"No! No, no, no." One of the male voices turned hoarse as he crouched down beside me. I thought it was Mason until he croaked, "Tinker Bell?" and then I realized it was Pick.
As warm, tender arms enfolded me, I opened my lashes and looked up into a pair of devastated brown eyes. "Pick?"
He scooped me against his chest. He'd finally made it. Just in time.
He kissed my forehead. "Hey, beautiful. You want to take a ride with me? I got a real fast car, and we can get you taken care of in no time."
For a moment, I was confused. Why was he talking about cars and rides when it felt as if everything inside me was splitting apart and my baby was in trouble? But then I understood what he meant. Hospital.
That's when I knew it was bad. Maybe if he'd sounded as cool and collected as I'd always heard him, I could've stayed calm. But he sounded scared, so I got scared.
What if . . . what if Skylar didn't . . . make it? What if Alec had succeeded in . . . ?
Too horrific.
I sobbed out a moan and buried my face in Pick's shirt, my fingers clutching fistfuls. I was so grateful he was here with me.
"It hurts," I told him. It wouldn't hurt so bad if Skylar was okay, would it? Something had to be wrong.
Something was wrong with my baby.
"I know, baby. I know." Crooning, Pick pulled me closer and stood.
Nausea filled me as another band of pain tightened around my abdomen. I tried the breathing technique I'd used when my father had brutalized me. Long, even breaths. But I couldn't seem to calm down enough to stop the fast, shallow pants. I thought I was going to vomit when I was suddenly sky-born and lifted off the ground. Oh, God. Vertigo made my head swim and my stomach convulse.
"Well?" Pick's voice barked. No clue who he was talking to. "Let's get her to the hospital."
I checked out for a minute, refusing to think about anything but his smell clouding my nose. It was hard to think anyway. So I let his scent, which reminded me of coconut tanning oil, make me miss the only thing from Florida that actually made me feel at home. A nice, warm sunny day. The beach. Sand and the soft spray of a wet ocean.
Pressed up against this man who smelled like my favorite kind of sunny day lulled me. I was home again.
People were talking around me, but I didn't really register what they were saying. To focus on words would be to focus on the pain and on what might be happening to the baby inside me.
I clenched my eyes shut and curled deeper into Pick. At that moment, he was the only thing in my universe.
"Hey, it's going to be okay," he murmured into my ear, his voice finally strong with confidence and reassurance.
I clung to that reassurance.
He jostled me enough to let me know we were sliding into a car, then I was nestled on his lap and his arms readjusted to hold me close. I couldn't stop squeezing the front of his shirt. Occasional starts of pain would breach my consciousness, but I was good at blocking unpleasant things. I'd done it for years.
So I shoved them right back out. I absolutely refused to acknowledge that anything bad could happen to Skylar.
It wasn't until we veered sharply around a corner that another shock of pain startled me out of my safe place.
"Easy," Pick barked at whoever was driving.
"Damn, man," a male voice I didn't readily recognize shot back. "I'm trying here. Your car's got more power than I'm used to."
I whimpered and Pick's lips instantly hovered over my ear, his breath warm and soothing. "We're getting you there, Tink. Just a little bit longer."
"My baby," I managed to rasp.
"She's okay. She's going to be just fine. Nothing is going to happen to that precious little angel. I promise you."
"How . . . ?" There was no way he could make such a promise.
"She's fine. I've seen her," he whispered, before choking back what might've been a sob. "And she's beautiful. Absolutely perfect. She's got your amazing blue eyes and the sweetest little cherub face, kind of shaped like a heart. And her hair's dark with the slightest curl. She has a cowlick in her bangs, right here." He pressed his lips to a spot on the right side of my forehead, just at my hairline, where I did not have a cowlick. "Her bottom lip's fuller than the top, and her nose turns up slightly at the end, just like yours."