Big Bad Boys A Romance Collection - Penny Wylder Page 0,176

Phade Manson, take this woman to be your wife?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Sylvia Fontain, take this man to be your husband?”

“I do.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

There are cheers all around us. Claudia is screaming, Stone is clapping and whistling. Random people on the beach are hooting and yelping. Phade takes me in his arms, pressing our bodies together as he kisses me.

His lips are wet, soft, and taste like forever.

“Ah,” I say, pulling back suddenly, and grabbing my stomach.

“What is it? Did the baby give you a good kick?” He holds my stomach with both hands, feeling it with open palms.

“I. . . I don't know.” A warm sensation starts to seep down my inner thighs. I'm shocked, afraid, confused. “I'm not sure what's happening. Ah!” I call out as another cramping sensation causes my stomach to tense up.

Keeling over, I'm holding my knees with both hands, and trying to make sense of this.

Claudia is at my side, rubbing my back. “What's wrong?” she asks, looking between Phade and myself. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” he says, dropping to his knees so he can look in my eyes. “What's wrong, Syl?”

The warmth between my legs is flowing like a full stream. Lifting the bottom of my dress slightly, there's a puddle forming beneath me.

“I think the baby is coming.”

Everything happens so fast, like a flash of lightening. A wave of pain surges through my belly, turning it to stone. I want to stand, but no one is letting me up. I'm on the ground, sitting in wet sand.

I can hear the sirens growing closer, but each cramp is worse than the last and I'm not sure if I'm going to make it to the hospital before I have the right baby right here.

“Ahh! Son of a bitch!” Clutching my stomach, I try to keep my breathing even. In slow, out slow, in slow, out slow.

Phade is cradling my body from behind, telling me the ambulance is almost here. He sounds panicked, his voice keeps wavering between strong and weak, between hard and frantic.

Paramedics reach us on the beach, moving me to the stretcher. They're asking me questions; my name, how far along I am, when I'm due, all the usual stuff. The labor pains keep intensifying, and I'm having trouble focusing on them.

Closing my eyes and grunting as the next crushing contraction leaves me without a voice, I can hear Phade taking over, answering the questions for me.

A woman grabs my knees, lifting them onto the stretcher. Dropping down, I can feel her examining me with her fingers. “Sylvia, you're already ten centimeters dilated. I can see the head, you're delivering this baby now.”

“What?” I ask, my eyes frantically moving around the back of the ambulance. “Right now?”

“Yup, right now.” She yells to the man driving as she grabs some bright white towels. “Jim, pull over, this baby is coming.”

The ambulance slows to a stop, and the driver is in the back within seconds. He's tugging on clean gloves, listening as the woman gives him instructions. Gripping one knee, he holds my foot.

“Sir,” she says, pointing at Phade, “I need you to grab her other leg.”

Phade looks white as a ghost, but listens, holding my leg the same as Jim the driver.

Another contraction steals me away, crippling my body with pain. “I can't do this here, I need the hospital, I need a doctor, I need—Ah!” The contraction claws its way through my belly.

“You don't have a choice; this baby is coming now. Ready, Sylvia? When I tell you to push, you push. Understand?”

Sweat is trickling down my forehead, and my heart is racing as I reluctantly agree. This isn't how I pictured the birth of our child. I imagined a hospital room, with a tub for the water birth, and the option for the epidural if I decided I needed it.

This isn't anything close to that.

I can hear the sounds of other cars passing fast, so I know we must be on the side of the highway. Phade looks like he might throw up, and these two strangers, two people who I have never met, are about to deliver my baby.

Another wave of cramping and burning stabs my gut and suddenly I don't care how this baby comes out, I just want it out.

“Give me a good push, Sylvia.” Baring down, I grip the arms of the stretcher and push. “One, two, three. . .” she counts