The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (23)

“Maria,” he cuts me off, removing my hand from my face and making me look at him with a gentle press of his fingers to my chin. “Nothing else matters right now. You can do this.”

The pain is still there, so excruciating it makes me wonder how some women willingly sign up to do this more than once. And I know my eyes must be wild, like an insane woman who is about to come apart at the seams.

Because, I am, for all intents and purposes, an insane woman who is coming apart at the seams. One very specific seam is ripping wide open right at this moment, actually.

“Maria, you can do this,” he repeats. “I’m right here, and I’m going to do everything in my power to take care of you both. But I need you to concentrate and push when you have a contraction so we can get the baby out safely, okay?”

As much as I don’t want to, as much as I’d love to be voted off the island right about now, I curl up my abs and lean in to the pressure as my insides light on fire once again. Remy strokes at my ankle, calmly reassuring me the whole time.

“That’s it, Ri. You’re doing it. I can see you doing it. The baby’s head is moving down.”

I use every ounce of my strength to finish off my push and collapse back toward the elevator floor as the tension in my abdomen recedes slightly.

“You’ve got this. You’re doing so fucking good, it’s ridiculous,” Remy coaches, moving his hand between my legs again. He tries to be discreet, I can tell, but the feeling of him ripping my underwear completely out of the way under these circumstances is the kind of thing my brain will be trying to sort out for decades. “One more big push, okay? The baby is so close, Ri.”

The next contraction comes, and I do the only thing I can do, I woman the fuck up. Lifting my head, I curl into the pressure and push as hard as I can. The intensity and the burning pain make me scream and grip my legs behind the thighs.

And Remy continues to reassure me with encouraging words while he leans his weight into my feet to help give me leverage without moving from the catcher’s position.

“Keep going, Ri! Keep pushing just like that!”

I scream and I yell and I’m pretty sure I say some things about the pope that I’m going to need to confess the next time I go to church, but within a minute, the most beautiful cry in the world rents the air.

“It’s a girl, Maria,” Remy says, looking down at the wiggly, screaming ball of life in his hands. “A beautiful baby girl.”

“Oh God. Oh my God, it’s a girl,” I cry, tears pouring unchecked down my face. “I did it. I did it, and she’s really here.”

Remy doesn’t hesitate from his position between my legs, cradling the messy baby against his chest to check her nose and mouth the best he can, and then gently passing her up to me and laying her on my chest.

“You’re the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, and her cries begin to soften. “Welcome to the world, sweetheart.”

There’s a moment then, of complete and utter spirituality. A moment when everything in the world slows and my sister feels so incredibly present. Her sweet baby girl clings to my chest and wraps her fingers around my own, and all I can do is sob. I see casually through my tears that Remy has pushed himself back to the other side of the elevator and settled his back into the wall, wetness on his face too.

I wouldn’t dare categorize it for him, but the raw emotion among the three of us is so powerful, I feel like I’ve been transported to another planet.

“I hope I don’t sound like a dick when I say this, Ri, but my God, I’m so proud of you. And you should be proud of you, too. What you just did…” He shakes his head, and I swear a tear falls down one of his cheeks. “Incredible.”

Just then, there’s a bang on the outside of the shiny golden doors, and the muffled voice of one of New York’s finest calls, “Hello in there! This is the FDNY. Is everyone all right?”

Remy clears his throat and climbs to his feet just inside the doors. “We’re okay, but we’ve just delivered a baby. We need immediate medical attention.”

There’s mumbling outside and then another yell from the firefighter. “Yes, sir, understood. EMS is on the way! Stand back, please, while we work on getting this elevator switched over to the generator so we can get you guys out!”

Remy steps back and to the side, very pointedly blocking the baby and me from anything that could come from the direction of the doors, and I listen as they get started on getting us out of here.

The baby works her mouth at the fabric at my chest, and my abdomen contracts painfully about every minute or so. I know that my body is attempting to birth the placenta now—thanks to Dr. Maddox and Google-style prenatal education—and that now is the time when some medical professionals would be a really good idea.

I need to be monitored for hemorrhage, and the doctors need to check us both to make sure everything is okay. But I feel tired and weak, and staying awake and alert to the baby on my chest is about all I can do.

I hear hustle and bustle outside the doors, and then finally, the elevator jolts and eases up to the floor. I can hear Remy explaining the entire situation to the firefighters, and I can even almost see a couple of paramedics as they approach. But the details are hazy, my mind a fog, really.

Paramedics are around me now. I can feel their hands as they move up and down my arm to insert an IV, lift me onto the gurney, and wheel me out of the building through the same door I entered what feels like a lifetime ago. Remy trails behind steadily, and I wish with all my might I could find the strength to ask him to come to the hospital. I need to say more—to thank him.