Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“I’ve got you,” I said, helping her back to her feet and winding my arm around her waist. A nurse watched us with sharp eyes until she decided Hope could walk with only my support. Once Hope started walking, she was slow but steady, up and down the long hallway outside her room, stopping every five to six minutes to lean against the wall and weather another contraction.
She was mostly quiet, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and breathing through the pain. At some point, the anesthesiologist joined us, talking to Hope about what she wanted and assuring her that there was time before she needed the epidural. Hope scowled but agreed when the doctor pointed out that the epidural could slow things down.
We walked some more. The OB passed us, slowing to squeeze Hope’s shoulder and say, “You’re doing great, Hope. I’ll check your cervix again soon. Contractions still around six minutes apart?”
We nodded together. In the Jeep, I’d panicked when Hope had dipped below six minutes, but now that we were here, I thought we were both ready for things to speed up. Instead, Hope stayed at a steady six minutes apart. Never under five and never over seven.
“Why isn’t Griffen here?” Hope asked, her eyes pained and worried.
“He’s on his way,” I promised, wishing I had something more concrete to tell her.
We kept walking. I was very glad I wore comfortable shoes every day. I walked a lot on an average day, and even I was ready to sit down. The OB returned and brought us back to the room so she could check Hope’s cervix. She’d progressed from seven to eight centimeters. Two to go.
“Another hour or two at least,” the OB said, patting Hope’s shoulder again before disappearing.
As she turned a corner, we watched the doctor’s white coat flash out of sight. “Why does she keep leaving?” Hope whispered.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “When things are going well, which they are, it’s mostly you and the baby. She’ll be back when it’s time. Are you okay? Do you want me to ask the nurses to call the anesthesiologist? Are you ready for the epidural?”
I saw her expression shift, saw the desire to end this part of labor, the boredom, and the pain. Her eyes flicked to the end of the hall and the doors to the waiting room and the rest of the hospital—still no Griffen.
“No, I’m okay. Hungry and tired, and these contractions suck, but I’m okay.”
“I’ll see if I can sneak you some food later. When I had Nicky, I was so hungry by the time they let me eat, one of the nurses brought me a ham sandwich, and I ate it right in the delivery room while they were cleaning up Nicky.”
Hope laughed. “Really? How could you eat with all that going on?”
“I have no idea. I just remember being starving. I would not shut up about it. I told the nurse I loved her when she handed me that Styrofoam takeout box from the cafeteria. She was a saint.”
We were giggling when the next contraction hit, Hope doubling over and almost losing her balance.
Then Griffen was there, his face sheet white, his eyes wild. “She’s okay?” he asked me, his arm supporting Hope’s weight as she breathed through the pain. “Why isn’t she in bed?” he demanded, sounding more than a little panicked.
“She’s fine,” I said. “Doing great, and walking is a good idea for now. They’ll want to do the epidural in the next hour or so, and then she’ll be in bed. Better to keep moving until then.” I straightened and stepped back. “Where have you been?” I demanded.
“We got run off the road by the car behind us. It took a while, but one of West’s officers gave me a ride here.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, immediately sorry for my aggravated tone as I scanned his face for injury.
“Fine. I even remembered to grab Hope’s bag,” he said, lifting it up. “I would have let you know, but the signal went down again after we slid off the road.”
“Ma’am, Mrs. Sawyer can only have one support person in the delivery room,” a nurse called down the hall to me. “Flu season restrictions,” she added in explanation. I waved to acknowledge that I’d heard her.
“I’m going to go sit with Finn in the waiting room. We’ll be here. You take care of Hope. Before you know it, you’re going to be a dad,” I said, my voice choking up, tears flooding my eyes. I’d known both Griffen and Hope since I was a child, and now they were going to be parents. I brushed the tears away. All the hormones in the air must be getting to me.
I followed the line on the floor that led to the waiting room. Finn was the only one in there, slumped in a plastic chair, his eyes half closed. I sat beside him, leaning into his side, my head on his shoulder. “You saw Griffen?” I asked.