Page 178 of Mafia and Gold Digger
Nothing.
“Saint!” I call again, a little more frantically.
His body fills the doorway, his brow pulled down in concern. “What’s wrong?”
I look down at the puddle again, then lift my eyes to him. “I think my water just broke…”
“What? Now?” Saint stares at me, and I stare back, reality seeming to sink into both of us at the same time. “Fuck,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, fuck,” I agree.
“Do…I mean…” He shakes his head quickly to clear his panic, and I watch that calm and collected mask fall into place. “Alright. Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
“Perfect. Just remember that breathing.”
My lip twitches because he might seem calm and unruffled on the outside, but there’s that spark in his eyes. The one that tells me he’s anything but. He’s freaking out, and I relish the look just a few seconds longer before taking a small step forward.
“This is it. You’re doing great already.”
“Saint.”
“Yeah, Em?”
“I’m just walking. I don’t need a pep talk yet. Just take a breath and grab the bag. I’ll have Jacquetta bring the kids once we get to the hospital.”
“Right. Yeah. That’s what I was going to say.”
“Uh-huh.” I reach where he’s standing, and I look up at him. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For trying to hold it together. Because you freaking out will only make me freak out more.”
He breathes out and drags a hand down his face. “Noted, but I’m reserving for later the right to really freak out.”
Another contraction surges through me, and I gasp at the pain, breathing through my mouth with a sharp hiss. The thought that this is real, this is happening, sinks in.
Our baby is coming, and there’s no going back.
Saint’s hand presses into my lower back as he ushers me toward the door. “Ready, Em?”
“I think it’s too late for that question.”
And his laugh is a deep warmth that soothes some of the nervousness that’s building inside of me as we slowly make it to the car.
* * *
My hair sticks to my temples as I pant. My knuckles are white from where I clutch Saint’s hand, and all I want to do is scream, cry, and sleep. But it’s the shrill cry that has my heart lodged in my throat. Saint’s lips press to my temple as he murmurs something I don’t quite hear.
And my chest is still heaving as I lift it slightly from the bed, my entire focus on the perfect little baby the nurses are gently swaddling.
“Did you folks pick out a name?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Without knowing the gender, we decided to just focus on the other stuff. Like fixing up one of the spare rooms as a nursery, getting all the essentials, and going to prenatal classes. Picking out a name felt so important that I decided we needed to meet the baby before bestowing some name like Bambi or Buster on it forever.
