Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
When I finally collapse against his chest, breathless and shaky, his arms lock around me. Strong and sure.
Steady.
Chapter 35
Maverick
Four or so months later . . .
There are a handful of things in life you never forget.
The first time you hear your name chanted in a stadium.
The moment the woman you love says yes to your proposal even though I was a sweaty, nervous mess—and half convinced she was going to tell me no.
And now?
Now I’ll never forget being woken in the middle of the night by those six magical words:
“Hey, babe? My water just broke.”
At first, I think I’m dreaming. Or hallucinating from the spicy Thai food she insisted we have for dinner to induce labor.
But then I hear it again—calmer than I expected, considering the gravity of the sentence.
“Wake up, Callum.” I’m being jostled. “My water just broke.”
I jolt upright like I’ve been electrocuted. “What? Are you sure?”
She’s no longer in bed with me; rather she’s standing beside it, clutching a towel between her thighs and with an oddly serene look on her face. “No, I pee myself for fun. Yes I’m sure.”
And just like that, everything goes into high-speed slow motion.
My body moves fast—grabbing the bag, the keys, putting on socks I’m pretty sure don’t match—but my brain is lagging ten steps behind, panicking about everything from traffic to contractions to the fact that I still haven’t installed the car seat properly even though she’s reminded me five hundred times.
“Okay. Okay. We’re good. We trained for this.” I say the words like it’s a playoff game and she’s my teammate about to score the winning goal.
Annabelle calmly grabs her toothbrush. “Babe. Less sports metaphors.”
Right. Gotcha.
My ass leaps into my throat. “How far apart?”
“Five minutes. Maybe six? I don’t know—who cares?”
Who cares? I Care! I panic, futzing with the stopwatch on my dumb phone, fingers not cooperating. “Five, five minutes!”
“We’re fine, Callum. Breathe.” She gives me that slow, deep-breath thing they taught us in birthing class while I have a silent meltdown in the hallway.
She’s calm.
I’m panicking like someone lit my jersey collection on fire.
She squeezes my hand on the way out the door, jaw tight, eyes shining with something wild and fierce and beautiful. “Let’s go meet our son,” she says.
Fuck Yeah.
We’re doing this.
Right.
Got it.
Since I doubt I have the ability to responsibly drive us to the hospital, we take an Uber—plus, it’s easier than walking to the parking garage, finding my car, weaving through the structure, easing into traffic, keeping us alive while Annabelle has contractions . . .
Nope.
Uber it is.
The second we get into the car, the driver—a man named Diego with a top hat air freshener and jazz music softly crooning from the speakers—glances in the rearview and says, “Heading to the hospital?”
Annabelle smiles through a contraction. “Yup.”
“You folks having a baby?”
“Yup.” I nod emphatically, sweating through my hoodie. “As in, she’s currently having contractions. You should probably go fast.”
He signals like a gentleman and politely merges into traffic. “Cool, cool. Not my first labor ride.” He smiles at me through the mirror, unfazed.
“You’ve done this before?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Had one baby born in the back seat—had to charge them extra because of the mess. Hospital’s fifteen solid minutes, you lucked out. No traffic.”
Annabelle grips my thigh with claws of steel.
“Diego,” I say, voice an octave higher. “Would you mind skipping a few traffic laws today. Not all of them. Just the boring ones.”
Like stop signs and yellow lights.
Annabelle lets out a long breath. “Callum, I’m fine. That contraction was only thirty seconds.”
Diego nods slowly. “Do you need water? Paper towel?”
Paper towel? Why would we need—oh.
Ohhhh. Duh.
“No water,” I say, a ball of nerves. “No towel. Just drive. Please, please, for the love of all things holy, drive!”
He smiles patiently. “Is this your first?”
Annabelle laughs, hand on her belly. “What gave it away?”
Diego chuckles. “It’s always the dads that panic. Moms usually know what’s up.”
“I am not panicking,” I lie. My left leg is vibrating like a phone on silent. “I’m calm.” Perfectly calm.
Beside me, my wife giggles out a groan. “You’re so calm.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
The ride feels like a fever dream. Annabelle is a trooper, timing contractions on my phone while I try not to vomit into the Uber-branded barf bag. Diego starts narrating street names like we’re in a documentary: “Turning onto North Ninetieth Street. You’ll notice the hospital is approximately four minutes away, depending on the light.”
Annabelle’s breathing picks up. She exhales a long breath, relaxing between contractions, and reaches for my hand.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper, brushing hair off her forehead.
“Better than you,” she whispers back.
By the time we pull up to the emergency entrance, we’re both perspiring, slightly delirious, and so wildly prepared we feel underprepared.
I fling the door open to the Uber and shout, “She’s in labor!”
Crickets.
I half expect a team of nurses to descend with a wheelchair and confetti cannons. Instead? Not a soul lingering outside to save me. Nothing.