Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

“Seriously, Mother Hen, I’m fine.” I give Mel a light push. “If I wear anything fluffier, I’m going to become a marshmallow.”

My sister sighs and helps me slip my feet into the ultra-plush slippers she bought for me as an early baby shower gift. “Are you sure? I can get you another blanket.”

I’ve just taken a shower and was greeted upon my emergence with a neatly folded pile of pajamas, a thick robe, these slippers, and a faux fur blanket to wrap around me. I know this is all supposed to help me calm down and feel safe, warm, and comfortable, but…

It also kind of makes me feel like they’ve packaged me in bubble wrap.

“I’m fine, really. I think I just want to lay down.”

“After a glass of water.” Melanie steers me toward her kitchen. “You sound parched. Have you been drinking enough water lately?”

I want to say I have. I want to be able to say I’ve been taking perfectly good care of myself in the midst of Pasha shattering my heart. That I’ve been stretching and meditating and drinking green juices and journaling my stresses as I ascend to a higher astral plane of peace and equanimity.

But that would be a lie.

“Honestly, I think I’ve cried it all back out.”

Jameson is already in the kitchen when we arrive. He’s got a glass in one hand and the ice box in the other. “One glass of water, coming right up!”

“Oh, no, really⁠—”

“Daphne.” Mels gives me a squeeze. “You need to get fluids in your body. For you and your baby.”

She’s right. I don’t want her to be right—I’m supposed to be the wise older sister giving her advice. “Fine.” I take the glass and sip slowly.

I needed this. I didn’t realize how thirsty I’ve been until that first sip of⁠—

Something’s wrong.

It starts in the base of my spine, a rolling sensation that travels up through my muscles in a violent flood. The rush is so instant, so unexpected, I’m almost dizzy from it.

But then it crashes back down.

Zeroes in on my abdomen.

Holy fucking shit!

I don’t even realize I’ve cried out at first. The sound is muted amid the rushing in my ears.

Jameson and Melanie grab my arms to hold me up. Did I fall? My legs feel wobbly. I can’t breathe. My heart is racing. I need to breathe.

Another rush, this time focused entirely on my abdomen. If I could double over, I would; it hurts so fucking much!

“Breathe, Daphne,” Mel coos in my ear. “Breathe. In, out.” She sucks in air and slowly blows it out, the same way those birthing videos showed me at the clinic.

“It could be Braxton-Hicks,” Jameson mutters, more to himself than to us. “You’re, what, thirty-five weeks along?”

I shake my head. “Thirty-seven. Almost thirty-eight.”

They exchange concerned glances.

“I’ll call my mom.” Jameson helps her ease me onto the couch and grabs his phone from the coffee table. “Let her know what’s happening, see if she can keep the kids a while longer.”

“What?” I’m partly disappointed I haven’t seen my niece and nephew yet. But mostly, I’m panicking over the way they’re looking at me. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Melanie strokes my hair back from my forehead. “Just keep breathing, sweetie. We’ve got you. It’s a good thing you’re still packed, huh?” She glances over at her husband, who is talking with his mother on his phone while pacing back and forth and glancing at me.

She checks her smart watch. “I’m gonna set up a timer, okay? Let me know when the next one happens.”

Realization dawns. “No. I’m not… I can’t be…”

“Sorry, sweets.” Her smile has a tinge of sadness that doesn’t help my panic. I don’t need her sympathy—I need her to tell me I’m hallucinating all of this.

I can’t be going into labor. It’s too soon.

It’s too fucking soon.

Jameson gives her the thumbs-up. I’m hoisted to my feet, my arm draped around my sister’s shoulders. They switch places so he can half-carry me out to the car while she wheels my suitcase behind us.

“We’ve got you,” he reminds me. “You’re safe.”

I know I am. I know they’ll take bullets for me if need be—and God forbid that occasion should ever arise.

I just hate how alone I feel, even while surrounded by family.

Jameson peels the car out of the garage, burning rubber as he whips us onto the street. Melanie scolds him to be more careful. They bicker back and forth for a few moments while I try to lean to one side, or shuffle my weight down a bit more…

Another wave of pain spikes through my stomach, making me cry out, then groan through my clenched teeth.

I don’t think this is Braxton-Hicks.

I think this is happening.

“Mel… do you have my phone?”

She rummages through my bag for a second, then hands me my phone. “Want me to call anyone for you? Split the list?”

I shake my head. Woof. Bad mistake. “No, thanks. I got this.”

Pasha’s name is the first one I hit. Please, please, pick up… pick up…

Automatic voicemail.

I hang up. Steel myself for the explosion of his patience. Call again.

Pasha! Please!

It rings. And rings. And rings.

Voicemail.

I can’t cry. Not right now. Think, Daphne!

ME: SOS

ME: I’m in labor

ME: This is happening

ME: Please pick up

Whatever he may be feeling about me, I know how much our daughter means to him. He won’t ignore these texts. If anything, he’ll be calling me in just a second.

Minutes pass. We’re almost at the hospital.

Jameson glances in the rearview mirror. “We’re being followed.”

I try to twist my neck around to see. “Black sedan? Silver detailing?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Ivan. We’re good.”

My heart squeezes with a pain that’s almost, almost as bad as the pain radiating through my body. Pasha’s men will follow me and make sure I’m okay. But not him?

I see the signs for the hospital through the window. If I’m going to get a hold of anyone, I better do it now.

“Hey, Asya? It’s me. Yeah, I’m fine…” I can’t finish saying the word. Tears spill from my eyes and lodge a thick lump in my throat. “I’m not,” I hiccup. “I’m… I’m… I’m in labor.”

“Breathe, malyshka.” Asya’s voice is so soothing in my ear. “Breathe deep; breathe slow. We’re on our way.”

I don’t have time to ask her about Pasha. Jameson whips the car up through the ramp to the Emergency Room entrance and leaps out, shouting and waving for the nurses to come help get me out of the car. Ivan pulls up behind us and yanks my door open.

Someone pushes a wheelchair over to us. I’m hoisted in and wheeled inside, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of information Melanie is giving the attending nurse.

“Let’s get you in a room.” The nurse nods to her colleagues, who begin the check-in process at the desk. “You came at a good time. We should have a doctor taking a look at you in just a few minutes.”

We’re escorted back through the double doors and into a room that the nurse explains will only be temporary. Either I’m just having Braxton-Hicks contractions and I’m good to go home, or I’m actually in labor and will be sent upstairs to the maternity ward.

“No matter what, we’ll take good care of you.”

I try to smile.

I just wish my heart wasn’t shattering in the middle of all this.

True to their word, the doctor enters the room within a matter of minutes. She checks my chart, my vitals reading, and makes a few notes on her clipboard. “You’re a tad early, but well within the healthy range. Do you have a birthing plan?”

Yes. The plan was for Pasha to be here while I gave birth!

I try to stifle my sob and shake my head. “No.”

“It’s okay.” The doctor squeezes my hand. “This is your first baby, yes? It’s always a bit scary the first time, but we’ve got a great team ready to take care of you.”

“Isn’t… isn’t it Braxton-Hicks? Can’t this just be a false alarm?”

“Normally, I’d say yes, but not this time. Your contractions are too close together. And…” She glances down between my legs, which suddenly feel a lot warmer. “Your water just broke.”

This can’t be happening. Not without Pasha. “No! It’s too early!”

The nurses usher my sister and brother-in-law outside of the room to make room. Ivan’s on the phone with someone and constantly checking on me through the window.

That is, until one of the nurses yanks the curtain shut. They move so quickly, so perfectly in sync; I don’t stand a chance in stopping them.

The doctor smiles at me sympathetically. “A myriad of different things can cause early labor, stress being the biggest one. Have you experienced any intense stress recently?”

I almost burst into laughter. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“Well, there you go. Your body goes through a lot to protect you and your baby from the damages stress can cause. At this stage, your body has decided it’s safer for your baby to be in your arms.” Again, she squeezes my hand, her smile brightening. “Are you ready to meet your daughter?”

No. “Yes.” I sniff.

The calm of the storm lasts long enough for the medical team to wheel me up to the maternity ward. The rooms here are private and cozy, so far removed from the mechanical sterility of the emergency ward.

Pasha would love this. He’d have me using the hot tub they have available for water birthing. He’d be daubing my brow with silk handkerchiefs.

Where is he?!

“I don’t… I can’t…”

The panic is back.

I don’t want to do this without him.

I can’t do this without him.

I try to sit up, to roll out of the bed, but nurses and Melanie rush to my side and ease me back down.

“What do you need?” She strokes my hair back from my face again.

“I need this to stop!” I’m done trying to hold it in. “I need this to stop until he gets here! I need him to answer his fucking phone!”

Am I angry? I don’t know. I’m sobbing into her shirt whenever I’m not screaming in a new surge of pain. I’m clawing at the bed to either get out of it or ride through another back-breaking spasm.

“I don’t want to do this alone…”

Melanie all but climbs onto the bed next to me, ignoring the glares of the attending nurses. She pulls me into her arms and slowly, gently, starts to rock me back and forth. “Shhh,” she soothes. “You’re not doing this alone. I’m here. I’m right here. So is Jameson. We’ve got you.”

I love my brother-in-law, but he’s not the man who should be seeing my baby’s face first. He shouldn’t even have been the man to drive me here.

But he was—because Pasha wasn’t.

He was—because Pasha doesn’t want me anymore.

Another surge of pain rolls through my body, this one more intense than all the others.

Is that supposed to happen?

Is that normal?

The new doctor’s eyes widen when she enters the room and takes one look between my legs.

“Well, this kid certainly doesn’t waste time, does she?” She’s trying to make me laugh and I so desperately wish I could. I should feel more at ease. More comfortable.

If I’m gonna survive this, I have to.

“Alright, Ms. Covington.” She turns on a huge lamp and shines it over my pelvis. “I’m gonna need you to brace yourself and work on that breathing. This baby is coming.”

“Now?!”

“Now.”