Labor was nothing like the books described.
It wasn't beautiful or magical or any of the things people said. It was painful and exhausting and terrifying, especially with contractions coming every three minutes and knowing that somewhere in the city, a war was about to start.
"You're doing great," Dr. Bennett said, checking my progress. "Seven centimeters.
We're getting close."
"How close?" I gasped between contractions.
"Could be an hour, could be three. Every labor is different."
Dante was beside me, holding my hand, looking more terrified than I'd ever seen him and I'd seen him face down armed men without flinching.
"You okay?" I asked him.
"I should be asking you that."
"I asked first."
"I'm terrified. You?"
"Same." Another contraction hit, and I squeezed his hand hard enough to hear bones crack. "But we've got this. Right?"
"Right."
Marcus appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. "Boss, we have a situation."
"Not now, Marcus."
"It's urgent."
