Page 23 of Operator
I move to put space between us and tamp down the urge to return to his arms. “I’m tired now, Callum.” That’s the truth, at least. I don’t even know what time it is, but I’m exhausted and achy and only want to hide under the big quilt on my bed and never leave. “Clearly, everyone was right. He did commit suicide. This is proof.” Not even I can argue with it.
“Why don’t you come to our house for the night?” he suggests. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“No, Iwantto be alone.” It’s much safer that way. At least then I know for certain I won’t risk getting hurt. My stomach tightens again, and I grit my teeth, then say, “I’ll be fine. This wasn’t news. Just proves I really was delusional. I’d like you to go now, Cal. I’ll be okay. You can even check on me in the morning, but I’d like to get some sleep for now.”
But he doesn’t move. Naturally. His towering frame shadows me to the front door. “I’ll stay on the couch then,” he suggests. “I promise.”
I grit my teeth through another wave of pain, finding it hard to concentrate on arguing with him. “Go home, Cal.”
“No,” he says firmly and catches me when I have to lean against the door frame to hold myself up as my vision wavers.
“Go—” Another contraction hits and I have to concentrate on it because it’s so intense.
“Gwen?” He barely blinks as he studies my face, as though he’s afraid he’s going to miss something. Realization dawns in his gaze moments before I figure it out.
There’s something different about these contractions. That must have been the pain I was feeling, not emotional pain like I’d thought, but actual physical pain. I don’t know how long they’d been happening, but they’re strong. So strong that I’m more than a little concerned.
“What is it?” he asks, lifting my gaze up to his with a gentle hand. “Is it the baby? Do I need to call the doctor?”
My eyes meet his. “I think I’m in labor.”
CHAPTER TEN
CALLUM
Gwen’s wordsrattle around in my skull for a few long seconds before I get it together. Instinct kicks in like a shot. I have to get them to safety. “I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to do that. Your mother can take me.” She forces the words out of her stubborn mouth, clearly in pain but also determined to be a pain in my ass.
“She’s at the hospital visiting Dad.” She opens her mouth to argue again, and I shake my head. “Do you really want to waste time arguing with me, or do you want to get to the hospital?”
“Fine. Let me get my bag,” she says, but the frown on her lips has nothing to do with being in labor.
When she scurries off to her bedroom, I make sure Daisy has food and water, then double check the locks on the doors and windows. All the while, it replays over and over in my head that Ian should be here. He always loved kids. He would have been over the moon at the prospect of his child’s impending birth. Me, on the other hand? I don’t know what the fuck else to do, so I get the truck and pull it in front of the gate to wait for Gwen.
When she waddles out of the front door, I leap down from the truck and help her down the steps. We have to pause every minute or two as we come down the walk as she has a contraction.
“Are they supposed to be this close together?” I ask when we reach the truck, what feels like an eternity later.
“I don’t know,” she wheezes. “I’ve never done this before.” She climbs gingerly into the passenger seat, making good use of my assistance without complaint for once in her life.
“Which hospital?”
Gwen names one an hour away before closing the door in my face. I curse under my breath as I round the truck. Why the hell did she choose one so far away?
Her eyes are squeezed tight as I peel out of the driveway. I try to miss all the potholes, but it’s nearly impossible. She sucks in a deep breath each time the truck bounces. Christ, I’d rather be doing anything else. The thought of her being in pain and me being absolutely fucking helpless about makes me want to pull my hair out.
We reach a stoplight on the outskirts of town, and she manages to crack open one eye. “Please tell me we’re close.”
I don’t know what to say to her because we’re nowhere near close. “Not quite,” I answer.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispers with a hiss of pain. She has one hand on the center console between us, her knuckles white with tension. The other grips the ‘oh shit’ handle and she gives a tug on it, her whole body tensing, muscles quivering under the strain.
I’ve had buddies who had children. They described long, tortuous,slowaffairs. That’s not this. She’s gone from zero to sixty in nothing flat. And I know Gwen. When it comes down to it, she’s the strongest person I know. It must be torturous for her to be so anguished.
I keep a mental tally of the contractions. Five minutes, then three. Two minutes, then four. One minute, then three. Then two, two, two. We’re nearly halfway there and I’m going nearly a hundred miles an hour. She hasn’t opened her eyes or moved unless she’s in the throes of a contraction. Each time one comes over her, my whole body tenses along with her. There’s an icy heat spreading across my skin, and I wonder if this is what panic feels like. I’d become so numb to stressful situations, I can’t even fucking remember what it feels like. Overdosing on adrenaline had deadened me—or so I thought.
In between a contraction, about a quarter hour from the hospital, she manages to call her doctor. “We’re about fifteen minutes away. Contractions are about two to three minutes apart. Wait, there’s another one right now.” She begins to moan through another contraction. I glance over and see a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face.
