Before I can protest, Marcus is lifting me into his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. My massive belly rests between us, our baby kicking hard.
He carries me down the hall to the nesting room.
He lays me gently on the cushion, then steps back as Rex appears with an armful of flashlights. He positions them around the room, creating pools of harsh white light that push back the shadows.
“How far apart are the contractions now?” Rex asks, his usual joking demeanor gone, replaced by a focused intensity I’ve rarely seen.
“Three minutes,” Lorenzo replies, already kneeling beside me, his hands moving to the waistband of my leggings. “I need to check how far along she is.”
Lorenzo pushes my leggings down my hips, then off completely.
Another contraction hits, and I scream, the sound torn from my throat.
“She’s in transition,” Lorenzo says, his voice calm despite the fear I can see in his eyes. “The baby’s coming.”
Ryker is on the phone again, calling Helena. He puts her on speaker, setting the phone on a pillow near my head.
“Contractions three minutes apart, maybe less,” he reports over the phone, face white.
“The baby’s coming now,” Lorenzo says, his voice firm.
Helena’s voice comes through the speaker, surprisingly calm. “First, check how dilated she is. Gently.”
Lorenzo’s fingers are warm as they press inside me, his touch careful. “I can feel the head,” he says, his eyes widening. “She’s fully dilated. The baby’s crowning.”
“Anya,” Helena says, her voice clear despite the static. “You need to push with the next contraction. Lorenzo, support the perineum with a warm cloth to prevent tearing. When you see the head, check if the cord is around the neck.”
The next contraction hits with the force of a freight train. I bear down, screaming as the pressure builds to an unbearable level. Ryker is at my head, his hand gripping mine so tightly I can feel his pulse racing. Alaric is on my other side, his forehead pressed to my temple, whispering “You’re so strong, baby. You can do this…” over and over into my hair.
Rex is at my feet, his hand white-knuckled around my ankle, bracing my leg. Marcus is behind Lorenzo, holding a flashlight steady so he can see.
“Push,” Lorenzo urges, his voice steady. “Harder, Anya. You’re doing great.”
The pressure hurts so fucking bad. There’s a burning, tearing sensation as the baby’s head stretches me open. I push with everything I have, my entire body focused on this single, impossible task.
“I see the head,” Lorenzo says, his voice rising with excitement. “No cord. Keep pushing, Anya. The head’s almost out.”
Another contraction hits before the first has fully faded. I push again, screaming as the baby’s head emerges into Lorenzo’s waiting hands.
“The head’s out,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “One more push for the shoulders.”
I push, my vision graying at the edges from the effort. There’s a sudden rush and a release of pressure.
“The baby’s out,” Lorenzo says, his voice breaking. “I’ve got him. He’s…”
He stops. The room goes silent. Even the storm seems to pause, the wind dropping for a single, terrible moment.
“Why isn’t he crying?” says Alaric in alarm.
“He’s not breathing,” Lorenzo says, his voice barely audible. “He’s blue.”
Helena’s voice comes through the phone, sharp with urgency. “Clear the airway. Tilt the head back, just a little. Give him two small breaths, mouth and nose.”
I watch, frozen in horror, as Lorenzo follows her instructions, his movements careful despite the obvious terror in his eyes. He clears the baby’s mouth with his finger, tilts the tiny head back, and leans down to place his mouth over the baby’s nose and mouth. He breathes two small puffs then pulls back, rubbing the baby’s back with gentle fingers.
Nothing happens. The baby lies limp in Lorenzo’s hands, blue and still.
Tears roll down my face. I can’t speak. Can’t move.
