Page 93 of Full Out Fiend

“She did,” I confirm absentmindedly, totally transfixed by my daughter squirming on the screen. Her little fist is opening and closing near her face. It almost looks like she’s sucking on her thumb.

“That’s because you have almost no amniotic fluid left.”

The words don’t mean much. But her tone has me searching her face. “What do you mean?”

She squints at her computer, pressing the transponder harder into my stomach in a way that’s almost painful.

“I can only find two pockets of fluid when there should be four, and those two pockets barely add up to three centimeters.”

I’m once again at a loss—I feel like I need a translator. I should have FaceTimed Fielding before the ultrasound started.

“You’re most likely having this baby today,” the tech declares.

The computer spits out black and white ultrasound images, the hum of the machine impossibly loud as everything else around me goes still.

Today? Today.

I’m having a baby today.

Chapter 51

Daphne

Theytoldmetogo straight to the hospital. I convinced them to let me stop at work and home on the way.

Bobbi had a cow. She didn’t even know I had a doctor’s appointment today since I scheduled it before any of my clients. Now she’s left with the task of rescheduling dozens of appointments on my behalf. There are two other estheticians at the salon, but knowing most of my clients, they’ll cancel and wait for my return.

Which is now questionable because I’m about to have a c-section.

I know next to nothing about the procedure. The recovery. What to expect or how to prepare. This wasn’t the plan.

Thank God for Fielding.

For a man who loves to make people laugh and flirts shamelessly with anyone who’ll give him the time of day, he’s been nothing but steady and stoic since he arrived. I’ve teased him more than once about having sent his twin in to handle this. He pointed out that Dempsey couldn’t have gotten back to Ohio on such short notice since I’m about to have an emergency c-section.

He’s got me there. I was at my doctor’s appointment less than three hours ago. Now we’re about to meet our little girl.

Fielding’s fully scrubbed in and dressed for surgery. He’s trying his best to keep from bouncing off the walls—but I know him well enough now to know he’s brimming with restless energy.

He doesn’t channel any of that my way, though. He’s all soft whispers and soothing words for me: the perfect balm as we prepare for an unexpected storm.

A nurse pops into the room to let us know it’s almost time. I’m sitting at the edge of the bed, clinging to the thin sheets beneath me.

Cautiously, Fielding approaches me and crouches low, taking both of my hands and smiling.

It’s that perfect Fielding smile—all white teeth and blinding charm. “It’s almost time.”

I can’t bear to respond. I’m just barely holding back tears.

“Are you more scared or disappointment right now?”

He rubs his thumbs over my hands, the steady strokes reminding me that he’s right here.

“Can I be both?” I manage. A single tear escapes, but he brushes it away before it’s halfway down my cheek.

“You can be anything you need to be right now, angel. I’ve got you. I’ll hold us up—all three of us. I swear you can count on me.”

His words are honest and his promises are true. I have complete faith in his ability to support me through this.