17
AXEL
I was running through defensive drills when coach blew his whistle and skated toward me. His expression told me this was nothing to do with my technique, and I peeled off from the drill.
“Chartris, your phone’s been ringing. They got hold of someone at the front desk who says it’s urgent.”
Stan! It had to be. My belly dropped. He was a week away from his due date, and though the healer was on pack land, along with willing aunties, uncles, and neighbors, we’d decided he should stay in town so I’d be close by. I couldn’t bear to make that hour-long drive in maybe forty minutes and arrive too late.
But we’d been told to expect him to go over his due date, as this was a first baby. I guessed our baby wasn’t listening to what usually happened and was forging their own path.
I was already moving toward the bench and yanked off my gloves.
Coach waved me off the ice, telling me to go.
I didn’t bother with the locker room. Instead I ripped off my skates and shoved my feet into sneakers and grabbed the phone. There were five missed calls and three texts.
Shit. I was still wearing my helmet and stifled a hysterical laugh, thinking of me at Stan’s side while wearing this damned helmet. I tossed it off and listened to the messages.
“Contractions started.” Stan’s voice in the first message was calm as I raced out of the building with the phone tucked under my chin. But he was my Stan, whom I’d known for years, and I picked up a tinge of anxiety beneath his words.
“I think this is real.”
“Axel, please.” His panic level had increased by the third message, and I fumbled the keys. Gods, no!
He answered on the first ring as I scooped up the keys and leaped into the car. “Axel?” He was breathing hard.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.” It was late morning, so there was no peak-hour traffic to maneuver around. I’d joked to Stan I was going to buy a siren to put on top of the car for when he went into labor. Wished I had, though I had no idea if I could buy one, and if so, were they legal?
“The contractions are about five minutes apart.”
He panted, and I gripped the steering wheel as I caught a red light. Damn it, the city needed a lane for expectant fathers. I slammed a fist on the horn as some dirtbag tried to squeeze into my lane.
“I thought I had more time.”
“You’re going to be fine. Remember everything you learned from the healer.”
He sobbed. “I can’t. It’s all gone. My head’s a mess.”
“I’ll be there soon.” My words were inadequate while my mate was laboring.
Another contraction must have grabbed him because he moaned, and maybe he had put the phone down because his voice was muffled. I counted in for four and out for six as the healer had drilled into us.
“I love you, Stan of mine.”
I ran a yellow light which was red by the time I crossed the intersection. The rational part of my brain told me I was no use to Stan if I had an accident or the police stopped me.
“You’re doing so well, babe.”
“But it hurts. No one prepared me for how much it hurts.”
I took a turn too fast and the tires protested. If Stan had been with me, he’d have read me the riot act. But my mate was alone, and every minute I wasn’t with him felt like a failure.
With the home in sight, I parked, sort of. I was partly on the grass. But I didn’t give a damn. My mate needed me. Taking the stairs because the elevator was too slow, I burst into the unlocked apartment.
Stan was on the couch leaning forward, and when he looked up, relief was etched on his face.
“You’re here.”
