Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

“I’m around the corner,” August says, frustration in his voice. “But there’s an accident. Hoping this clears soon. How’s she doing?”

“Great,” I say, smiling reassuringly at my cousin. “She’s doing great. They’re a little concerned the baby may not be getting enough oxygen and are talking about a C-section.”

“No, she doesn’t want one,” he says.

I walk a few feet away from the bed and turn my back to Iris.

“She may have to, August,” I say, pitching my voice lower. “She needs you. I don’t care if you have to get out of that car and run, get your ass here.”

I look over my shoulder and give Iris another smile. “Wanna speak to him?”

“Yes.” She nods, her dark hair fanned out in a tangled mess against the pillow. “Please.”

I can’t make out August’s words, but she draws a deep, calming breath and blows it out.

“I know,” Iris says, her voice wavering. “I remember. I just want you here. I’ll get the C-section if I have to, August. I don’t want to do this without you.”

Her voice breaks, and fresh tears roll over her flushed cheeks. “I want you. Please don’t miss our son’s birth.”

When they hang up, I take my phone back and sit beside Iris’s bed. Just as I’m about to find something to distract her while the doctor goes to make arrangements, another scream tears through Iris.

“Dammit!” she yells, screwing her face into a pained mask. “This shit hurts. It didn’t hurt like this before.”

With Sarai, Iris had a difficult pregnancy, but the delivery itself was relatively easy. This time the pregnancy was a breeze, but the delivery is being a little bitch.

“I can’t do this, Lo,” she whispers. “God, I’m so tired.”

“Yes, you can.” I grab her hand and lose the train of what I was about to say when Iris grips my hand so tightly I fear it might break. Damn, that hurts.

Iris grits her teeth and sits up to push as Dr. Matthews walks in with a team to prep for the C-section.

“What’s going . . .” She checks between Iris’s legs and peeks back up, beaming. “That’s what I like to see. Not sure what you did, Mrs. West, but you’re at eight centimeters.”

“I am?” Iris asks, a smile breaking across her pretty face like sunshine. “How? I didn’t do anything.”

“I guess your body just needed a few more minutes to recover and move things along,” she says with a wink. “You had a power surge. Now let’s push.”

Iris is on her second hard push, and the scream is bloodcurdling. I’m not sure how much more I can take. For as long as I can remember, her pain has been my pain, and my pain has been hers. Tears prick my eyes, but I never release her hand, even when my fingers go numb from the pressure. She unleashes another screech when August barrels through the door.

“I’m here, baby,” he says, rushing to her side.

I start to move so August can take my place, but Iris won’t let go. She shakes her head that I’m not to leave.

“Hopscotch,” she whispers tearfully. “Don’t leave me, cuz.”

We’ve always been there for each other, done what the other needed, and that word has been our touchstone through the hardest, darkest things life had in store for us. Emotion scalds my throat, but I manage to nod, determined to withstand the bone-crushing grip for as long as it takes, for as long as she needs. She’ll do this for me one day.

Our eyes hold and our gris-gris rings lock together like our lives, our destinies, have remained entwined. It could be my imagination, but as she bears down and squeezes my hand for one final agonizing push, I feel that power surge the doctor mentioned. The power in our veins passed between two little girls in the Lower Ninth. We held it in a field of rotting cane, even when w

e were torn apart. It flows between us now through years and heartache and unconditional love. The power of an unbroken line.

We are the magic.

35

Kenan

Is it really only the pre-season?