But I failed.
I always fail.
My eyes hood, and the flames come into the doorway as my vision starts to blacken around the edges. Damn it, I’m so close. I’m too close. Shutting my lids as my head lulls to the side, I wheeze in a breath and stare at the reflection of the red and orange streams in the window.
The window.
I try to push up on my hands, but my arms give out from the pain.
Add this to the list of things I couldn’t do for them.
I’ll never find a way to be good enough. Not for them, not for Eric, not for this baby inside me, and not for me.
Even the word greatness has always been too good for someone like me.
I should have cut deeper.
“This baby is coming, Dawn,” I raise my voice so she can hear me over her screams. She hasn’t pushed. If she doesn’t, her baby will die.
“No, no, I can’t,” she sobs, rocking her head back and forth against the floor. “I can’t. I need Skirt. Please, go get him. Please.”
“I don’t know where he is, Dawn,” I reply honestly. “Everyone is patched up. They’re looking for him. He will get here.”
“I’ll wait—” she nods sporadically through quick, tiresome breaths. “I’ll wait. We can wait.” Dawn grips her stomach as another contraction rips through her, and she bellows at the top of her lungs. “I’m not doing this without him.” She chokes on her tears.
“Listen to me—you have to. You have to push, Dawn. You are hurting your daughter by refusing to push.”
“Doc, I can’t. I need Skirt. I need him. I can’t do this without him.”
Aidan, her first son, runs around us from the bedroom I told him to stay in, and sits beside her and takes her hand. “You can do it, Mommy. Dad will be here soon.”
Sarah steps behind Dawn and situates herself on the floor, then pulls Dawn into her lap. Sarah takes Dawn’s hand and squeezes. “You can do it. You aren’t alone. We can do this. And when Skirt is here, he will get to hold his beautiful daughter.”
Dawn lets out another heartbreaking sob and whispers, “Okay.”
“Okay? Okay, good. Good job, Dawn.” I spread her legs and see the baby’s head already. “Next contraction, push okay? Little girl has a ton of red hair.”
“Just like her dad,” Dawn adds right before her stomach tightens.
“Push! There you go. You’re doing great, Dawn. You’re so close.”
“Oh God!” she cries and buries the side of her face in Sarah’s shoulder. “I can’t. Sarah, please, I need him. I’m scared.”
“I know you are. I know, but he will be here.” Sarah doesn’t know that for sure.
“How do you know?” Dawn asks, the disbelief clear in her voice.
“Because Rohan is a fighter, Dawn. He’ll not stop fighting for you.” Sarah pushes Dawn’s damp hair out of her face just as another murderous sound leaves Dawn’s throat. “Push, Dawn. Push for Skirt.”
Dawn grips Sarah’s hand so hard, Sarah’s face pinches, and a tear escapes her eye. I know it isn’t for the pain of the grip, but because she’s watching another woman give birth. Something she desperately wants.
“Head is out! Oh my goodness, that hair,” I say with a big smile. “I’ve never seen so much hair on a baby before. Don’t stop pushing, Dawn. You’re so close.” She spreads her legs wider and hunkers down until the shoulders are free. I pull her daughter the rest of the way out, and Dawn sags against Sarah, sobbing uncontrollably.
To not have the person you love at your side for this is hard but wondering if the reason they aren’t here is because they might be dead, that’s even harder.
“You did good,” Sarah praises Dawn, patting a damp cloth on the new mom’s forehead. “So good. I’m so proud of you, and Skirt will be too.”
I hold the newborn baby in my arms and clear the fluid out of her nose and mouth. She isn’t breathing. This is exactly what I was afraid of. I cut the cord and carry her away from Dawn so she can’t see what is going on.
“What’s wrong? Why isn’t she crying? Doc?” Dawn tries to get up, but I hold up my hand to stop her. She still has to deliver the placenta, and the last thing I need right now is to save this baby’s life and deal with a hysterical mother.
“Stop. Sit down, breathe, and try not to panic. Trust me first. Okay?” I give her my back and lay the little one down on the table, then rub her chest. “Come on, you can do it. Cry for me,” I whisper to her. “Come on.” The words are a sharp bite as I plead with this tiny baby who has no idea what I’m saying. Her hair is bright red, just like Skirt, and she’s little. She fits in the palm of my hand and can’t weigh more than six pounds. She has a button nose, and the middle of her top lip is indented. She’s beautiful.
I flip her over on her stomach and lay her against my palm, then pat her back while suctioning the fluid out of her mouth again. She was in the birth canal too long. Damn it! Doom clouds over me. With every passing second, I grow more doubtful that Dawn pushed too late. I smack the little girl a bit harder, selling my soul to the damn Devil to get Skirt’s daughter to breathe. A high-pitched cry has my shoulders slumping in relief. I’m so damn happy. Holy hell, what a fucking ride today has been. Jesus. I turn her over in my arms, and Juliette runs to me and hands me a pink blanket. I wrap her up quickly and hand the pink potato over to her mom.
Babies are adorable, but every single one of them look the same to me. A cute, pudgy, squishy potato.
I will never say that to the parents because I’ve learned parents decipher in two seconds who the child looks like more.
“She looks so much like Skirt,” Dawn says.
And I rest my case.
I kneel between Dawn’s legs and birth the placenta, then fall back on my ass. I lean my head against the wall and try to take a moment to myself.
“Doc!” The front door is kicked in and slams against the wall when I hear Tool’s desperate shout for me.
This day is far from over.
I stand and wipe my hands on a towel and see him carrying Skirt in his hands. Bullseye is behind him, carrying Jo.
Goddamn it, that girl!
“Downstairs, everyone! Reaper, carry Dawn, Sarah, please carry her pot—daughter.” I catch myself from saying potato. I’m not thinking straight, and I do not want to insult a woman who was just in painful labor for the last hour. I run ahead of them and think about how to treat Skirt and Jo.
“We have another one!” Braveheart yells behind me. I stop at the basement door and peer down the hall, seeing Braveheart carrying Mary.
She has a piece of wood embedded in her thigh, and from the looks of it, she’s lost a lot of blood.
Swinging the door open, I flip on the light and trample down the stairs. I see Patrick laying on the bed, and Sunnie is next to him. Her blonde hair is splayed across his chest and when she sees me, she hurries off as if she isn’t allowed to be close to him. She wipes her face with the back of her hand. Her blue eyes are the size of sapphires in the bottom of a raging sea.
Everyone feels like that today, and the storm is far from over; especially if the day keeps going like this.