Page 55 of Twisted Truths (The Sunburnt Hearts #4)

NASH

SIX MONTHS LATER

T he low hum of voices and the clicking of camera shutters makes me force a smile as I take a seat at the table in front of the press.

I just want to get this over and done with so I can get home to Hadley.

She was complaining of mild back pain this morning, and I want to make sure she’s okay. The baby is due any day now.

“Nash,” calls the ESPN reporter. “You’ve just signed a four-year, multi-million-dollar contract with the Shamrocks. How are you feeling right now?”

“Pretty goddamn lucky,” I say with a chuckle.

Soft laughter fills the room.

“You’re also about to become a father,” another reporter comments. “How are you going to balance a newborn and basketball, with the season about to kick off?”

“I’m already a father,” I remind him, my thoughts drifting to my sister’s cheeky toddler who I caught pouring Lucky Charms cereal into the bathtub this morning because he wanted a rainbow bath.

“While I have no doubt it will be a challenge, my wife and I have a fantastic support system around us, and we’ll figure it out together. ”

I catch the eye of my agent and best mate near the door, and grin. Hadley and I would have been lost without Clay and Quinley when we arrived in Boston with Franklin two years ago.

“Speaking of your wife,” a female reporter gushes, “she was absolutely glowing in your wedding photos last month.”

My heart swells at the memory of my girl walking down the aisle towards me. I blubbered like a baby. We tied the knot in a simple ceremony at the State Room last month when Gabriel and Isaac came to visit, with a few close friends, my teammates, and their partners in attendance.

“Thank—” My words cut off when my phone buzzes on the table. Hadley’s face lights up the screen.

Ignoring the reporters and cameras in front of me, my heart races as I answer her call. “Hadley, baby? Is everything okay?”

“Hey, MVP,” she groans out breathlessly. “Sorry to interrupt your press conference … But?—”

My chest constricts when she lets out a long, pained groan.

“I think it’s time.” Her breathing is laboured and heavy.

“It’s time?” I get to my feet, knocking my chair over as my frantic eyes meet Clay’s wide ones. Confusion and chaos erupt as people call out questions, but I can’t focus on anything they’re saying.

It’s time.

The baby’s coming.

Hadley’s in labour.

Oh, shit .

“I’ll be right there, little possum,” I assure her as Clay rushes to the front of the room, letting everyone know we’ll reschedule the press conference, but I’m already halfway out the door, reaching into my pocket for my keys.

“Quinley’s going to drive me … Mmm … to the hospital,” Hadley pants as I sprint down the hall, not caring how crazy I look. “We’ll meet you … Argh … there.”

“You’ll be okay, baby.” It kills me to hear her in pain when I’m not there to help her. “You’ve got this. I love you. I’ll be right there.”

“Love you.” She breaks off with another pained groan as I push through the door that leads to the car park.

By the time I’ve pulled the car out, Clay is sprinting across the park towards me. He throws my bag in the back seat, and I take off with a screech of tyres, desperate to get to my girl.

I rush into the maternity ward and straight over to the nurse’s desk with Clay hot on my heels.

“My wife is in labour,” I pant, trying to catch my breath. “Hadley Stone?”

“Nash?” The sound of Quinley’s voice causes me to spin around, and I spot her over next to the water fountain with a huge smile on her face.

“Where is she? Is she okay?”

“They’ve just admitted her,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “Franklin’s fine, he’s with Mrs Porter. I’ll go pick him up soon and take him back to ours. Go, she’s waiting for you.”

Swallowing hard, I follow the nurse towards the delivery room Hadley’s been put in .

When I push through the door, I find her already dressed in a hospital gown, bending over the bed and groaning as another contraction hits her.

“I’m here, little possum,” I say, dashing to her side and brushing her sweaty hair away from her face to press my lips to her temple. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good.”

“Nash,” she gasps out, squeezing my hand so hard I grimace.

“I’ve got you,” I assure her, rubbing her back.

The next fourteen and a half hours are a blur of doctors and nurses, and my heart (and hand) aching every time Hadley has a contraction. Through it all, my wife is an absolute gladiator. I’ve never seen her look so beautiful.

After forty-five minutes of pushing, the sound of our baby’s cries replace Hadley’s pained groans, and the room appears to be bathed in technicolour as the midwife places our child on Hadley’s chest.

“Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Stone. You have a healthy baby girl.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I lean down to kiss my wife. “Well done, baby. You did so good.”

Hadley looks up at me, tears shining in her eyes. “It’s a girl.”

“It’s a girl,” I confirm, unable to wipe the smile off my face.

We both stare in awe at the tiny bundle wrapped in her mother’s arms.

A little girl.

Hadley presses her lips to our daughter’s head.

“Welcome to the world, Ziggy Madeline Stone.”