Bratva. I promise.”
But her screaming kills me.
I recall the breathing we did in the prenatal classes and try to keep Ana calm.
“The baby’s crowning,” the nurse bellows.
Fuck, this is happening too quickly.
“Help me, Darragh.” Ana’s terrified voice shatters me.
