“No worries, Dr. Criss,” the driver says. “There’s a police escort just ahead of us. We’ll be there in no time.”
“Sherriff Niles?” I ask, knowing he was in attendance.
The driver chuckles. “Sure does pay to live in a small town where everyone knows everyone, huh?”
Ava squeezes my hand. “Are you sure it’s not too early? Regan had Mitchell early and he was in the NICU for weeks.”
“You’re over thirty-six weeks. And she’s a girl. Girls born a bit early usually fare better than boys.” I offer a reassuring smile even though I’m battling my own concerns about how close together her contractions are. “You and Jordan are going to be just fine.” I get out my phone. “Hang in there, babe. I’m going to call Dr. Russo.”
By the time we pull up in the emergency bay, Ava is really struggling. She needs help to get out of the limo and into the wheelchair Kara, an ER nurse, is standing next to.
“Trevor, something feels wrong. I can’t walk.” She beckons me closer and whispers. “And I really feel like I have to poop.”
Damn, she’s progressing faster than I thought. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Labor and delivery is waiting,” Kara says. “Dr. Russo will be here in less than five minutes.”
We wheel her through the ER and are approaching the elevators when another contraction hits. Ava reaches back and grabs my arm. Hard.
“Trevor, I’m not sure I’ll make it. I feel a lot of pressure down there. I don’t want to deliver this baby in an elevator.”
I point to the curtains on my left. “Kara, can you put her in there? I’m going to wash up and check her real quick.”
On my way to the scrub room, I take off my suit jacket and roll up my sleeves. I consider changing into scrubs—this might be a long day—but I don’t want to leave her alone any longer than necessary.
By the time I return to curtain three, not two minutes later, Ava’s face is red. “I have to push. I can’t wait.”
My heart races as Kara helps me push up her long gown and remove her soaked panties. Ava’s legs fall open, and my jaw goes completely slack. She’s fucking crowning.
“She’s not going to make it upstairs,” I say, just as Dr. Russo comes around the side of the curtain.
She takes in the scene: Ava on the bed in a wedding dress and veil. Me in my dress clothes and tie. “Your baby sure knows how to make an entrance,” she says. She touches Ava’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re about to meet your daughter. I’ll just go wash up.”
Ava shakes her head. “I want Trevor to do it.” She looks at me, grimacing through another contraction. “You deliver her.”
I look at Dr. Russo, who shrugs. “You do work here.” She steps back. “I’ll be right here in case you need me.”
My heart thunders loudly as excitement, gratitude, and elation course through me. Yeah, I’m a doctor. And yeah, I’ve delivered babies before. But it never crossed my mind that I’d be deliveringmybaby.
“Is… is that okay?” Ava asks. “Do you want to?”
“Hell yes, I want to.” I hold my hands out as Kara drapes me in a gown.
I put on a mask and gloves as Kara drops down the end of the bed to prep for delivery.
“Is the photographer here?” Ava asks.
Now that’s an odd question I definitely wasn’t expecting. “Um, I don’t know. Why would she be?”
“Can you ask? I want to have pictures, Trevor. Please?”
My wife, ladies and gentleman. She’s got a wedding dress hiked up to her armpits. Her hair is sweaty and matted, and the veil has fallen slightly to one side. Yet she wants to record this for posterity. Or maybe she wants to record it for me—soInever forget.
I shoot a glance at Kara.
“I’m on it,” she says, racing from the room.
Two minutes later, just as another contraction hits and Ava starts pushing, Kara returns, the photographer in tow.
