Chapter 8 - Storm over the Coast
“Angela!”
Steven was on his feet in an instant, lunging forward and catching her before her body hit the floorboards.
She collapsed against his chest, her breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. Another spasm rolled through her, tighter and more vicious than the first. A dull, rhythmic pressure clamped down on her pelvis.
“The baby...” she whispered, clutching Steven’s coat lapels with whitening knuckles. “It’s too early... I’m only twenty-eight weeks...”
Steven’s panic vanished, replaced by an icy, adrenaline-fueled focus. He scooped her into his arms, lifting her against his chest. She felt shockingly light, as fragile as sea glass.
“I’ve got you,” Steven said, his voice deep and urgent against her ear. “I’ve got you, Ang. Stay with me.”
He carried her out of the pavilion into the howling gale. The storm had broken early; heavy sheets of rain swept sideways across the bluffs, turning the gravel drive into brown mud. He kicked open the passenger door of his rented SUV, slid her gently onto the heated leather seat, and buckled her in.
He slammed the door, sprinted around to the driver’s side, and fired the engine.
The vehicle’s navigation screen blinked: *NO SATELLITE SIGNAL.*
“Dammit!” Steven roared, slamming the steering wheel. The coastal canyon had blocked cellular reception. He threw the transmission into drive, the all-wheel drive tires churning through the mud as he hurtled down the winding coastal highway.
Beside him, Angela let out a strangled cry, curling onto her side. “Steven... it hurts. Something’s wrong.”
“Look at me, Angela,” he commanded, his left hand reaching across the console to grip hers. Her fingers crushed his with terrifying strength. “Look at my eyes. Breathe with me. In... and out. Come on. Just like we practiced for the half-marathon in Vermont. In and out.”
Angela locked her eyes onto his. Through the haze of searing pain, she saw something in Steven Daniels she had never witnessed in five years of marriage: utter, absolute selflessness. There was no calculation. No image management. Only a man fighting for the survival of his wife and child.
Headlights sliced through the blinding rain ahead. A heavy pickup truck was barreling up the headland road.
It was Gabriel.
The truck skidded to a halt, blocking the narrow lane. Gabriel leaped out into the storm, wearing a yellow oilskin slicker, wrenching Steven’s door open.
“Who the hell are you?” Gabriel shouted over the wind, his fists clenched. “Angela!”
“She’s in preterm labor!” Steven bellowed back, not flinching from Gabriel’s fury. “The clinic in Fort Bragg is twenty miles north, but the road is washing out! Where is the nearest emergency surgical unit?”
Gabriel took one look at Angela’s pale, sweat-slicked face and instantly understood the stakes. The hostility evaporated.
“Mendocino Coast District Hospital! Ten miles south! Follow my tail lights—I know the back-road switchbacks!”
Gabriel sprinted back to his truck, threw it in reverse, swung it around, and hit his hazard lights.
Steven slammed his foot on the accelerator, sticking to the pickup’s bumper as they tore through the darkness beneath towering redwoods, water washing across the hood in blinding waves.
Angela’s hand never left Steven’s.
“Steven...” she whispered between contractions, her lips blue.
“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
“If... if something happens... save her. Do you hear me? Promise me you’ll save our baby.”
May you like
Steven’s vision blurred with tears, but his voice was iron. “Nobody is dying tonight, Angela. Neither of you. I won’t permit it. You hear me? You hold on to me. Hold on to me!”
***
