Page 119 of Road to Absolution

Tuck, balancing Lilah at his chest, was groaning at his phone, “Please.”

Nothing. Not one damn bar of service.

From behind me, I heard Art’s boots pounding dirt as he ran, yelling, “I’ll find service!”

His bike had barely turned on by the time I heard my wife cry out, “Maverick,” as her body forced her to disobey what the dispatcher had asked for.

I prepared my empty hand to catch the rest of the baby. “It’s okay, Lilah.”

She only bore down for a second or two before that baby slid into my hands.

My daughter was limp and a color I hope to never see again. She was… lifeless.

Cradling my baby in one hand, I rapidly unwrapped the cord, freeing her neck, but she still didn’t move. Natural instinct had me rubbing the baby all over, trying to stimulate her body, begging her to take a breath.

Nothing.

“Four! Five! Six!...”

I peered up at the men I respected and counted on and saw an awareness that made my blood run cold. These men may have known nothing of delivering babies, or how to care for them, but they knew one thing, and they knew it well.

Death.

“One! Two! Three!...”

“No.”

With my pinky, I tried to clear her itty-bitty mouth. I was shaking so damn hard I’m surprised I could get my finger between her tiny blue lips.

Nothing!

I flipped her over, gently patting the smallest back I had ever seen.

Nothing!

God! Fucking help me!

“One! Two! Three!...”

He was. The whole fucking time.

Laying my baby on her back, I took two fingers and carefully pressed on her chest, counting out, “One. Two. Three…”

Tears fell from my eyes.

“Breathe,” I instructed myself as I recalled every bit of training I had during school or summer camps. Whether or not the techniques were outdated, I was going to try them.

I placed my mouth to the one that had yet to inhale, and I blew my life—my heart—my fucking soul into my child.

Then… “One. Two. Three…”

Then… “Breathe.” Exhale…

Inhale… “One. Two. Three…”

Exhale…

Inhale.