Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 25

Twenty-Five

Talia

I 'm standing in front of my closet, reaching as far as I can on my tiptoes, when I feel the first contraction. My breath hitches in my throat as I clutch the closet door, trying to steady myself. I make a strangled sound in my throat as I clutch the closet door, trying to steady myself.

What is going on?

When nothing else happens, I shrug and move to get the shoes I was trying to reach. I get them and move toward the bathroom, performing my usual waking up ritual.

Wash my face, brush my teeth, take a handful of prenatal vitamins, rub my whole body down with lotion.

The strange cramping spasm comes again, spreading across the front part of my lower belly. I look down, gaping at my stomach, as if I can understand better just by looking.

Is this... labor?

It's too early for that to be happening!

Just when I decide to call someone about it, the contraction, if that's what it is, ends. I sit down and decide to wait a few more minutes, just to be sure before I make a huge deal out of nothing.

I'm about to give up when I'm gripped again by another searing pain in my abdomen. I press my hand to my stomach, feeling sweaty. Something is wrong .

This can't be labor. But it hurts!

I'm not due for another six weeks.Panic starts to rise inside of me, and I begin to hyperventilate. I need to call Dare. He needs to know what's happening.

I hobble quickly to the phone, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. I dial Dare's number, my heart pounding inmy chest.

"Dare, something's wrong," I gasp out when he answers. "I think I'm in labor."

There's a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. "What? Talia, you can't be. It's too early."

"I know," I say through gritted teeth. "But my body is in control. And it thinks I'm having--"

My belly ripples and the baby moves, shoving and elbowing my guts and stealing my breath. I gasp, clutching the marble countertop until my knuckles whiten.

"Talia?" Dare sounds scared, which makes me terrified. "I'll be right there, darling. Call the doctor while you wait for me."

The contraction eases and I hang up and dial Dr. Nathan's number. She doesn't answer, but I do get her service. A soothing woman's voice tells me that she'll call the nearest hospital and tell them to be ready to admit me. She also says not to worry, that things will be perfectly fine.

I hang up and hobble to the living room, pulling on some shoes. The contractions seem to have eased, but my mind doesn't stop its whirlwind ball of motion for a second.

Panic rises in my chest at the thought of something wrong with the baby. I glance at the clock, willing time to move faster.

Where is my husband?

The pain comes again, and I double over with a groan. Beads of sweat break across my forehead.

I have to stay calm , I tell myself.

Many women experience Braxton-Hicks contractions, and everything is probably fine but?—

The front door bursts open. "Talia!" Dare rushes into the loft, eyes wild. He takes one look at me, bent over and clutching my middle, and in two strides crosses the space between us.

"What's wrong? What's happening?" His hands grip my shoulders as his gaze searches my face.

"The contractions," I gasp. "They really hurt, Dare."

"We have to get you to the hospital. Now." He scoops me into his arms, carrying me toward the front door.

"It's too soon," I howl. "She's not due for another six weeks!"

I cling to him, burying my face in the collar of his shirt.

"Shh, don't worry. I've got you." His voice is steady, but I feel the tension in his arms, sense the worry emanating from him in waves. "We'll get the best doctors on this. Our baby will be just fine."

He carries me outside and gently sets me in the back of the idling SUV. Sliding in beside me, he pulls me close. I breathe in his familiar scent—cedar and spice, safety and comfort.

His hand strokes my hair as the contractions ease once more.

"It's going to be okay," he murmurs. "I'm here now. I won't leave you again."

I cling to him, trusting that together we will get through this. We have to. Our daughter's life depends on it.

We make it to the hospital in record time. As we are entering the emergency room, I gasp. I stop and double over as another contraction hits, this one stronger than before.

Dare presses down on my shoulders, forcing me to sit down in a wheelchair. I clutch at his sleeve, looking up at him, clawing at his arm to make him understand that what I'm saying is important.

"I can't lose her, Dare."

"You won't. I won't allow it." He bends down to hug me. "Our daughter is strong, like her mother. She'll fight through this."

I search his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all I see is love and determination. Still, old wounds and fears die hard. "Do you mean that?"

"With all my heart." He kisses my forehead, my cheek, the tip of my nose. "You and our baby are my world now. I'm yours, Talia, forever and always. No matter what happens, we'll get through this together as a family."

Just then, I am swarmed by nurses and doctors. I'm hurried back to an exam room where Dare stands beside me and holds my hand as I am poked, prodded, and questioned.

I can feel his eyes on me as the doctor examines me. I feel weird when the doctor asks to do a pelvic exam. But Dare's grip on my hand tightens as I wince in pain. When it's over, he helps me sit up, and I lean into him, exhausted. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.

Dare helps me get dressed and the young male doctor turns to us, putting the stethoscope back around his neck. "I have good news, Mrs. Morgan. You are not in labor."

"I'm not?" My hands slide around my stomach.

"Nope. You are experiencing what are known as prodromal labor pains, which is the fancy term for Braxton-Hicks contractions. Basically, your body is practicing for the real thing." The doctor gives me a sympathetic smile. "They can be uncomfortable, but they're not harmful to you or the baby. They most likely mean that you're a bit dehydrated. So before you leave, we'll get you to power through a few electrolyte drinks."

I let out a sigh of relief and turn to Dare, who looks just as relieved. "Thank you," I say to the doctor, before turning to Dare. "I'm sorry for dragging you here for nothing."

"Don't apologize," Dare says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I'm just glad everything's okay."

"I'm so glad it's not labor yet. I'm not ready for this baby to come."

Dare nods in understanding, his hand still holding mine. "I know, darling. But we need to start getting ready. We have a lot to do before the baby arrives."

I wrinkle my nose. "Yeah. Should we get ready to go home?"

Dare looks at me like I'm crazy. "You aren't in immediate danger, which is great. But if you think I'm letting you walk out of here without being checked over by Dr. Nathan, you're insane. Better safe than sorry."

I squint at him. "I thought we were changing our birth plan and our doctor."

He runs a hand down his shirt. "Dr. Nathan stays. The rest, I can take or leave. Now let me step out and call Dr. Nathan down here."

I sit back and sip the bright blue electrolyte drink that a nurse brings me. The hospital is a blur of activity and noise. Monitors beeping, doctors and nurses bustling about, Dare barking out questions and demands in a tone that brooks no argument.

Dr. Nathan shows up some time later and checks me out thoroughly.

After she gives the all-clear, Dare walks me out to the waiting SUV like I'm made of glass and one wrong step could shatter me.

Through it all, a cold kernel of anger remains lodged in my chest. As much as I need Dare, as much as I love him, I hate feeling so helpless. So dependent on him.

When the crisis passes and I'm settled into bed at home, Dare finally stills. His gaze searches my face, regret and tenderness and a plea for forgiveness all reflected in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about our fight."

"Dare, I don't have the strength to argue." He opens his mouth to protest, but I stop him by holding up a hand. "Please. Put our baby first. Let me rest."

I turn away from him, feigning sleep though slumber remains elusive. I can't forgive him, not yet. Can't give in to the urge to melt into his embrace and let him make everything better.

Because he can't. Not this time. He has to grow up and I can't help any more than I have already.

Dare sighs, his hand gently squeezing mine before he slips from the room. My fingers curl into a fist, clinging to the memory of his touch.

I'm no longer sure it's enough, though.

When the first rays of dawn filter through my window, I'm still awake. Still wrestling with emotions too complicated to name, a future too frightening to face alone.