Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

Reluctantly, he gives in, but his expression lets me know he’s not pleased.

“I’ll call Quincy,” he calls as the paramedics load me into the back of the ambulance and one of them takes up a position next to me.

We’re speeding off when the medic starts bombarding me with medical questions about my health history and the pregnancy while he listens to my heartbeat and takes my blood pressure. His eyes flare when he reads the gauge.

“Except for the contractions, do you have any other pain?”

“My head hurts.”

“Blurred vision, seeing spots, or sensitivity to light?”

“Spots.”

His frown deepens. “Nausea or vomiting?”

“Nausea, but I’ve been nauseous since the beginning of the pregnancy.”

“Dizziness?”

“Yes.”

He connects me to a tocometer to measure my contractions and tells me he’s sending the information to the hospital ahead of my arrival. He doesn’t say there’s nothing to worry about, and I’m glad he doesn’t give me meaningless reassurance.

Thanks to Gabriel’s private medical insurance, I’ve been pre-admitted for the delivery at the brand-new Broadacres Clinic a short distance away from home. We clear the gates less than twenty minutes later. A male nurse is waiting at the emergency entrance to escort me to an examination room in the delivery wing where an obstetrician takes immediate charge. With him are two nurses. He’s studying a tablet as one nurse helps me undress and pull on the hospital robe while the other prepares a drip. The nurse helps me into a bathroom for a urine sample before leading me to a gynecology chair where the doctor takes a blood sample and does a physical examination. The look in his eyes when he finally lifts his head reflects my fears.

“Mrs. Louw,” he says in a soothing voice, “you’re nine centimeters dilated, and your contractions are two minutes apart. You’re in the active phase of labor. It’s too late for an epidural. We’re going for natural unless there are complications, all right?”

“Can’t you stop the contractions? It’s too early for the baby.”

The way he looks at me is so calm that his next words floor me completely. “You have severe preeclampsia. Are you familiar with the term?”

I frown at him. “Vaguely.”

“Your blood pressure is too high. If you don’t deliver the baby now, you risk developing eclampsia or seizures, which can be life threatening.” He softens the blow with a pat on my leg.

“What?” Shock resonates through me. “My baby! What about my baby?” I bite my lip as pain sharper than before contracts my body.

“We’re going to do our best. The rest is in God’s hands.” There’s a sense of urgency but also confidence in his movements as he starts to prepare, pulling on scrubs and a hair cap. “Can we call someone to be with you?” He glances at the screen of the tablet. “You have only your husband listed.”

The only people I want are Kris and Charlie. They’re the ones who stood by me regardless, who never lied to or deceived me, but this isn’t a situation I can expose Charlie to, and it’s better that Kris takes care of him.

“No,” I say, “there’s no one else.”

“Get the anesthesiologist on standby,” the doctor says to one of the nurses.

The nurse pushes a needle into my arm and connects it to a drip while the doctor takes a seat in front of my bent legs.

“Push when I tell you,” he says. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

The contractions are coming faster and harder. I need all my energy to breathe through them. I don’t have enough strength left to think, let alone to talk, so I put everything out of my mind except the one task required of me––delivering this baby.

14

Gabriel

The meeting runs overtime. While our investor drones on about the real estate market, I check my watch. It’s almost eight. My phone vibrates on the tabletop. I glance at the screen. It’s a message from Quincy.

Call Rhett.

Something’s up. Being in a meeting, I’d ignored Rhett’s earlier call, but both my bodyguards won’t be trying to reach me if it’s not important. Excusing myself, I leave Michael to chair the meeting and make the call in the hallway.

Rhett’s voice is strained. “Valentina’s on her way to the Broadacres Clinic.”

Every sinew in my body is a string about to snap. “What happened?”

“Her water broke.”

I go cold. I clench the phone so hard my fingers hurt. “Hold on.” I shake like a puppy in a storm. My leg is dead weight dragging behind my body as I hurry back into the meeting room and whisper my emergency in Michael’s ear.

“Go,” he says, grabbing my shoulder, “and let us know.” His eyes are laced with concern as they follow me out of the room.

In the hallway, I text Quincy, telling him to bring the car around, and revert back to Rhett’s call.

Speaking as I walk, I ask, “Where are you?”