Them (Him #3) (20 page)

“You know you want to wait.”

Sarah’s forehead wrinkles as she pouts up at me. “I’m not sure I can anymore.”

I smooth my hand down the side of her face, all the way to the column of her neck, and let it rest there. “We’re so close, darling.”

“I know,” she whispers, her eyes holding mine.

“We can do it.”

She bobs her head, bringing her hand up to grip my forearm. “I’m sorry I even mentioned it.”

“Hush,” I murmur, leaning down to silence her with my lips.

We’ve reached the stage of her pregnancy where we’ll be visiting the doctor each week going forward. That seems to have Sarah panicking that we don’t know the sex of the baby. There’s no way I’m repainting the baby’s room, though, so we’re sticking to our original waiting plan.

“Did you think it was weird, what he did?” Sarah asks when I pull away.

“The part where he fisted you?” I joke, making her blush.

“I have to ask Christine if her doctor did that, too.”

During our appointment today, Sarah’s doctor confirmed her cervix is softening and that she’s already dilated a bit. Enough so that he massaged the top of the baby’s head. He said that would encourage and stimulate the baby to stay head down. Sarah’s eyes almost bugged out of her head when the doctor said that.

From where I sat, all I wanted to know was exactly how far he had to reach to do that. Makes me rethink sex. Last thing I want to do is give my kid a concussion before he or she is born.

“You let me know what she says.”

I walk her into the house and call out to Logan so he’ll know we’re back. Logan and I have gone to the high school every day since he’s been back from camp to practice lacrosse moves. He’s dead-set on trying out for the JV team next year and wants to be ready for it.

There’s a private league he’s signed up to play on this fall. They also have a spring season, but he wants to play for his school. If he’s still all about lacrosse by next summer, we’re going to look into him trying out for their travel team. The fact that he wants to share this with me is what has me dragging my ass into the heat to practice with him every day.

There will come a point where he won’t think I’m cool. Growing up, all I wanted was my dad to spend time this way with me. I’ll never be able to replace Logan’s dad, but hopefully I can honor his memory by giving my time to Logan.

“I need five minutes to change. Want to grab the gear and meet me at the car?”

“Yep,” he replies, spinning to do what I asked.

Sarah slowly lowers herself onto the sofa, lifting her feet onto the coffee table. Her ankles have been swelling, so she’s doing her best to keep them elevated. I make a mental note to give them a rub for her when Logan and I get back.

I jog up the stairs and into our room so I can change out of what I wore to the doctor and into an old t-shirt and some gym shorts. By the time I make it out to the car, Logan is already there waiting for me. I pop the trunk for him to load all of our gear.

“How was the appointment?” he asks as he slides into his seat.

“It was good. Baby’s good, Sarah’s good, everything is good.”

He nods. “Do you think I can come to the hospital when she has the baby?”

I glance over at him, surprised he’d even ask. “Of course you can. If it ends up taking a while, we’ll have to touch base about you staying the whole time.”

“How long does having a baby take?”

“No clue, man. They say it’s different for everyone. Sarah knows someone who said it took her 24 hours.”

His mouth drops. “That sucks.”

“Yep. So, if it takes that long, we might need to send you home with someone to get some sleep.”

“That makes sense.”

One thing I like about Logan is how level-headed he is. With the exception of the time right after his dad died, when he was dealing with more grief than any kid his age should, of course. Other than that, as long as you explain stuff to him, he’s happy to go with the flow. He doesn’t argue but also doesn’t have an issue letting Sarah and I know what he wants.

“We’ll have to wait and see how it goes.”

“Is she going to do the thing where they cut the baby out of her?”

“A caesarean?”

He nods.

“Nope, she wants to do it the old-fashioned way but with painkillers.”

“It’s supposed to hurt a whole lot, right?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Last night, I got to feel the baby kicking.”

“Where was I?” I get selfish when it comes to hogging all of the baby’s kicks.

Sarah never misses a thing, since it’s all happening real-time for her. Half of the time, when the baby starts kicking, by the time I get there he or she has stopped. My future son or daughter has already learned how to toy with me.

“You were washing dishes.” He laughs.

Once I park, I turn and point at him. “You’re on dish duty for the next week.”

He cracks up. The fact that the baby always stops kicking once I touch Sarah’s stomach has become a running joke between the two of them. I swear it’s like everyone is against me.

“I should make you do laps,” I mumble as we walk onto the field.

Instead, we work on passing until I’m out of breath. Then I defend the goal and have him try to score on me. His confidence has gone way up since camp, so now the only thing going against him is his height. Unless they’re built like a tank, it’s the smaller guys who make great forwards. They’re fast, and their height makes a smaller target for the defenders to go after.

Logan is taller than I was at his age, and I’m 6’3.

“Have you considered playing defense?” This isn’t the first time I’ve asked him this question.

“Defense is boring,” he moans.

“What about midfield? You can run as much as you’d like if you played midi.”

He frowns. “Am I that bad at playing forward?”

Shit.
“It’s not that. I only want you to understand that your height is working against you. This has nothing to do with your ability.” His shoulders slump and it’s clear he has his heart set on playing attack. “How about X?” I hazard.

He lifts his eyes to mine. “The forward who plays behind the goal?”

“Yep. You’d still be a forward, but your strategy would be more as assists than scores. X is not an easy position to play. Your passing has to be flawless so the other team won’t tag your passes mid-air.”

The hint of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “You think I can do it?”

I slip off my glove and reach to muss up his hair. “I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”

I send him behind the goal to practice passing to me as if I were a forward facing the goal. We pass back and forth until I call uncle. I miss the days of unlimited energy. There’s a better chance than not I’ll be hobbling out of bed tomorrow.

When we get back to the house, Sarah takes one look at me and offers to run a hot bath with Epsom salt for me to soak in. Before I follow her upstairs, Logan asks if he can go over to Amber’s house, because her neighborhood has a community pool. Part of me wants to tell him only if I can go with, but I’m too tired to joke around so I nod.

Amber lives close enough to our house that Logan can ride his bike or skateboard there.

By the time I make it upstairs, the bath is almost full. Sarah is bent over it, one of her hands on the lip. At first, it looks like she’s pouring something in it, but then her head turns and her eyes meet mine. I see then that her other hand is clutching her stomach. That and the wild look in her eyes send a shiver straight up my spine. Something is wrong.

Any soreness I had is forgotten and I’m at her side in an instant. “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

I try to ease her back to sit on the toilet but she’s rigid, locked in that curled-forward position.

She hasn’t answered me. Instead, all she does is pant and rasp. The only woman I have ever seen in labor, and I’m assuming that’s what’s happening here, was Christine and she acted nothing like the way Sarah is acting right now.

I drop to my knees in front of her and look up at her. “Please talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”

All she does is shake her head, so I pull out my phone and call 911. Part of me wonders if I’m overreacting, but Sarah is the strongest woman I know and her fear is palpable. While I’m on the phone with the emergency operator, I turn off the water and run downstairs to unlock the door. I almost carry Sarah down with me so she’ll be closer to the EMTs when they arrive but don’t want to risk accidentally hurting her or the baby in any way.

She hasn’t moved an inch by the time I’m back by her side. She hasn’t spoken other than to cry out or whimper in pain, either. Each one hits me like a physical blow. The love of my life is in pain, and I’m powerless to take it away from her. It’s an agony I had not known existed.

It takes five seemingly unending minutes for the ambulance to arrive. Sarah cries out as they ease her onto a cart and then down the stairs, my hands clawing at my shirt to stop from reaching out for her. What would that do? I’d have to push an EMT helping her out of the way while they’re busy navigating the cart down our stairs.

It’s not until she’s in the front yard that I can touch her again. The EMT has the presence of mind to close my front door, since my attention is only on Sarah. We’re loaded into the ambulance and I clasp her hand in both of mine. An EMT who, once I’m in such a confined space I finally notice, is checking her. He is an older Hispanic man, his voice smooth and sure as he relays information to the EMT driving. Half of the words out of his mouth mean nothing to me. They could be good or bad.

A heart rate is elevated. Sarah or the baby’s? Can pain elevate a heart rate? Why is she in so much pain? Is this labor? This is early; we’re not supposed to be going into labor for another month.

“Mr. Price.”

I shake my head and look up at the man on the other side of my wife. “Yes.”

Rapid-fire questions come: how far along is she? Who is her doctor? Family history? Allergies? I answer them as fast as my brain can process them.

After I answer everything, I ask if it’s okay if I make a call. The EMT nods and I call Mrs. Miller to let her know we’re on our way to the hospital and that Logan is with Amber at her pool. With that one call, I’m certain she’ll call my mom, Christine and Logan. I had to call the one person who could handle all of that so I can focus all my attention on Sarah.

When we reach the hospital, we’re taken straight to Labor and Delivery. A nurse, who introduces herself as Dana, and I help Sarah undress and slip on a hospital gown, leaving the back open. I recognize the monitor they hook Sarah up to from when we were here when Reilly was born. After that, they give her an IV. A nurse informs us that Dr. Stacey is on the way, but another doctor is going to examine Sarah in the meantime.

This doctor is a woman, on the short side, with short black hair.

She shakes both of our hands and introduces herself as Dr. Abbott. Sarah groans as the monitor shows a contraction starting. Before that, the pain Sarah was experiencing had seemed to lessen.

“Are they all right?” I ask the doctor, holding Sarah’s hand as she grimaces.

“Her water has not broken, but I’m concerned about the fetal heart rate. It is lower than the range we should see. We’re going to try having Sarah lie on her side and monitor it from there.”

“Is there anything we can do for her pain?”

The doctor makes eye contact with Sarah. “Have you discussed your pain treatment for your delivery with Dr. Stacey?”

Sarah nods. “Yes, I want the epidural.”

“We’ll need to see the baby’s heart rate come up and stay within a normal range first. The anesthesiologist will come and discuss options with you,” she replies.

“If her water hasn’t broken, how do we know for sure she’s in labor?” I ask.

“That’s a great question, Mr. Price. There are multiple signs that lead us to believe Mrs. Price is in actual labor. She is 100% effaced, dilated to 4 centimeters, there is evidence that the mucus plug is gone, and her contractions have been consistent and strengthening since she was in the ambulance.”

Sarah’s eyes widen and all I can say is, “Oh.”

Dr. Abbott chuckles and pats my arm. “Breathe, Dad,” she encourages and leaves the room.

Once she’s out of sight, Sarah covers her face with her hand not attached to the IV. “I’m so embarrassed.”

I gently push her hand away. “Why?”

“I don’t think I needed the ambulance. They all must think I’m a big wuss.”

Pulling a chair over so I can be at eye level with her, I sit. “Don’t say that. If it turns out we were over-cautious, I’d rather that a million times over than the alternative.”

She reaches for my hand and I squeeze it. “You sure?”

With my free hand, I tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Positive.”

Her face softens as someone knocks on the door. It’s the anesthesiologist. He goes over how the epidural works with Sarah and has her sign a consent form. He explains that since there was concern already about the baby’s heart rate, we’ll need to monitor that for another thirty minutes to an hour before he feels comfortable administering the drug. In the meantime, while we wait, he can insert the catheter. That way, once the baby’s heart rate is steady in the range they want it to be, he can get the epidural drugs going without any further delay.

Since Sarah is already on her side, she doesn’t have to move at all for him to do it. He preps her back and waits for her contraction to be over before inserting the catheter. Sarah squeezes the shit out of my hand as he does it but stays perfectly still.

“You’re doing great, darling,” I whisper against her forehead, and I press my lips into a kiss there.

Once the anesthesiologist is done, Dana pops in to check on Sarah. Lying on her side has somehow helped the baby’s heart rate. The nurse has barely left the room when Mrs. Price and Christine dash in and make a beeline for Sarah.

“I’m so sorry I worried you all,” Sarah hurries to say before her next contraction starts.

Her face pinches as she squeezes my hand. I try my best to murmur words of encouragement, but I’m struggling with the fact that I can’t take away her pain. Hadn’t they said she could have the epidural if the baby’s heart rate was steady? How long did it need to be steady before they would do something for her?