Page 102 of Omega's Formula

“First babies come early all the time. My money’s on tomorrow.”

“That’s not—” My phone buzzes. I grab it so fast I nearly drop it. “It’s Nolan.”

Ellie still there?

I frown.Yes. Why?

A pause. Then:Don’t freak out.

My heart stops. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” Ellie’s on her feet instantly. “What did he say?”

I don’t answer her because I’m already racing to the bedroom.

Nolan is sitting up, sweat beading on the side of his beautiful face.

“Didn’t want to worry you until I was—” He breaks off, face contorting as another contraction hits. I hold him through it, feeling his whole body tense against mine, and the reality of what’s happening crashes over me.

He’s having our baby. Right now. Our son.

“Breathe,” I murmur against his hair. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

The contraction passes. Nolan sags against me, exhaling shakily. “Okay. That one was stronger.”

“Hospital. Now.”

The drive to St. Mary’s is a blur of traffic lights and Nolan’s controlled breathing and my own heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. He holds my hand across the console, squeezing tight every time a contraction hits, and I squeeze back. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to do this together.

We’ve got our overnight bag packed, filled with everything we need, including drinks, snacks, books and the crossword puzzles that Nolan loves because I know that babies can take hours to come.

In the end, we don’t have time to wait. They wheel Nolan into a private room and we only have to wait a few minutes for a midwife to arrive and check how far he is dilated.

She looks up, pulling a face. “Eight centimeters dilated. You’re moving fast. Let’s get you into a room.”

Eight.Eight. That’s insanely fast. It was supposed to take hours to get us to eight.

No, don’t panic. I need to be there for Nolan.

The next hour is a blur of activity and waiting, pain and progress. I stay by Nolan’s side through all of it, holding his hand, wiping his forehead, murmuring encouragement when the contractions get bad and silence when he needs to focus.

He’s incredible. I’ve always known he was strong but watching him now, fighting through each wave of pain with gritted teeth and sheer determination, I’m in awe of him.

“You’re doing amazing,” I tell him during a brief lull. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Easy for you to say.” But there’s a weak smile under the exhaustion. “You’re not the one trying to push a watermelon out of your body.”

“I would if I could.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, maybe not. But I’d do anything else. Anything you need.”

“I know,” he says. “I know you would.”

The doctor is at the end of the bed, paying close attention and murmuring encouraging words. We’re almost there.

The contractions are coming faster now, harder, and Nolan’s grip on my hand is bruising. I don’t care. I’d let him break every bone in my body if it helped.