Chapter 65: Chapter Sixty-Five

RAE

I grip Dad’s arm. My stomach twists and turns with anxiety, and I’m highly concerned that I’m going to vomit while walking down the aisle.

In the movies, anxious brides always calm down the second they see their husbands-to-be waiting on the altar (or, for nonreligious peeps like us, waiting beneath the artsy arch).

This is not the movies.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Logan with every ounce of my being. That means I’ll deal with being the center of attention so I can marry him.

It does not mean, however, that I’ll be too wrapped up in our romance to forget that I’m standing before a yard full of people, sporting a baby bump that has its own gravitational pull. That’s not how social anxiety works.

“You look beautiful, Rae,” Dad chokes out, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Dad,” I whine half-playfully, half-entirely-seriously, “you’re going to— ~ow~!” A sharp pain cuts through my core. My hands instinctively fly to my belly.

~No~. She’s not due for a month. I’m imagining things, just like last night.

“Are you alright?” Dad’s eyes are no longer teary. Now, they’re just about bulging out of his head. I don’t know which one is worse. Probably the bulging.

A dull ache fills my abdomen. ~No, please no~.

“I’m going to get your mother,” Dad splutters.

“No.” I take hold of his arm again. No chance is he going out there without me.

I can see it now. Every guest’s eyes glued to him, analyzing his every move as he rushes down the aisle without me, whispers furiously to Mom, and whisks her out the door.

This is my wedding day. I won’t hide behind a door, overhearing whispers and speculation about myself. I spent four years doing that in high school. I refuse to spend a second on it today.

I wince as the music begins playing.

I’m supposed to be walking arm-in-arm with Dad. I feel like I’m about to throw up, my body is cramping so badly I want to cry, and there’s something wet on my legs, but I didn’t pee.

~Fuck~. I should have let Dad get Mom. No, scratch that. “Dad,” I say through gritted teeth, “I need Logan.”

I swear, his eyeballs are going to fall out of his head.

Another wave of pain courses through me. I whimper, clutching my belly, trying to keep myself steady, but I can’t because I think I’m going into labor.

Meanwhile, Dad is staring.

“Get Logan,” I growl.

With one last horrified glance at me, Dad hurries outside. Gasps sound from behind the doors. A jumble of indistinct whispers fills my ears.

Then, I hear the chaos. And the footsteps, feet pounding against the ground. Someone’s running.

And then Logan is here, and I’m leaning into him, and he’s somehow supporting all my weight.

“I’m going to bring you to the hospital now,” he murmurs into my ear. I don’t miss the anxiety in his voice. I know he’s just as scared as I am.

Autumn is his too.

Logan barely speaks while he drives my parents’ car to the hospital. I couldn’t tell you how long we’re in the car. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe ten hours.

My mind is only on Autumn. She can’t be coming. She ~can’t~. First babies are always late. This has to be anxiety. In a couple of hours, I’ll be back at the estate, sheepish as fuck, joking about false alarms.

Then, a pang, one so painful my body convulses, draws a scream from my lungs, and I’m having a ~really~ hard time convincing myself this is only anxiety.

Thank God for the hospital’s valet service. Logan thrusts the keys into an unfazed attendant’s hands.

I cling to his arm, whimpering, relying on him to guide me inside. I’m seeing dark spots in front of my eyes. My entire body hurts. I barely even feel the wheelchair that sweeps me off my feet.

I only realize that I’m still in my fucking wedding dress when the nurse asks me to stand. Logan undoes the hidden zipper and helps me shrug out of the sleeves. A heap of lacy fabric falls to the hospital floor.

I should care about stains and germs and modesty, but I don’t, not in the least bit.

“She’s not due for another four weeks,” I hear Logan telling the nurse. I haven’t the slightest what she replies.

“My baby,” I moan. “Is she okay?”

“We’ll get you checked out soon,” she says.

Everything hurts, but the pain is nothing compared to the pure dread coursing through my veins.

Logan continues his conversation with the nurse, and I hear another voice join in, but I can’t make out a single word. I’m lost in my own thoughts, begging Autumn to be alright.

I come to my senses when I see Dr. Kelley. She’s Mom’s friend, which would normally mean I’m not a fan, but she’s been amazing with me since Mom spilled the news to her.

“Oh, thank God,” Logan breathes.

“Autumn didn’t want to give up the spotlight for mommy’s big day?” Dr. Kelley laughs.

She’s laughing. Does that mean… “Is she okay?” I plead.

“Kylie will get you hooked up to the monitors while I take a look, alright? There’s nothing to be worried about right now. I just need—”

“But will there be?” I whimper. If there’s nothing to worry about right now, does that mean I’ll have to worry later?

“No. Poor wording on my part. Logan, why don’t you take a seat next to Rae?”

I have to wait thirty minutes, all the time being poked and prodded, to hear that my baby is okay. Autumn is okay. Just really, really early.

***

Six hours later, Autumn’s taking her sweet time. She really likes to be the star of the show. Contractions rip through me every five minutes, and I’m pretty sure my screams are echoing all the way into Colorado.

It fucking ~hurts~.

One more centimeter and I can get an epidural.

Mom did her births naturally. No drugs. She wanted to be “present” the whole time.

Fuck that. Being present is really, really, really uncomfortable. I like to think Autumn will forgive me.

She’d fucking better.

“You’re doing great, Rae,” Logan says softly, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead.

I scream in response, courtesy of another contraction. They’re starting to last longer—or maybe that’s just my imagination—and I just want this to be over, but it’s barely even started.

“We didn’t get married,” I whimper once the contraction comes to an end.

“That’s okay. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, remember? We’ve got time.”

I suppose that’s true. I was really hoping for today, but Autumn had other plans. I think this is her preemptive revenge for all the times her father is going to embarrass her with his shitty British accent.

She might be wreaking havoc on my body—and my wedding—but I really do love her an excessive, almost unbelievable amount.