The saleswoman darts out of the changing room and I hear her beg passersby for a phone. It takes a while before she can convince someone to part with their device long enough to call 911. Then I hear her hurried explanation just outside the door.
"One patron of the shop just went into labor." A pause. "No, I don't know how long the contractions have been going on. She just got here when it happened. Yes, she's conscious. Please hurry, she's in a lot of pain."
The saleswoman ends the call and hands the phone back to its owner before rushing back into the stall. I get a grip on the edge of the bench seat, holding onto it as if it's the only thing anchoring me to life itself.
"The paramedics should be here in ten minutes or less," she assures me. Her eyes rove over me and she hesitates, unsure. "Do you want me to wait here or...?"
She gestures toward the front. I wave her away, mortification stealing away some of the pain, if only for an instant. "Go. Help them when they get here."
The relief in her gaze is palpable and she scurries away from me, as if I'm contagious. I close my eyes, gripping onto the seat as tight as I can, waiting for the cavalry to arrive.
It seems to take a small eternity, but they do, in fact, arrive within the allotted time. I'd counted the seconds in my head, just to be sure. A dark shape pushes the door of the stall open and my eyes follow the line of a long pants leg up to a scrumptious torso. The white shirt hugs tight across a broad chest, and a leather jacket covers most of him. It's familiar, and my heart stutters to a brief halt when I realize that I know this man. Even before I see the patch to confirm it.
"Ryker--ahhh!"
Another wave of pain hits me, knocking the breath from my lungs like a blow. Ryker drops to his knees beside me at once, sliding into the space left. It's almost not enough to house a man of his dimensions, but he somehow manages. Embarrassment wars with gratitude as he slides his hand into mine. I lock our fingers together, squeezing as hard as I can. It's not much, but it eases some of the discomfort.
"Hang in there, Cleo." His voice is a low rumble and I lean into him without conscious thought. His hand comes up to stroke my hair, and the gesture is intimate, but welcome. I'll take any distraction I can get at this point.
A tall blonde who is as pretty as the waifish saleswoman pushes into the stall as well and her eyes zero in on Ryker's hand in mine for just a moment. I see something akin to jealousy there, but it fades. Her eyes are all business when she drops to her knees in front of me.
"Hello there, Miss," she says. "I'm sorry to ask this, but I need to check your progress. We have to determine whether we can get you to the hospital in time to deliver the neonate, or if this has to happen here."
My gaze flicks up to Ryker's, panicked. This cannot be happening. Not with him here. Not in front of God and everyone at a freaking department store.
"I c-can't have him here." It comes out as a half sob. "I need a hospital. An epidural!"
"Cleo, you have to do what's safest for the baby. You can do that for Bryan, right?" There's something in his gaze that I can't read, but the words have their desired impact. This isn't about my comfort. This is about little man and getting him out safely.
"For Bryan," I whisper.
The female EMT pushes up my dress still further, and I try not to look and see if anyone is watching. Tears haze my vision, and Ryker keeps his gaze locked on my face, watching me with so much intensity it makes me squirm.
"The baby is crowning. I'm sorry Miss, but there's no time to wait. We need to get your pelvis elevated, and you will need to push."
That's the last thing I want to hear. I want to be in a sterile hospital room with someone feeding a long needle into my back to numb the pain. Hell, at this point I'd even take a swimming pool and a midwife. Anything but this.
Ryker releases my hand just long enough to shrug out of his jacket, folding it and pushing it beneath my ass. I whimper in pain. Regret dances across his face for just a moment, but then his hand is in mine again.
“Okay,” the EMT says, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “Now I need you to push.”
I close my eyes and bear down, a scream wrenching itself from me almost at once. My body is on fire and I sob when one push alone isn't enough to get him out. This isn't how it goes in the movies. Push, push, baby, right?
I don't know how long I'm pushing, screaming, and crushing Ryker's hand. It could have been an hour, or a day, but somehow, all at once, the pain eases and I feel something slither from me in the oddest way. Heather's hands are on me, and then there is a soft, warbling cry.
My eyes snap open at once, searching for him. Where is my baby? Is he okay?
"Bryan?" I gasp. "Please, where is he?"
"I'm clearing his airways, ma'am," the female EMT says in a voice of dead calm. "And the cord will need to be cut."
"I'll do that," Ryker says at once.
He has to pry his hand loose from mine to do it, and he leans forward, out of my line of sight for a moment. I feel cheated. I want the baby's father to be here, to perform this rite of passage. It just seems wrong for someone else to do this. But Damian is dead and would I have expected him to be here for his son, even if he was still living?
Ryker reemerges, holding a small, squirming figure in his arms. It's almost comical to see the big, rugged man clutching a baby to his chest. It's wrapped in something silvery that crinkles upon contact with my skin. But it's warm and I clutch Bryan close as Ryker slides him into my arms.
"Hang on tight," Ryker says, getting an arm under me. The female EMT does the same, and together they get me onto the stretcher. They wrap another crinkly blanket around me, and I don't protest. I'm too warm, too tired to do anything but hold my baby as I'm strapped in for the ride. It takes a few minutes to leave the mall and another few to get me into the back of the ambulance.
