Frayed (Connections, #4)(120)

“We have to call the doctor.”

I pat the bed. “Ben, sit down. Let’s see if I have any contractions.”

I try to be calm, summoning all my willpower to not crumble and have him rush me to the hospital, because I know what to do—what the classes taught me.

He looks at me as he lowers himself down onto the bed, his leg tapping up and down with his foot on the floor. “How long does that take?”

“I have no idea.” I laugh.

“What do you mean you have no idea? We went to all those classes.”

“You were there too.”

“Yeah, but I was always a shitty student.”

I have to laugh at that. How can I not? I slide my feet to the floor and rise from the bed. As I slip into one of his button-up shirts, I feel a cramp and I slump over.

Ben rushes over to me. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Let me call my mother and see what she says first.” I sit back on the bed, taking a deep breath.

Ben quickly hands me my phone from the night table. “Did you pack a bag yet?”

“No. I thought I still had time.”

He strides over to the closet. “I’ll do it.”

I call my mother.

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“I’ve only had one.”

“Jack and I are on our way. You should be fine until we get there. Just relax, okay, Isabelle?”

Isabelle? She only ever calls me by my real name when she’s nervous. Great. “Yes, Mom.”

I hit END and look up to see Ben standing in utter sexiness in the doorframe. He is disheveled and so handsome—his jeans are unzipped, his shirt, the frayed one that I love, is unbuttoned, and his feet are bare.

He lifts his eyes to me. “Do you think we made a mistake?”

My mouth drops. “Why would you say that? It’s a little late now.” My voice breaks.

He furrows his brow. “I mean that we didn’t get married before we have the baby. What did you think I meant?”

Relief courses through me at the same time as another cramp bites from my lower gut. I wince and he flies to the bed.

“What can I do?”

I grab his hand. “Just stay with me. I’m scared.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why are you second-guessing our decision?” I ask as I look down at the large radiant-shaped diamond that adorns my finger.

The sun shining in the window reflects against the ring’s cut edges. He proposed to me a week after we watched the white stick turn to a plus sign. It was so romantic—like a scene out of an old film. He took me back to Hearst Castle. No one was there—it was just the two of us. Before we entered the large exquisite doors, he dropped to his knee, called me his “Rosebud,” and told me he wanted to marry me. Whoever said he wasn’t romantic? He told me I was his missing puzzle piece—a guy couldn’t get more romantic than that. The gesture made my heart skip beat after beat. But later when the adrenaline rush slowed, we talked about it more. We agreed that we would get married . . . but only when the time was right. Plus, I would need time to plan the wedding.

“I don’t want to be that couple that gets married only because they’re having a baby,” I reminded him.

“Does my name still go on the birth certificate? Will the baby have my last name?” he asks.

His voice is full of concern. I muster all of my energy as another cramp hits. Once it passes I straddle his lap and take his face in my hands. “This baby is yours and mine. Yes, your name will be on the birth certificate and, yes, he will have your last name.”

He slides his lips to kiss my hand and takes them in his. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Then I know what he needs. “Ben, just so you know, I did put your name on the birth certificate that just read baby.” I can finally talk about the baby, our baby that I gave up, and feel that I did what was right.

His eyes glitter with tears, but before they can spill I let out a scream.

He takes my hand. “Let’s go. They’re coming too close. We need to get to the hospital.”

“Did you pack my bag?”

“S’belle, I can’t find shit in there. Tell me what you want to wear to the hospital and I’ll get it. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

“My white top with the . . .” I gasp for air.

He’s really in a panic now. He shoves his feet into his boots and zips and buttons his clothes.

When the contraction stops I stand up. “Let me show you.”

“Okay, but make it quick.”

“Ben, you have to put socks on.”

“What?” he asks, confused.

“You didn’t put socks on before you put your boots on. Your feet are going to smell.”

He laughs and grabs a pair from the dresser as I make my way to the closet. I can see what he’s talking about. Huge mess of clothes everywhere. I point to the items I want. Ben throws them all in a bag along with some of my toiletries. Then he helps me slide on my panties. Next I shimmy a pair of jeans on and decide to wear his shirt with no bra. I don’t really care at this point.

Once I’m ready he takes my hand, but a knifelike pain radiates from my hipbone to my pubic bone and I can’t move.