29
LOCKE
Nothing about this shocked me.
At least it shouldn’t have. I’d prepared for this—I’dtrainedfor it, once upon a time in another fuckin’ lifetime. But nothing could’ve readied me for the sight of that blood on the floor.
So much fuckin’ blood.
Nash looked like he might faint, his face ashen, body wholly frozen with fear.
Still clutching Orla, I found my voice. “Get the car. We need to go.”
Cos I knew full well the current ambulance waiting times were precious minutes we didn’t have.
Nash dashed to the bedroom for clothes.
I found sweats, shoes, and a jacket for Orla while taking a mental inventory of the med bags I had stashed in the flat and every vehicle she had a chance of being anywhere near.
It was enough; I had enough?—
A contraction hit her, breaking the brief lull. It was harsh, excruciating, and her pained shout cut me open. “Orls, it’s okay. We’re going to get you to the good drugs.”
She gasped, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with exertion. “It’s too soon.”
“It’s not, they’re going to be fine. We just need to get to the hospital so the experts can get them out the way they planned.”
I almost laughed as I spat that bullshit. How many births had I witnessed that had nothing to do with the best-laid fuckin’ plans?
Dozens. And I’d delivered at least half of them myself. In vehicles, in lifts, in a car park in the pouring rain while a drunk passerby had thrown beer cans at my head.
The contraction passed.
Nash swept back into the room, keys in one hand, Orla’s hospital bag in the other. I hesitated only a moment before I scooped Orla up, cradling her and our babies in my arms, and carried her downstairs.
We barely made it to the car before another contraction hit her, and then they came thick and fast as Nash drove, leaving her rigid with pain, squirming as she fought to shove the oversized sweats I’d forced her into down her legs. “I need them off.”
Bracing her on the seat, I let it happen, more blood and fluid staining the fabric, smearing my gloved hands, timing the fleeting seconds between contractions, already knowing in my heart I was gonna deliver one of our kids in this fuckin’ car. “How far?”
Nash tossed a strained glance over his shoulder. “Ten minutes.”
Too long.
Orla shouted, her body buckling under the strain, and I made the hardest decision of my life. “Pull over.”
Nash obeyed, steering the car off the road and into a lay-by.
“Call an ambulance.” I opened the door behind me, giving me more space to move. “Then get in the other side and hold her up.”
I lost track of Nash then and focused on the blood clouding my vision. “Orla, how do you feel? You need to push?”
A strangled moan was her only answer, head tipped back with a primal yell as an urge as old as time took hold of her. A drive—a resilience—woven into every woman’s DNA, whether they bore a child or not. “Is one of them coming?”
I nodded. “I can see a head.”
Eerie calm filled her wild gaze. She gripped the headrest, panting, as the door behind her opened and Nash crawled in to take her weight.
Somehow, he’d found his composure too. He looked down. Saw fresh blood and the tremble in Orla’s legs. He gripped her thighs, holding them open, and nuzzled her neck. “It’s gonna be okay, Orls. Just do everything Locke says.”