A contraction hit, sharp and breathtaking. I doubled over, my hand gripping Owen’s arm.
“Okay,” I managed through gritted teeth. “Okay, we need to go. Now.”
The door to the back room burst open, and Syn appeared, taking in the scene. Her client, a college kid getting his first tattoo, peeked out behind her with wide eyes.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Her gaze dropped to the puddle on her floor. “Oh shit.”
“My water broke.”
“I can see that.” She turned to the college kid. “We’re done. Come back next week for touch-ups. Get out.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed his jacket and bolted for the door.
Syn was already in motion, grabbing her purse from behind the counter, her phone from her pocket. “Ryat, help Owen get her to the car. I’ll lock up. Owen, stop freaking out.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“You’re definitely freaking out.”
“Our daughter is coming. I’m allowed to freak out.”
Another contraction, harder this time. I made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and Owen’s face went from panic to pure terror.
“Harlow? Baby? Are you okay? Should we call an ambulance? We should call an ambulance. Ryat, call an ambulance.”
“We’re not calling an ambulance.” I straightened as the contraction eased, breathing hard. “We’re five minutes from the hospital. Just... help me to the car.”
Between Owen and Ryat, they managed to get me outside and into Ryat’s truck, which was bigger and more comfortable than Owen’s. Owen climbed in the back with me, keeping my hand in a death grip. Syn took the passenger seat, twisting around to watch me with worried eyes.
“You’re doing great,” she kept saying. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
Ryat drove like a man possessed but somehow more controlled than Owen would have been, expertly weaving through traffic while Syn called Jax and Kaia to let them know what was happening.
“You’re doing great,” Owen kept saying, over and over, his free hand gripping mine so tight I was losing circulation. “You’re amazing. You’re so strong. We’re almost there. Just keep breathing.”
“I am breathing.”
“Keep doing that.”
“Owen.”
“Yeah?”
“You need to breathe, too. You’re turning purple.”
He sucked in a gulp of air, and I would have laughed if another contraction hadn’t chosen that moment to tear through me.
We made it to the hospital in record time. The next few hours blurred together: admissions, the birthing room, nurses checking my vitals, and the anesthesiologist for my epidural. Owen never left my side, holding my hand through every contraction, letting me squeeze until his fingers turned white.
Jax and Kaia showed up shortly after we were admitted.
“I can see the head,” the doctor announced. “One more push, Harlow. You’re almost there.”
“You hear that?” Owen said, his forehead pressed against mine. “One more push. You can do this.”
“I know I can do this. I’m the one doing all the work here.”
He laughed, the sound watery.
