Kace isn't biologically the father, but he claimed Lindsey and her baby as his from the moment they arrived in town.
"What?" Lindsey asks, voice shrill despite her gritted teeth. "No! That can't happen. All you'll think of later is— No, Kace."
"Well, I'm not letting them do it," Kace grumbles, winking at his love to soften the news.
She's not amused, and it shows.
"This can't be happening," she says, hands over her face. "Take me home. I'll be fine."
Kace looks at us and orders us to turn around, even though Lindsey's facing him.
"Pierce is on the way, sweetheart. She'll be here soon."
I respect Kace trying to protect and comfort his girl when she's struggling with embarrassment and the fact that she's about to give birth at her freaking desk.
"Lindsey, do you need anything?" Quinley asks. "Otherwise, I'll be right outside."
"A sinkhole," Lindsey mutters. "A great big one. Right here, right now."
"Ah, honey, don't be embarrassed," I say to the wall. "Just another day in paradise."
"Keep your honeys to yourself," Kace grumps to me.
I can kind of see their reflections in a glass-framed photo on the wall and watch him do a quick assessment.
"Linds, you're okay," I hear him say.
"I told you. I told you they're…oooooh," she says, gasping the last part.
"Yeah, baby, you're okay," he says again, "but you're not going to make it to the hospital, sweetheart."
I must've released a chuckle because Gabe elbows me in the ribs.
"What? That's impossible. I have to be there. I have a plan. M-music. I don't have my bag. Or drugs. I want drugs, Kace. I can't do this without drugs!"
Pierce arrives with a gurney full of gear and shoots a confused look at us because we're nose-to-wall instead of helping.
"What's going on?" Pierce asks, hesitant but chipper. "Lindsey, you okay?"
Pierce quickly pulls on PPE because I hear the snap of gloves.
"No, no, can't say that I am," Lindsey says, her breathing ragged.
"Is that chair locked into place?"
"On it," I say, quickly moving behind Lindsey to lock the wheels before turning around again.
"Steady your breathing," Kace coaches. "Remember the classes."
"How far dilated?" Pierce asks, unfolding plastic-lined pads and other necessities from the kit.
"Ten," Kace says in no uncertain terms. "Baby's crowning."
I can't help myself. I glance over my shoulder and see Kace staring at Lindsey with hearts in his eyes and a grin on his face that can't be stopped. I feel a pang in my chest. Wistfulness? Envy? I'm not sure what it is, but it's there. And it's powerful.
"You're doing great, sweetheart. Pierce, we need to get her out of this chair. It won't be long now, Linds."
"It hurts," she whimpers, gasping for air. "There's so much pressure. This can't be happening. I want drugs. Why can't she wait for drugs?"
