Page 59 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

“ S he’s in labor.” I say it as soon as my dad picks up. Before he has a chance to say hi or how are you or happy Saturday .

This is a terrifying Saturday.

“What?”

“She’s. In. Labor.” I switch lanes, ignoring the obnoxious honk as the person behind me protests.

“Now? At Manhattan General? Is the doctor there? What are they saying?” My dad fires the questions off rapidly .

“She’s in Connecticut. She went to visit her dad, and I’m—” More honking. “I’m getting there as fast as I can.”

I don’t think there’s a single traffic law I haven’t broken in the ten minutes since I left Flynn’s in a panic. Thank fuck I rarely have Camden drive me on the weekends because there’s no way I could handle his version of getting there fast . And the town car’s a lot slower than my Ferrari.

“Are you—fuck. Scarlett! What’s the hospital in Connecticut? Do you need us to bring anything? Should we drive? Is there?—”

“I don’t need you to bring anything, Dad. I need you to tell me what the fuck to do once I’m there.”

Silence follows. I think the call’s dropped for a second.

“You called me for advice?”

“Yes! I’m freaking the fuck out, and I need to not be freaking out when I get there, so tell me it’s going to be fine.”

“It’s going to be fine, son.” There’s a wobble to my dad’s voice, but it grows steadier as he continues talking.

“Just be there for Collins. You’ll be able to tell what she needs.

If you can’t, ask. Focus on her. Focus on the moment, on what’s about to happen.

You won’t want to forget what it’s like, meeting your child for the first time. ”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t,” my dad says confidently. “Kid’s a Kensington. It’ll come out sturdy. And Collins is tough too.”

“What is it? What’s going on?” My mom’s voice has joined my dad’s, in the background.

“Do you want us to come to the hospital?” my dad asks.

Mom gasps. “Collins is in labor?”

“I’ll let you guys know,” I say. “Collins’s parents are there with her. I’m not sure how big of a crowd … ”

“Understood,” Dad replies. “Just keep us posted, okay?”

“I will.”

“I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

I hang up, then press the accelerator harder. I make the remaining drive in just under an hour. Parking is an excruciating process as I force myself to drive slowly and scan for an open spot.

The New Haven hospital has countless entrances, and I have no clue which one is closest to the delivery room.

I ask the first person I see wearing scrubs where to go for labor and delivery, and she directs me to the third floor.

I give up on waiting for the elevator after a few torturous seconds, opting to sprint up the stairwell instead.

“Collins Tate,” I say as soon as I reach the nurses’ station. “Which room is she in?”

“Kit!”

I turn. Collins’s mom is halfway down the hallway, waving at me.

I run in her direction.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Amanda says. “She’s been asking for you nonstop.”

“Is she okay? What?—”

“She’s fine,” Amanda says soothingly “But things are progressing quickly, and she was worried you wouldn’t make it on time.

I don’t know what possessed her to come all the way here so close to her due date.

Gerald and I would have been happy to visit New York …

” Amanda’s voice trails off as Gerald steps out of one of the closed doors ahead.

His eyebrows are pinched tight together with worry, but it relaxes some when he sees me.

“You’re here. Phew. I was getting worried.” He holds out a hand, which I quickly shake. “That room.” He points toward the door he exited.

I nod and rush toward it.

Collins covers her face with her hands and starts sobbing when I enter the room. She’s alone, no sign of any doctors or nurses. She’s also wearing a hospital gown, which freaks me out even though I know it’s normal.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” I tease, walking over to the chair pulled up by her bedside and kissing the top of her head.

“I-I am.” She hiccups, reaching for my hand. “But aren’t you”—sniffle—“mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” I ask.

“Because you told me not to come here, and I did, and now?—”

“Did you talk to your dad?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“Was it a good talk?”

Collins nods.

“Then I’m glad you came. A hospital room is just a hospital room, Monty. Here, in New York—doesn’t really matter.”

Her hand tightens around mine as she breathes heavily through a contraction. “I’m not ready, Kit.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I’m really not.” She shakes her head rapidly, then winces, pressing her free hand against her swollen stomach. “I was supposed to have three more weeks. Twenty-one days. I needed that time. I’m supposed to work on Monday.”

“You don’t think you’ll be able to?” I ask innocently.

She huffs, “Kit.”

“You weren’t going to magically feel ready in three weeks, Monty. This part was always going to be extra scary. But you get through this, and we’ll get to meet our kid. Focus on that part. This is the home stretch. You’re so close to the finish line. Mile three, with only one-tenth to go.”

“How did you know I ran cross-country?”

This time, I tell her the real answer. “You had some photos from your high school meets in your dorm room. I snooped around a little. I liked the short shorts.”

She laughs, then flinches. “ Fuck , this hurts. It hurts a lot. And I’m scared.”

“I know. I am too.” My thumb finds her pulse point beneath her wrist, the steady rhythm reassuring. “But you can do this.”

She shakes her head wildly. “I can’t. I can’t. What if I really can’t?”

“You can , Collins. You’re the strongest person I know.” I comb the sweaty strands away from her face. “This is it, okay? You just have to get through this last part, and then we get to meet our baby.”

Another contraction hits. Collins’s grip crushes my fingers.

“I should have listened to you. Dr. Bailey was supposed to be here, and I shouldn’t have?—”

“Hey, hey.” I lean closer so our foreheads are almost touching. “None of that. Watermelon decided to come a little early, is all.”

She starts crying again. “Watermelons are huge . I can’t push a watermelon out. You’ve seen my vagina. It’s not big enough!”

I focus on the bones breaking in my hand so I don’t laugh. “It’s a miracle, Monty. The miracle of life.”

She snorts. “The inspiration crap is not helping.”

I recall my dad’s advice. “Tell me what will help.”

“Nothing,” she groans. “But try to distract me.”

“Okay. Do you want my parents to come? They asked, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Your idea of distracting me is asking if your parents should come see me like this ?”

“Right.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll tell them not?—”

“Do you want them here?”

“You’re carrying the team here. I want to do whatever makes your load lightest.”

She deliberates, then nods. “Tell them they’re welcome to come. But you and my mom are the only ones allowed in the room.”

My dad replies to my text approximately two seconds after I send it.

Dad: On our way!

The door to the hospital room opens a minute later, and a doctor walks in.

“Hi, Collins. I’m Dr. Peach. Let’s see how things are progressing, okay?”

Collins glances at me, and I’m already looking at her. We both laugh.

Dr. Peach looks confused.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “Uh, inside joke.”

“I don’t see many couples laughing in the delivery room,” she says. “It’s nice to see.”

I squeeze Collins’s hand. She tries to break mine as another contraction hits. Dr. Peach jumps into motion, calling to a nurse with a request for certain supplies.

Two hours later, Dylan Crew Tate Kensington enters the world.