Page 230 of Pucking Sweet

“No, it’s too soon,” I cry, heart racing. “I still have three more weeks—ahh—” Another sharp pain has me wincing.

“Fuck, you are. Come on.” She pulls on me again.

“No, it’s probably just Braxton-Hicks. I’m fine. Just let me go check on Colton.” I look back out to the ice. They have him on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over his face. Lukas is holding his hand, saying words I can’t hear.

“Poppy, please,” Claribel urges. One arm is around my shoulder and the other grips tight to my hand. “Do you really wanna have this baby right here on the bleachers?”

That image penetrates my fog of panic and now my feet are moving. She leads me down to the corner of the ice as pressure pushes in at all sides of my abdomen.

“Oh god, I think this is a contraction,” I cry.

“I know,” she says. “Trust me, I come from a big Catholic family. I’m one of eight kids.”

“Wow, eight is a lot,” I say on a breath, delirious as she takes me to where they’re wheeling Colton off the ice.

Lukas is already on a bench, furiously untying his skates, kicking them off. He follows after the stretcher in socked feet.

“Lukas!”

Hearing me, he turns, his face stricken. He takes in my posture, both my hands gripping to my belly, and races to my side. “Poppy—oh shit, are you—”

“Is he alive?”

He nods. “Yeah. he’s alive. He says he’s having dysrhythmias. Poppy, I think he might—”

“Don’t say it.” Another contraction hits and I cry out, doubling over.

“Oh—fuck,” Lukas shouts, panicking as he looks from me to where they’re loading Colton into an ambulance.

“Go with him,” I say, panting through the pain. “Lukas, you have to go.”

“But you’re having our goddamn baby!”

I just shake my head. “If something happens to him, and one of us isn’t there—”

“If something happens toyou, he’ll wish he was fucking dead either way. So, you tell me what I’m supposed to do!”

“I’ve got her,” Claribel assures him. “I have Poppy. Lukas, you go with Colton. Go. She’ll be fine.”

I nod, squeezing his hand. “Go, baby. Please.”

With a groan, he kisses my hand and races off in his socked feet, hopping into the back of the ambulance just before they close the doors. The ambulance takes off, lights and sirens on, and I’m left standing by this hockey rink wearing a pair of wet pants.

I let out a shaky breath. “Claribel?”

“Yeah?”

“I think my water just broke.”

Her arm tightens around my shoulders. “Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital. We’ll follow right behind them, okay? It’s fine,” she assures me. “This is all gonna be fine.”

83

They take Cole away from me through a pair of big double doors, and I’m left pacing in this goddamn waiting room like a tiger in a cage. How many minutes has it been? Five? Ten? An hour? I have no clue. Time has no meaning. I just pace. When he went through those doors, he was still alive. His pulse was thready, his heart rate was erratic, but he was still breathing. He better be fucking breathing when they’re done with him too.

I drag both hands through my hair, trying to get air in my lungs as I groan. God, this is so completely fucked! I’m standing here with no fucking shoes on. One love of my life is in active heart failure, while the other is in labor with our baby.

Where is Poppy? Why did I leave her? Who fucking does that?