Claiming the Drakos Heir - Page 30

She shook her head. “I think it’s getting worse.” She settled down on the mattress once again. “Why do these practice contractions have to happen now? Couldn’t they have just waited a day or two?”

He couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or herself. Regardless, he didn’t think she was expecting a response. And so he remained silent.

“Could you hand me my laptop? I want to check the weather.” She told him where he could locate it in her bedroom.

Once he returned to the sparse living room, he said, “I don’t think you’re going to need this. I have a strong feeling we’re in for some rain tonight.”

Just then the first drop of rain pinged off the window. And so the stormy night began. Apollo had this feeling deep in his gut that they were in trouble. And it wasn’t like him to worry needlessly. After all, he was used to camping in jungles with wild animals, on top of mountains in the unforgiving snow and even lost in the desert during a sandstorm.

But there was one thing he’d learned from all of his experiences and that was to listen to his gut. He had some kind of crazy sense of imminent peril. But that’s all it was—a feeling. It didn’t come with any warnings of what to avoid or how to prepare. He just knew to be on guard.

While Popi used her computer, he moved to the front door. With the wind still blowing, he decided against opening the door. Instead he moved to the window. Even with the covered porch to protect the window from the now-pounding rain, he couldn’t see more than a foot past the window. It was the blackest night he could remember.

He turned back to Popi. Her face was scrunched up in pain as her hand pressed to her rounded abdomen. The feeling of doom came over him again.

He rushed to her side. “Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head as she let go of the laptop and leaned back against the pillows. “I don’t understand it. The pain is getting worse. Usually it subsides by now.”

And then he had the worst thought possible. He internally struggled with whether he should put voice to his thoughts. Saying it out loud and putting it into the universe was like tempting fate. But something told him that their fate had already been written.

CHAPTER TEN

APOLLO’S PULSE RACED.

He knew what was happening. Popi was going into labor.

In the next breath, he calmed himself with the knowledge that it was too early for labor. She’d told him earlier that day that she still had a couple of weeks until her due date. Everything was going to be all right. But he had to be sure.

“Could you be in labor?” he asked.

“Um. No. It’ll stop.”

That wasn’t good enough. “We had a deal. I’m calling for the ferry.”

“They won’t come out this late. And certainly not to pick up the two of us.”

“Then, a helicopter.”

She shook her head. “It costs more money than I have.”

“Don’t worry about the money. We have to make sure you’re okay.”

Popi sighed. “There.”

“What?”

“The pain, it subsided. Everything is going to be okay.”

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t think they were in the clear. He thought this was just the calm before a stormy night. And he prayed he hadn’t made the biggest mistake of their lives by letting her insist they remain on the island.

“You better check on the soup,” she said, sending him a small smile. “I hear the lid rattling.”

“How can you hear anything over the noise outside?”

As he moved to the kitchen to tend to the soup and adjust the temperature, he realized that he needed a plan. If the worst happened, he needed to get Popi to the hospital. Because she may be fine now, but she wasn’t a few moments ago. And he was worried that it was going to happen again.

Flashes of his childhood raced through his mind. It’s your fault she died. His father’s drunken rants hadn’t taunted him in many years. But these were extraordinary circumstances—a position he’d never wanted to find himself in. Ever. If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be here.

“You’re awfully quiet. Is everything okay?” Popi asked.

Apollo turned to find her getting to her feet. He rushed to her side to lend her a hand. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”

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