Page 130 of Through the Storm

Declan’s at my side in two steps. “Okay. We’re done pretending.”

“I don’t want to be dramatic,” I gasp.

“This is literally the best time to be dramatic.”

They help me to the couch. I curl forward, hugging a pillow like it might anchor me. Another wave hits. I’m not thinking about timing or bags or plans.

I’m thinking about him.

The way Ben’s hand feels around mine.

The way his voice steadies me without trying.

The way he looks at me like I’m important.

My chest tightens harder than the contraction. “No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”

Ella crouches in front of me. “No what?”

I shake my head, tears spilling over before I can stop them.

“I don’t want to moo!” I scream.

“Moo?” Ella asks, confused. “Katy, what do you mean?”

“Ben would know what I mean. But I don’t get to want him,” I cry. “I ended it. I said…”

Another contraction cuts me off. I sob through it this time. Ugly. Uncontained. When it passes, I’m breathing hard, cheeks wet, pride completely gone.

The panic takes over me completely and there’s only one person I need right now.

“No offense, guys, you’re wonderful. But I want Ben,” I say brokenly. “I only want him. I need him. But I pushed him away.” I’m sobbing now.

Ella’s eyes soften immediately, and Declan doesn’t say a word. He just stands up. “I’ll call him.”

I grab his wrist. “He’s in the middle of a game.”

“He’ll come.” He’s already dialing.

Ella presses her forehead to mine. “You’re allowed to need him,” she whispers. “He’ll be thrilled.”

I close my eyes as another wave builds.

And somewhere between the pain and the relief of knowing he’s coming, something inside me finally lets go.

BEN

I’m still full of adrenaline from the first half of the game. I’ve had too much pent-up energy, and even using it on the field, I’m still full of this uneasy feeling. Fuck, I miss her. I keep hoping to see her in the stands but no luck yet.

She’s nine months pregnant, so she’s obviously not coming to a game. But a man can hope.

The locker room smells like sweat and Coach is mid-sentence, pointing at the whiteboard, when my phone vibrates.

I almost ignore it, but I notice the name. Declan. My chest tightens.I step back, fingers already slick as I answer. “Yeah?”

“She’s in labor,” he says with no preamble. “And she’s asking for you.”

Everything else disappears.