Page 157 of Over the Line

She took another few breaths. “I can call him while you drive.”

“Are you sure?” I glanced at her. “It’s only a few more minutes.”

“I need him to know.”

“I know you do. And I’ll call him as soon as we’re in the door. I promise.”

She had her phone in her hand, but then her breath caught. Another contraction, if I had to guess, and an intense one.

Yeah, I had a feeling this wasn’t a false alarm.

As she recovered, she said, “You’ll call him?”

“I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and she let the subject drop. If I had to guess, the pain was still bearable at this point, but she was scared. She was a first-time mom, after all, and she was going into this without her mom or her partner. Hell, I was jittery with nerves that I shouldn’t have had after being with Taylor through four deliveries. Kind of came with the territory, I guess, though I did my level best to keep my own nerves out of Jasmine’s sight. She needed me as calm and level-headed as possible, and I was determined to get that right this time.

I knew we likely had enough time that a minute or two in either direction wouldn’t make much difference, and driving like a bat out of hell to the hospital was dangerous. Still, I pressed the accelerator just a little harder. Not into reckless driving territory, but enough that I was, at most, risking some blue lights in the rearview and an “Officer, my daughter-in-law is in labor.”

Luckily, traffic wasn’t bad this time of night, and in minutes, I’d pulled in front of the hospital’s entrance. I helped Jasmine out of the car and into the reception area, and someone quickly came with a wheelchair to escort her up to labor and delivery.

“I’m going to park the car and call Chris,” I told her. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Promise.”

Jasmine nodded and flashed me a smile. She was nervous and scared but staying fairly calm.

While she was wheeled upstairs, I jogged back out to the car. As soon as I’d parked, I speed-dialed my son. Unsurprisingly, his phone went straight to voicemail, which meant it was turned off and in his locker.

No problem—he’d left me with half a dozen people I could call if this exact situation arose. The first on the list, one of the assistant coaches, answered. Chris was still in the locker room, fortunately, and the coach handed him the phone.

Chris answered with a panicked, “Is Jasmine okay?”

“She’s fine,” I said, staying as calm as possible for his sake. “But I think you might want to head to the airport.”

“What? Is she in labor? Already?”

I hadn’t realized there were other voices in the background until they suddenly stopped. “We’re at the hospital,” I said. “It might be a false alarm, but my money is on this being the real thing.” I paused. “You’ve still got time, okay? And it could still be a false alarm. But⁠—”

“Oh my God,” he murmured. Then he said to someone else, “I need to talk to Coach. Jasmine’s in labor.” Then he was moving, fast, and his voice sounded on the edge of panic as he asked me, “Is she okay? How is she doing?”

I deliberately injected as much calm as I could into my voice. “She’s doing fine, Chris. It’s probably going to be a while.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be with her. Don’t worry.”

He would worry, of course. I knew that. But hopefully he felt at least some reassurance, knowing she wasn’t alone. And I hoped I wasn’t pulling him out of a game over nothing. With as intense as Jasmine’s pain was getting, though, and with the intervals between contractions shrinking to ten or fifteen minutes at most, this seemed like a moment to err on the side of caution. Especially with Chris being halfway across the country.

I reassured Chris that I wasn’t leaving her side and she was in good hands. We ended the call, and as promised, I stuck with Jasmine. The nurses agreed that this wasn’t a false alarm, and she was admitted. The nurses instructed her walk the halls rather than stay in bed, though, so we started making laps around the ward. That seemed to help with the pain, too. Every time she sat down or was in bed, she was even more uncomfortable, but whenever she was up and moving, it was more manageable.

Still not tons of fun, though. As she had numerous times since we’d started walking, she stopped and pressed her hand against the wall, grimacing as she held her belly with the other.

I held her arm gently just to make sure she stayed upright. When she’d recovered, we started walking again. After another half a lap or so, she muttered, “We’re both going to get our steps in tonight, aren’t we?”

“Probably, yeah.”

She glanced at me. “Are you sure you don’t mind being here? It’s probably going to be a long night.”

I smiled. “Even if I hadn’t come as close as I did to not even being in my son’s life when my first grandchild was born, I would have zero objection to being here.”