“How long is a little while?”
“An hour. Maybe two.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I thought it was from the fall and would go away,” she says, sucking in a tight breath before letting it out slowly through pursed lips.
“Is it?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know.” The control in her voice slips another little piece. “I really don’t know.”
“What do you need? How can I help?”
She shakes her head, and another wave of pain hits her before either of us can say anything else.
I feel her tense against me.
“Your pains are getting closer.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
“Charlotte—”
Her eyes close briefly. “I know what this might mean. I just… I don’t know what to do. And I don’t want this to be happening. It’s too soon.”
“I’ll do anything. Tell me what you need,” I say.
She looks at me then, and there’s something heartbreaking in her eyes. Fear. Pain. Helplessness.
“I wish I knew.”
I grip her hand. “I’d take this from you if I could.”
Outside, the storm finally starts to lose strength. The wind breaks apart into uneven bursts instead of one continuous force, and the yacht’s movement becomes less violent beneath us. There’s space between the impacts now. Breathing room.
Charlotte’s pain doesn’t ease with it.
“I’ve been worried for a while that something was wrong,” she says quietly after a moment. She takes a slower breath this time, trying to stay ahead of whatever’s happening inside her. “I didn’t tell you because you were already so scared for us.”
Us.
The word hits me harder than it should.
Another wave of pain folds through her before I can answer. Stronger this time. Longer. The sound she makes is low and involuntary, dragged out of somewhere beyond control.
I tighten my grip on her hand and keep talking to her through it—quiet, steady words without thinking too hard about what they are. Just something solid for her to hold onto while it passes.
When it finally eases, there are tears running down her face. She doesn’t even seem aware of them.
“I need to lie down.”
I don’t hesitate. I lift her into my arms and carry her toward the stateroom.
It’s dim inside the stateroom, the storm light coming weakly through the porthole in uneven flashes. I ease her down onto the bed as carefully as I can while the yacht still shifts beneath us. Then I stay close, one hand on her.
She stares up at the ceiling, breathing through another wave of pain.
“Dane.”
