“Rosie!” Anya squeals. “That was the most badass thing I’ve ever heard. Evil witch,” she snickers. “I’m going to comment that on all of herInstagram posts.”
“We need to celebrate.” Pip says excitedly. “Let’s go back to mine. I can throw arealparty.”
“Sounds great,” I bite out around a whimper. “But we should probably go to the hospital first.”
Three pairs of wide eyes turn to me.
“I think I’m in labor.”
45
JACKSON
It’shalf time. and I still haven’t heard from Rosie.
“You sure you don’t want a beer?” Danny says as he settles beside me on the sofa.
“Nah, I’m good, thank you. Need to be sober in case I get the Glitterball.” I say, glancing at my phone.
“The glitter—what?”
My phone rings, but it’s not Rosie’s name on the screen.
“Anya?” I answer, shooting a puzzled look at Danny, who shrugs.
“Jackson! Okay, oh my God, so much has happened over here. Yeah—” her voice becomes muffled as she pulls the phone away from her face.
“Anya?” I bark, rising to my feet. “Anya, what’s going on?”
“Well, first of all, Rosie’sevil witchof a sister hijacked the party!”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose with my hands. I knew it.
“But then Rosie stood up for herself like a badass. It was so amazing, Jackson. You’d have fallen in love with her all over again if you’d seen it.”
I smile. “I fall in love with her every day.”
“Aww, Rosie, he said—” Anya pulls away again, and I can hear muffled voices in the background. “—I was getting there!” I can’t help but laugh at the chaotic way Anya is relaying any sort of helpful information, but my laughter freezes in my chest at her next words. “So, Rosie’s in labor.”
“What?” I shout down the phone.
“Yeah, so we’re heading to the hospital now,” Anya says.
“Put her on the phone,” I say to Anya, trying to remain calm as I hurry to the front door and desperately try to locate my shoes.
“Hi,” Rosie’s pained voice whimpers down the line.
I swallow. “Hey pretty girl, sounds like you’ve had an eventful day.”
I hear her soft laugh on the other end. “Is it too late to glitterball?”
“I’m on my way, baby. I’ll meet you there.”
Rosie’s hairis plastered to her flushed face, and she tries to take a calming breath that comes out shaky.
“You’re doing so good, pretty girl,” I praise, wiping her hair away from her face and pressing a kiss to the hand that is squeezing mine too tightly.
“How are you feeling, Rosie?” our midwife, Julie, asks with a smile as she opens the door to the hospital room.
