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ZANDER

My phone starts vibrating across the kitchen counter at six fifteen in the morning.

I’m awake, technically, but only because I stayed up too late working on a song and fell asleep on the couch sometime after two. For a few seconds I stare at the ceiling, trying to remember why my neck hurts, before the phone stops.

Then starts again.

That gets me moving, and I grab it on the third ring and see Conlin’s name.

“Someone better be bleeding.”

“Briar’s in labor.”

I sit up so fast the blanket slides to the floor. “What?”

“You heard me. Lachlin took her in about an hour ago. Mom just called.”

Any trace of sleep disappears. “Why am I hearing about this from you?”

“Because apparently nobody wanted to wake the delicate musician.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m on my way to the hospital. You should come too.”

I push to my feet and start looking for the jeans I dropped somewhere near the bedroom. “How far along is she?”

“No idea. Mom said things are moving, which could mean anything from baby in twenty minutes to all of us spending the next twelve hours in a hospital waiting room.”

“Helpful.”

“I do what I can.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the truck with coffee in one hand and my phone plugged into the dash. Before I pull out, I check the Hale family group chat. It’s moving fast enough that I stop trying to read everything and skim for anything important.

Mom: At the hospital.

Dad: Parking.

Conlin: Ten minutes out.

Sloane: On my way.

Lachlin: Still no baby. Briar is doing great.

A minute later, another message comes through.

Lachlin: She says if anyone brings coffee into the room, she’ll kill them.

Then:

Lachlin: That includes me too.

I laugh out loud, set the phone in its holder, and pull onto the road toward Eureka.

Somewhere during the drive, the whole thing starts feeling real. Not abstract. Not the vague future baby we’ve all been talking about for months.