“Fine. Just uncomfortable.” I shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t make me feel like a beached whale. “This baby needs to come out soon.”
“Doc said you’ve still got a week.”
“Doc doesn’t have a human being sitting on her bladder.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Do you feel like eating this morning?”
“Yes, please,” I smiled. Dalton still got up and made breakfast every morning before he started work. Now, he made it for me, Cade, my mother and my aunt when she visited. And soon for our baby.
“I’ll bring it up.” He got out of bed and pulled on jeans, then looked back at me. His gaze softened the way it always did when he looked at my belly. At our baby.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too. Now go feed me before I eat the pillows.”
He left, laughing.
I lay there, one hand on my stomach, feeling the baby move. We didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. Dalton had said he didn’t care as long as the baby was healthy. I knew boy or girl, they’d be wearing cowboy boots before they could walk.
Another pain hit. Sharper this time.
I breathed through it and told myself it was nothing. Braxton Hicks. False labor. The baby wasn’t due until the twenty-first.
But when Dalton came back with breakfast twenty minutes later, I was having another contraction.
He took one look at my face and set the tray down. “How far apart?”
“I don’t know. Maybe—” I gasped as another one hit. “Maybe ten minutes?”
“We’re going to the hospital.”
“Dalton, it’s probably false labor.”
“We’re going.” He was already pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Cade to let him know. And your mom.”
“It’s too early—”
“Amber.” He sat on the bed and took my hand. “I’m not taking chances. Not with you. Not with our baby.”
I saw the fear in his eyes. The same fear that had been there since I’d told him I was pregnant. Fear that something would go wrong. That he’d lose me. That he’d lose this.
“Okay,” I said softly. “We’ll go.”
He kissed my forehead. “Good. Now let’s get you dressed.”
By the time we got to the hospital, the contractions were five minutes apart.
The nurse checked me and smiled. “You’re at six centimeters. This baby’s coming today.”
“Today?” I looked at Dalton. “But I’ve got another week to go.”
Another contraction hit. Hard. I gripped Dalton’s hand and tried to breathe through it.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
The hours blurred together. Pain and pressure and Dalton’s steady presence beside me. He never left. Never let go of my hand. Never stopped telling me I could do this.
At five minutes to midnight, the doctor told me to push.
