Page 63 of Angel
We tear down the road toward the hospital, the convoy behind us like a heartbeat on asphalt. Stevie groans as another contraction rolls through her, head tipping back against the seat.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
“You’re allowed to swear,” I say, eyes flicking to her. “In fact, I encourage it.”
She shoots me a look that’s equal parts murderous and amused. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious,” I argue. Another wave hits her. She squeezes my hand so hard I swear my bones shift.
“Okay,” she pants. “Okay… it’s…”
“Breathe,” I say softly. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Just like we practiced.”
She glares. “I hate practice.”
I swallow a laugh. “Too bad.”
She breathes. She does it. And I watch her, this woman who once fell apart in grief, who once disappeared into fear, sit here now in the middle of chaos and pain and do the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Angel,” she whispers suddenly, eyes glossy.
“Yeah?”
“If I say something mean.”
“You can,” I cut in. “Say whatever you need.”
She laughs weakly. “I might call you names.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I mutter.
“Like what?” she gasps.
I glance at her. “Tank once called me ‘romantic’ as an insult.”
Stevie lets out a strangled laugh that turns into a groan. “Okay…. okay…. don’t…don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “But I’m right here. You hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “I know,” she whispers.
And that, that right there, that’s the fucking miracle. Not just the babies. Not just labor. Not just the fact we made it to this point. It’s that she believes me. We hit a bump in the road and she curses.
I grit my teeth. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” she pants. “Just… hurry.”
“I’m going as fast as I can without getting pulled over,” I say.
She looks at me like she might bite me. “I swear to God, Angel.”
“Okay,” I bark, then soften immediately. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m going.”
Her breathing changes again. I know it now. I know her rhythms, her cues, the way she holds herself when she’s about to be pulled under. I tighten my grip on her hand.
“You’re doing it,” I tell her again. “You’re so fucking strong.”
“Don’t,” she whispers.
