With Sophie at Maya’s for a sleepover, the house feels unusually quiet this morning.
But when I wake to a low, steady ache that won’t go away, I know everything’s about to change.
At first, I try to ignore it—roll to my side, breathe through it, count the minutes between them. But when I realize the pattern’s been steady for over an hour, I give up pretending it’s nothing.
Declan’s already in the kitchen, hair still damp from a shower. He hasn’t slept well all week, not with every day feeling like it could be the day.
He turns when he hears me. “Morning, Charlie.” His voice drops when he sees my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say carefully, bracing on the counter as another contraction rolls through. “Just…a little cramping.”
His mug freezes midair. “Cramping?”
I exhale, slow. “Okay. Maybe notjustcramping.”
The mug hits the counter, forgotten. “How long?”
“An hour. Maybe a little more.”
He’s already moving—grabbing the hospital bag from near the door, muttering something about calling David, double-checking the list taped to the fridge.
“Declan,” I say, breathless but smiling, “you’re doing your worried-captain thing.”
He gives me a sheepish look. “Right. Sorry. I just—are they close together?”
“About six minutes.”
He looks at me like that means we need to leave right now.
“Hey,” I say gently, riding out the end of the contraction, “My doctor said early contractions can stretch out a bit. We’re okay.”
His jaw flexes. “Charlie… this is it. Today’s the day.”
I can’t help the small smile. “I know. Pretty wild, right?”
Before I can fully catch my breath, another wave builds—sharper, deeper, nothing like the earlier ones. This one steals the words right out of my mouth.
Declan’s there instantly, steadying me without a word. I lean into him, breathing through it, forehead pressed into his chest.
When it finally lets go, I meet his eyes.
“Okay,” I say, breathless. “Maybe…it’s time.”
He swallows hard, nods once, then grabs the hospital bag we packed last week.
“Text your dad?” he asks, helping me toward the door.
“Yeah,” I breathe, pulling out my phone between contractions. “Just so he can get a flight.”
Declan nods and unlocks his own screen. “I’ll call my parents and your dad. And David and Erin—they’ve got Sophie.”
As he helps me to the car, I can’t help but laugh between the contractions and the chaos. My calm, collected NHL captain is officially in full-blown panic mode, and somehow, it’s the most comforting thing in the world.
By the time we pull up to the hospital, the contractions are five minutes apart, and Declan’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
He jumps out before the engine’s even off, jogging around to my side like we’re about to miss a flight.
“Easy,” I laugh between breaths. “I can walk.”
