"You okay?" she asks, not in a soft way, but in the way you ask if a person has been shot and if you should go back for revenge.
"I'm fine," I say, but my knees buckle as I try to get in the back seat.
Ruairí catches me, his grip tight.
"In," he says, and I obey.
Lena slides in the passenger seat.
Fiachra drives, the engine already running, headlights off until we clear the gate.
No one speaks for the first few minutes.
My heart is a metronome set too fast, and every jolt of the car is a new contraction, sharp and hot and then gone, like a warning flare.
I look over at Ruairí.
He has one hand on my thigh, the other holding mine in a death grip.
His eyes never leave the mirror.
The private clinic is at the far end of town, in a walled compound that used to be a nunnery.
The new management kept the saints on the walls and the iron gates but replaced the staff with ex-special-forces and the sisters with nurses who look like they could field-strip a Glock faster than they could check a pulse.
Fiachra pulls up to the gate, flashes a card, and the whole thing swings open without a sound.
We drive straight to the covered entrance.
Two men are waiting—one in scrubs, one in a suit.
The man in scrubs opens the car door and peers in.
He helps me out, arm steady, and leads us inside.
Ruairí follows, never more than a pace away.
Lena and Fiachra stay at the door, scanning the street, their silhouettes barely moving except for the motion of their eyes.
Inside, the world is white and clean and so fucking bright it hurts.
They wheel me into a room, high-tech and sterile but with enough personality to suggest someone tried, once, to make it human.
I am already in the bed before I realize I've left a trail of blood and amniotic fluid down the corridor.
I want to apologize to the nurse, but the pain comes again, harder now, and all I can do is gasp and clutch the rails.
The contractions are fast.
The nurse checks my stats,then calls for someone I can't see.
"She's at eight," she says, and I see Ruairí's face pale by a full shade.
"You can have pain relief," she says, and her voice is gentle but not weak.
I shake my head, and Ruairí says, "She wants to stay sharp."
The nurse nods, not judging.
