Chapter 1
DYLAN
Gettingaphonecallbefore seven in the morning is never good. Especially when it’s my sister, who’s trying to cram in as much sleep as possible before welcoming her first baby in a few weeks.
“I think the baby is coming early,” Grace says, her voice uneven, weird for my levelheaded little sister. “Like right now.”
“What? Wait, where’s Derek?” I reply, trying to shake off the morning gravel in my voice.
“He’s in Portland at a conference. We thought since there’s still three weeks left, it would be fine, but it’s happening.” She tries to say my name again, but her words are cut off by a high-pitched moan.
“Dyl, I need you to bring me to the hospital. Right now.” She grinds the words out in between harsh pants of breath.
“Holy shit. Um, okay.” Being caught off guard is about my least favorite thing, and I sure as shit wasn’t planning to spend this morning rushing my sister to the hospital instead of working. Sucking in a deep breath and closing my eyes, I work to get my head straight. “Okay, Gracie, I’ll be right there.” I disconnect and hustle to my front door, slipping my feet into sneakers and grabbing my keys off the hook.
I’m in such a rush I don’t have the time for my usual routine, which throws me off. Being a fully functional adult who also happens to be autistic is sometimes tough to navigate. Not getting to check the stove or scratch my dogs’ bellies on the way out the door will send a ripple through my day that I’ll probably feel for a week.
This is an emergency though. I’m no good with social cues, but Grace sounded so jittery that even I can tell she’s freaking out.
I make it to Grace and her husband’s cute little house in record time, leaving the truck running while I rush inside. I find her in the living room, her coat half-on, wearing one boot with the other one clutched in her hand as she white-knuckles the back of her couch with the other, panting her way through what I assume is a contraction. I have no idea how I’m supposed to react, and touch isn’t something I’m super comfortable with, but I go to her, reaching out to gently rub her back.
Before she can say a word, she squeezes her eyes closed and whimpers.
“Dyl, we gotta get to the hospital. I don’t wanna have this baby in the damn car!“ She’s clearly panicking, and never in my life have I seen my sister so undone.
“It’s okay,” I say, even though I have no idea if it’s okay or not. “We’ll make it. Can you walk to the truck?”
She nods weakly, pointing to an overnight bag. “Can you grab my bag? I’m gonna need you to help me walk.”
I grab her stuff and help her out to the truck. She’s hit by another contraction, and the whimpering sounds she’s making are worse than if she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
“It’s okay, we’ll be okay,” I say, talking as much to myself as to her.
Screeching to a halt in front of the ER a few minutes later, I jump out of the truck and go tearing through the glass doors. Grace seems to be getting quieter, which isnothelping my nerves.
“I need some help. There’s someone having a baby outside,” I shout as the automatic doors whoosh shut behind me.
A few nurses glance over, but no one seems to be jumping into action like I would expect.
“Please, can someone help me? There’s a baby literally being born in my truck!”
Chapter 2
REED
Pressingtheredbuttonon my iPhone while restraining myself from throwing it across the room isn’t nearly as satisfying as slamming down the receiver like we could when I was a kid. I wonder if there’s an app that can replicate the experience of violently hanging up on someone because I would very much like to do that right now.
Leaning forward so my elbows are resting on the cluttered desk in front of me, I bury my face in my hands.Fuck, fuck, fuck. News that the electrician has discovered yet another major issue in the fixer-upper house I’m trying to renovate isnotwhat I need right now.
The electrician called right at the end of my night shift, meaning that instead of going home to sleep after being up all night caring for ER patients, I’m going to have to deal with this issue, and god only knows how long that will take.
But fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—I don’t get time to wallow in my sorrows, a regular occurrence in the life of an ER doctor.
It’s almost a relief when an extremely agitated-looking man barrels through the automatic sliding-glass doors into the nearly empty ER. The doc who will take over my shift is still getting changed, so I stand when I hear the man shouting with that unmistakable edge of hysteria in his voice.
“I need help over here!” he bellows.
It’s definitely not the first time we’ve had a father-to-be race into the ER caught up in the throes of panic, and it won’t be the last. More often than not, he’s just freaking out; the mama might be seriously uncomfortable, but usually, she’s nowhere close to actually delivering the baby in the car.