Page 136 of Made for Wilde

“I’m getting you to the hospital. Now.”

Another contraction ripsthrough me as Koda navigates through afternoon traffic.

I’m sprawled across the backseat with my graduation gown bunched around my waist. One hand braces against the car door while the other clutches the leather seat. The pain builds like a wave and crests higher and higher until I can’t hold back a low moan.

Through the rearview mirror, Koda’s eyes meet mine. They’re dark with concern and something else.

Fear.

Not that he’d ever admit it. My big, tough mountain man, who’s faced down dangerous criminals without flinching, looks terrified by the prospect of me having our baby.

“Four minutes apart now,” I gasp as the contraction subsides. It leaves me panting and sweaty. “And getting stronger.”

“Almost there,” Koda promises. His deep voice is steady despite the tension radiating from his massive shoulders. He runs a red light and earns angry honks from other drivers. “They can fucking ticket me,” he mutters and presses the accelerator harder.

In the car behind us, I glimpse Dana on her phone. She’s presumably calling my dad.

The thought of him witnessing me like this, sweaty and in pain and decidedly undignified, should embarrass me. Instead, I feel a desperate need for him to be there. Despite everything that happened, despite how he discovered about Koda and me, he’s still my dad.

I want him to meet his granddaughter.

Another contraction builds before the previous one fully fades. I bite down on my knuckles and try not to scream. The pain is nothing like I imagined. Not sharp or stabbing, but crushing, overwhelming, like my entire body is being compressed in a vise.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant through gritted teeth. All dignity is abandoned.

Koda pulls into the hospital emergency entrance with a screech of tires. Before I can even reach for the door handle, he’s there. He scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing despite my very pregnant state.

A nurse appears with a wheelchair, but Koda ignores her and carries me straight through the automatic doors.

“My girlfriend’s in labor,” he announces to the startled admissions desk. “Contractions less than four minutes apart.”

The next few minutes blur together. Forms are shoved at Koda. A nurse helps me out of my graduation gown and into a hospital gown. My vitals are taken while another contraction tears through me.

I grip the nurse’s hand so hard she winces.

“Let’s see how far along you are, honey,” the nurse says once the contraction passes. She checks me quickly and her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re already at seven centimeters. This baby’s in a hurry.”

Seven centimeters.

The knowledge both relieves and terrifies me. No time for an epidural then. I’m doing this the old-fashioned way, whether I want to or not.

They wheel me to a delivery room. Koda never leaves my side. His hand engulfs mine, steady and warm despite the tension radiating from him. Another contraction builds and I squeeze his fingers so hard I expect to hear bones crack.

He doesn’t flinch. He just leans closer and his forehead touches mine.

“Breathe through it,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Just like we practiced.”

But we didn’t practice this. This tsunami of pain that makes the room blur around the edges. Sweat drips down my face. My hair is plastered to my forehead and neck. The contraction peaks and forces a sound from my throat that doesn’t even sound human.

“I can’t do this,” I gasp when it finally ebbs enough for me to speak. “It’s too much.”

“You can,” Koda says with absolute certainty. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Charlotte. Stronger than you realize.”

Another contraction follows almost immediately and steals my ability to respond. My fingers clutch the bed rails. My knuckles are white with strain. The pressure builds until I’m certain something inside me will shatter. I arch my back and a primal scream tears from my throat.

“She’s transitioning,” I hear a nurse say. “Won’t be long now.”

Time loses all meaning.