Baz floored it, the truck’s tires spitting gravel in his wake as he headed for the main road.
He tried to call her back, but it went right to voicemail.
He kept his foot on the floor as he commanded Siri to call JJ.
“Hey,” she greeted with what sounded like a smile in her voice. “Where’d you go?”
“I’m going to Molly’s,” he blurted, his heart pounding in his chest. “I think she’s gonna do somethin’ stupid, JJ. She’s actin’ crazy. Said she wouldn’t have the baby if I didn’t marry her today.”
JJ’s sharp inhale made Baz’s heart ache.
“I won’t marry her,” he assured JJ. “It’s not an option.”
A second of silence before JJ finally said, “Oh, jeez. Okay. Just … uh … call me if there’s somethin’ we can do.”
“I will. Just let Brantley and Reese know.”
“Of course.” JJ’s voice lowered. “And Baz … be careful.”
“I will. I’ll call you in a little while.”
The drive from HQ to Molly’s was only ten minutes, but it felt like ten hours.
Baz managed to find an empty spot in the apartment complex’s lot. Although he tried to play it cool and calm, something told him that Molly had finally come unhinged. She’d been headed in this direction since the very beginning, but he had somehow convinced himself she would eventually settle down and realize the only way this would work was for them to be co-parents, not a couple. Baz had attributed some of her irrationality to the pregnancy hormones and the fact that she was still young. Only twenty-one and pregnant out of wedlock. Probably not how she’d seen her life unfolding.
When he reached her second-floor apartment, Baz knocked. Quietly at first, then louder.
“Molly, open the door.” He glanced left and right, hoping he didn’t draw the attention of her neighbors. “Open the door so we can talk.”
A second later, the door opened and Molly stood there. Her face was red, her hand cradling her stomach as she folded over in obvious pain.
“What did you do?” he accused.
“Nothing,” she groaned. “The baby’s coming, Sebastian. Oh, God. The baby’s coming.”
Baz frowned, stepping inside, closing the door behind her. “Are you havin’ contractions?”
“Yes! Yes. God, it hurts.”
“Okay.” He tried to keep his calm. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
“It’s too soon,” she said, sobbing. “The baby’s not due yet.”
“Maybe not, but if he’s ready, then we need to be at the hospital.”
“Not until the eighth,” she insisted. “That’s when he can be born. Not until the eighth.”
Baz ignored her ranting and went in search of the suitcase he knew she’d already packed for the hospital. He found it in her bedroom at the foot of her bed. When he turned to leave, his gaze snagged on the wall where she had a couple dozen pictures of him pinned up. They looked to be candid shots, taken when he wasn’t paying attention. All here in her apartment, several from when he was getting in or out of his truck in the parking lot, taken through the window blinds.
Frowning, he stepped closer, noticed she had Photoshopped a couple of them so that they looked to be together. One shows her kissing him on the lips.
Oh, boy.
That had never happened.
There was also a framed and decorated sign with the words:
Sebastian and Molly Buchanan
