Resisting the urge to stroke her hair, to touch her, I turned over with my back to her, facing my own thoughts. I didn’t like what met me in their dark depths.
All that could go wrong.
By will alone, I made them retreat into the shadows, and then I killed them, because I could. No one would take my wife from me.
No one.
I released a hard-earned breath, seizing her hand when it came across my stomach, as her stomach pressed against my back.
And I did something I rarely did. I prayed.
* * *
At first I thought Scarlett had an accident. The sheets around us were soaked through.
What time was it? Around five in the evening, judging by the golden light filtering in through the curtains. The air had a thinner quality about it. The clock substantiated the feeling.
Turning, I found Scarlett still asleep, but asleep meant right under the surface for her. Scarlett hadn’t been pulled too far under for a while. Not since the baby had grown big enough to cramp his or hermamma’spetite quarters.
Consumed by the soft light, she reminded me of an angel bathing.
“Brando?” she muttered, reaching out for me. “I had an accident.”
She sounded hesitant, almost in disbelief, and somewhat embarrassed.
I stroked her cheek. “It’s all right, baby. I don’t think it was an accident, though.”
“No. Me either.” She sighed. “Help me up?”
As a man does when he’s under and has to submit to the current, I roamed around our place, going with the flow. I was eerily calm—helping her to the bathroom, in the bathroom, dressing her, checking the bags for a third time, like she asked me to. I made phone calls—to the doctor, to all of our family and friends.
“Scarlett,” I said, standing by the bags. “Time to go, baby.”
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
Before we walked out of the door, she looked back, taking in the place. My heart squeezed in my chest. But I refused to let her feel my unease. She could read me like a book, but I could keep my feelings from her if I wanted.
I never wanted to. Not before today. I wanted her to be as calm as possible. Because inside? My mind was even hiding from the turmoil.
“We’ll be home soon,” I said, carting the bags and keeping her hand in mine.
“Yes,” she agreed. “We will.”
* * *
The hospital admitted her right away. Friends and family strolled in and out in the beginning, but when it was clear that Scarlett was getting overwhelmed, sometimes too consumed to talk through the pain, the group shifted to the waiting room. They refused to leave until the baby was born.
Three hours.
Five hours.
Might as well have been endless fucking hours.
The doctor continued her checks. “All is fine,SignorFausti. This is her first time. Nature takes time to understand itself.”
“My body doesn’t know what it’s doing!” my wife cried. Her hair was matted to her head with sweat, her face flushed, her entire body trembling from the pain. “I’m going to die. I know it. I’m sorry, Brando.I’m sorry.”
“Look at me,” I ordered, squeezing her hand.
