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“Brooding counts.”

“I’m not brooding.”

She gives me a look that makes it clear labor hasn’t damaged her ability to recognize bullshit.

I lean forward and press my mouth against her hand. “I hate this.”

Her expression softens. “I know.”

“I hate watching you hurt.”

“I know that too.”

Another contraction begins before I can answer, and Emma sucks in a breath as her hand closes around mine again.

I move immediately. “Tell me what you need.”

“You.”

The answer stops everything else in my head.

Emma squeezes her eyes shut. “Just stay.”

So I do.

I move close enough for her to turn her face into my shoulder, keeping my hand wrapped around hers and the contraction works through her.

The clock continues counting behind me and the monitors keep recording everything I can’t control, but Emma asked me to stay, so I give her my attention instead of trying to find another problem to solve.

When it passes, she stays against me, breathing hard. “I don’t think I can do another six hours of this.

“You don’t have to do six hours right now.”

She lifts her head. “That’s suspiciously reasonable.”

“I have occasional flashes.”

“Must be exhausting.”

“Devastating.”

Her laugh is weak, but it’s there.

I brush the damp hair away from her cheek. “You only have to deal with the next one.”

“And after that?”

“The one after that.”

Her eyes stay on mine. “That’s your plan?”

“It’s the only one I’ve got left.”

She lets out a long breath and rests her forehead against mine. “Okay.”

Another contraction builds before either of us says anything else, and when the one after that follows, I keep my hand in hers and help her through it the same way.

By late afternoon, Dr. Keller checks Emma again and smiles as she pulls off her gloves.