Wyatt couldn’t eat if he was paid to, but she’s stuffing down those ancient canned peaches like they’re the last ones on earth.
“They don’t let you eat at the hospital.” Her knuckles whiten as she clutches the can, walking from one side of the living room to the other on repeat.
“We got plenty,” he assures her.
“I know.”
It’s a nonchalant reply that’s about as convincing as her attempt at hiding those contractions.
Her neutral expression turns to a grimace, the fork stalls in the can, and she flashes him a panicked glare. Despite her denial, she’s fully aware of the situation, even if she won’t admit it.
“What are you doing with the watch?” she asks.
“Timing the contractions.”
“I’m not having any.”
His response is a blank stare to call her bluff.
“It’s gas. That’s all.” She rubs her stomach as another grimace takes over, this one forcing her to clutch the back of the sofa. “I’m fine. It’s not even that bad. It’s nothing.”
“We should check the ultrasound machine.” He tries carefully. “Make sure she’s in the right position. Are you okay with that?”
“What if she’s not? What do we do then? Because I read all the books as much as you did, but I don’t remember any of it now. My mind is blank.”
That’s as close as he’s gotten so far to her admitting the truth, and he latches onto it. He runs a hand over her back as she bends over the sofa with a groan. “I remember everything. You don’t have to.”
It’s not a lie. He does remember what he read, but neglects to mention how fast his heart is beating or that his own nerves have a stranglehold on him.
“What if she’s not in the right place?” Addison asks again.
“There are some things you can do. Different positions. Easy stuff.”
This seems to calm her momentarily, but her reply surprises him. “I don’t want to look. Is that okay?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
They boot up the machine, and he slathers gel onto her stomach while she lies on the sofa, more tense than he’s ever seen her. He’s got no idea what the hell to say to make this better. If there’s anything he can say at all, so he doesn’t try.
“You’re too quiet. What’s happening?” she whispers.
“Trying to make out what I’m seeing.” He thinks that might be a foot or maybe it’s a hand. No, definitely a foot, which means the round shape has to be a head. Why the hell aren’t these grainy images clearer? They’ve used this thing before, and if there’s a skill required for deciphering it, he hasn’t developed it yet. “I think she’s upside down. That’s good. Heartbeat is strong, too.”
He was hoping that hearing that tiny thump echo through the room might ease Addison’s stress, but she can’t get up fast enough once he’s finished. He’s not sure if she’s running from him or trying to outrun the contraction that has her knees buckling.
“This is not happening. This is not happening,” she says to herself.
It’s killing him to watch her like this, but she hasn’t been receptive to his fussing, and he hesitates to crowd her. Only when she doubles over, and her knees hit the hardwood does he approach again.
She squeezes his bicep when he joins her, proving she may not want to be alone even if she’s having a hard time asking for anything but space. Her forehead presses into his shoulder as he cups the back of her neck, stroking softly until the vice grip she has on him finally loosens.
He’s never seen her this afraid when she lifts her head to meet his eyes. Not when he first met her and pointed a gun in her direction. Not when they were running from the dead, or when she came face to face with her ex-husband. There’s a different kind of terror this time that soaks right through her touch and makes a home in his soul.
“You’ll stay the whole time?” she asks, an almost childlike worry in her tone.
She gave birth to the last baby alone in a hospital, abandoned by her family because medical care hadn’t been approved by their traditions. She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
“The whole time. Not going anywhere. We’re a team, right?”
