Page 144 of Love What's Left
“That couch is dead meat. My wife demands vengeance,” I say.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to be too busy to fight your couch,” Sydney assures her.
Josh opens the door, and I usher Sydney through with an arm around her back. Another contraction hits in the hallway, and I brace her against me as she rides it out with barely a sound. “You are incredible. You’re doing amazing.”
When it passes, I eye her with concern. “This came on really fast.”
She wets her lips. “Yeah. About that. Technically . . . in hindsight, I suppose I’ve been in labor since around six this morning.”
What?
Behind us, Josh mutters, “That explains a lot.”
“You’ve been in labor for eight hours? Eight.Hours. You let me go to work,” I accuse.
We continue, Janessa and Josh trailing behind us.
“You were just in the home office. I called you down as soon as I understood what was happening. But I expected textbook uterine contractions, with pain in the front, not horrendous back pain.”
She shakes her head. “This is so embarrassing. I should have figured out I was in labor, but I had a predisposed bias to misinterpret the data because my back has been hurting for weeks. I thought the pain got so awful because she’s getting big and was pressing a nerve or something or because she dropped. Peanut is two weeks early when first babies are supposed to take longer. But, apparently, back labor is a thing, and my data interpretation skills failed me horribly.”
I swipe my keycard and assist her into the executive elevator. “Nobody is questioning your data collection technique. Your professional reputation is safe with me.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m telling all our friends that Dr. I-Plan-Everything-Down-To-The-Last-Detail couldn’t figure out she was about to push out a baby.” Janessa holds up her phone. “It’s already in our group chat.”
The undignified sound of liquid splattering on marble sends my pulse into overdrive. Her water broke, which means—what does it mean?
Sydney digs her fingers into my forearm. “Gabriel?”
“It’s amniotic fluid,” Josh says.
Sydney and I both turn our heads toward him. “You think?” The two words come out of both of us at the same time, equally sarcastic.
Josh huffs a laugh.
“Ew. These shoes are Italian leather,” Janessa says jiggling her damp foot and covering her obvious concern with snark.
Sydney gasps, then groans, leaning forward as I support her weight.
I inhale slowly through my nose and look back at Josh for guidance. “What do I do now?”
“You take her to the hospital, exactly as you already planned.”
By the time, we hit the lobby, she’s in the middle of a contraction, and I’m not slowing down to get us to the car. “Okay, I’m not panicking. I’m beyond calm. And you should also remain calm. But I’m carrying you the rest of the way.”
It’s a sign of how intense the pain is that she doesn’t offer a single hint of argument and merely wraps her arms around my neck as I lift her. Annabel jogs to meet us at the lobby doors and ushers us into the backseat of the SUV.
Wide-eyed, I look to the sidewalk for Josh, but he and Janessa have already filed into the SUV behind ours.
Annabel slams the door closed behind us, then climbs into the front passenger seat next to Dave. Arm gesturing wildly out the window, Dave pulls into traffic to the sound of blaring horns and angry shouts.
No more than three minutes of peace pass for Sydney before she cries out and bends her entire body forward in a move that,I swear to Godlooks like she’sbearing the fuck down. “What are you doing? What is that? Are youpushing?”
Her fingers claw into the sleeve of my suit jacket. “I’m trying not to.”
I drag off my jacket and toss it to the third-row seat, then walk on my knees in the limited space to get as close to her as possible. It’s a luxury SUV. There’s plenty of legroom and a flat floor, so my knees and hips fit easily enough, but my shoulders are a squeeze. “I’m putting this seat into recline for you.”
She nods, her face red and straining, and I adjust the armrests out of the way and reach around to activate the lever to ease her into a semi-reclining position.
