The book mentioned in the last chapter was The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood—highly recommend. We are laying some future foundations here today, people! This is not a drill :)

Won't you keep letting me love you for a long time? – "Love You For A Long Time [feat. Sam Gendel & Sam Wilkes – Live" by Maggie Rogers

Claire

I may have been slightly overconfident. This is—this is not going how it did the last time, when I helped Nessie give birth in her cabin.

The speed is there—by Dr. Google's estimation, Mia is already eight or eight and a half centimeters dilated, and the ambulance is still nowhere to be found. Apparently, that emergency that called away Chief and the rest of the crew also tied up the police, and the paramedics. Basically all the people who know much more about medical care than I do. I think I would accept a Girl Scout with a first aid badge at this point.

Who I've got is myself, and Mia, and Bethany on speakerphone. Between the three of us, we're managing.

Sort of.

"Oh, shit," Mia curses, squeezing the bed under her hips. If she's shy about being naked from the waist down, she isn't letting me know. "I want drugs."

"It's definitely too late for drugs," Bethany says over speakerphone. "And I promise Mia, as soon as that baby is out, you're going to forget all about that pain. Claire, how's it looking?"

With a groan and nod from Mia given as permission, I check with my gloved hand. "Nine now, I think. Definitely bigger than eight."

"What about effacement?" Bethany's at work right now, otherwise I'm sure she'd have come right over. Or used bodily force to get Mia in the fucking car.

Stubborn bitches, all three of us.

"Still not really sure what that means," I murmur, separating the action of what exactly I'm doing from the knowledge I'm supposed to glean from it. "It's thinner."

"And you can feel the head?"

"Definitely."

Mia groans. "I'm calling Brady again."

"There has got to be a fucking ambulance in this shithole town," Bethany grumbles.

Mia's breath catches, and the phone in her grip clatters to the floor. "Something's wrong."

"What are you feeling?" Bethany asks.

Mia's upper half thrashes back and forth, the sweat dotting her forehead flinging and sliding haphazardly. "I don't know. I'm just—I need to push. This baby has to come out right now."

"I'm only going to ask this once," Bethany says. "Are you sure you can't wait?"

A single tear slips down Mia's face. Another. "I just have a feeling," she whimpers. "I'm scared, but—yes. Now."

"Okay," Bethany says, just like that. Maybe it's that mother's intuition I don't have, but it's not my place to question.

Bethany walks me through everything I'll need. Towels, mostly, plus sterilized scissors and a fuckton of grit. Her words. I like it, though. I'd like to think I've got plenty of that.

You can't experience what I have and not come out the other side stronger. Just by surviving, by making it to this day and this moment, I have proven that. I have conquered every single one of my hardest days so far.

And here I am, about to bring another life into this world.

Part of me wonders how I always wind up in these situations, but I already know the answer. I surround myself with strong women who want to raise strong women of their own. My mother would be proud of me.

I am proud of me.

I heave a heavy sigh, trying to check the misplaced sense of excitement bubbling in my stomach. "Let's do this, then."

Mia pushes hard and fast, and Bethany and I do our best to cheer her on. I count ten seconds, dozens of times. It's different being on this end of things; when Nessie had Marie, I was merely the cheerleader. Now I'm the quarterback.

Well—maybe Mia's the quarterback.

I am the receiver.

Either way, it's mere minutes later when, with a final grunt from the woman whose vagina I'm staring at, the head crowns and pops through on the same push.

Mia's gasp is one of relief, but mine is one of panic as I take in what I'm seeing.

"Stop," I whisper. Louder, so she hears me over her emotions: "Stop pushing. Don't move."

"What's the matter?" Bethany asks, unease tightening her voice over the phone. "Claire, what's going on?"

Mia is fully crying, tears sliding sideways down her face and into her ears. She reaches down with both hands, and her face contorts with horror as she feels what I'm looking directly at.

Quil

It surprised me this morning, getting called into Chief's office again.

"Did I win another award?" I'd joked, but his face was more solemn. It instantly set off my alarm bells. I was getting fired from my dream job, the thing I'd worked toward for years. I knew I shouldn't have eaten that last breakfast sandwich last week.

He clasped his hands over his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. Studying me. "You are the most senior crew member on this shift, aside from me."

My brows had furrowed. "That's not true, sir. Aaron is several years older than me, and Omar started a full year before I did."

"Let me rephrase. You're the most decorated. The most dedicated. The highest ranking. Should I continue?"

That was… a weird way to fire someone, frankly. I adjusted the collar of my shirt. "What's this about?"

"I'm turning fifty-three this month," he said. Next week, I remembered. I needed to see if the crew wanted to go in on a gift. "And Cheryl has always told me I am to retire at fifty-five and not a day later."

I nodded slowly. Chief's wife overlooked a lot of shit, but I got the feeling that wouldn't be one of them.

Chief stared at me for a long, long time. Outside, behind his closed door, sounds of tinkering and equipment being cleaned were muffled. We were trying to get the station cleaned up as best we could for the wedding, and we were down to the wire now.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you see yourself as a firefighter for the rest of your life?"

"I've seen myself as a firefighter before I was a firefighter," I countered. "That won't change, sir."

"This life is… not for everyone," he said. "How does Claire feel about what you do here?"

My gut tightened, burned with a pleasant warmth. I liked that he knew what Claire meant to me. That without knowing about the imprint or our connection, he knew we were in it for the long haul.

That, for me, it would only ever be Claire.

"She fully supports my decisions." Being nearly indestructible didn't hurt, either.

"Surely, she'll want to settle down one day. Have kids?"

I didn't catch his train of thought, but that was overshadowed by the undercurrent in his voice. "I don't see how that's any of your business, sir."

It wasn't really my business, either, for that matter. It was so much more important for Claire to be settled within herself, as opposed to settled down with me. It was a dumb concept, and we both hated the wording. We weren't settling down to be with each other.

We weren't settling, period.

"Apologies," Chief said, lifting his paper cup only to realize it no longer contained coffee. He grimaced at it. "I was only asking to see whether you'd have the emotional capacity to consider taking my place when I retire. I'd like to train you to be my replacement, Quil."

Those words have been echoing in my brain since, hours later. All through this call that's gone completely off the rails.

Me? The… Chief?

Embry will be proud, if not a little teasing. "Beta's not good enough for you?" I can hear him say. With the impending arrival of Baby Call #2, Embry and I have recently switched Beta and Third responsibilities. I'd imagine he'll phase out of the pack altogether in the next few years. We lose numbers every day, and if the trend continues, there won't be a pack left to manage. The last time I brought my concerns up to Jacob, he'd reminded me of the natural cycle. It wasn't meant to be a permanent solution in the first place.

I guess I'm struggling with the idea that something that's made up a core part of who I am, something that's made me who I am, is potentially coming to an end.

Chief has unknowingly given me more than knows, even just offering. A chance to have a pack again, a team who functions solely on absolute, implicit trust.

Who I might throttle, if they don't stop jerking around.

We'd originally got called in for the car pull from the river, which was over and done with almost as soon as it had started.

But by the time we were heading back to the station, the other crew had called in for backup. There was a daycare with a suspected gas leak, which turned into a confirmed gas leak, once we realized we were still missing a few of the occupants. It turned into a search and rescue, and I think every single ambulance in town showed up to cart the children off to safety.

No fatalities, thank God, which is what we always want.

Unfortunately for me, however, I think some of the gas must have gotten to my men, because they are acting like absolute asshats.

I must be considering Chief's offer more seriously than I thought, if I'm referring to them as my men.

"Can I use your phone?" Brady asks again. He forgot to take his phone out of his uniform before he waded into the river, and it's toast. Not even a five-pound bags of rice is saving that thing. "Wanted to check on Mia."

"Let's head back now. They're just dicking around." I whistle sharply at the others, who slowly turn and begin their trek back to the rigs. "Wanna grab some pizza on the way home?"

Brady shakes his head, reaching for the door handle. "I'd really rather just get there as fast as possible." He's really worried, then, if he's refusing food.

Omar, overhearing this, ruffles his wet hair. "Aw, are you nesting?"

By the time we get back to the station, Brady is vibrating with energy. He's the first one out of the rig, inside the station. When everyone catches up to him, he's already disappeared. "Mia?" he shouts.

With my keen senses I hear a heavy thud upstairs: Brady's helmet dropping to the concrete.

"Hello?" That's Claire, worry dripping off her words. "Can we get some help up here?"

I'm the first up the stairs, toward fast heartbeats and frantic breathing.

Brady's frozen in the doorway, his helmet at his feet like I suspected. On one of the beds lay Mia, naked from the waist down, with Claire between her legs.

Sort of.

The others fill in the space around me, and Claire steps further into Mia's, erm, personal space, blocking it from view.

Brady's the first person to break. "You're in labor?" He goes to take a step.

Claire's head whips around so fast, I don't process the moment. "Do not fucking move," she spits. Hair is falling in her face, her t-shirt damp sweat on her back and around the collar.

"The cord's wrapped around the neck?" Chief guesses, coming up behind me.

Claire nods, blinking back the tears that rim the lower half of her warm brown eyes. "We've only been like this for a few minutes. I know we don't have a lot of time, but I—I don't know what to do." She blinks at me. "I've never learned this."

"We'll tell you," I say, automatically.

"I'm here, Quil," a familiar voice says.

Bethany. A quick glance reveals Claire's phone on speakerphone, perched on the nightstand.

Claire really thought of everything.

And I am just standing here, when I should be doing something.

I jump into action. "Aaron, go get a triage kit. Clamps and the scissors. Chief, call into dispatch and see if we can't snag a low-priority ambulance. They like you the best, and the kids should have mostly been dropped off now. And let the hospital know we're coming."

Chief blinks at me, then nods, but in that second-long glance, I see so clearly what he's thinking:

I am going to be the fire chief. This job is mine, whether I want it or not.

"Mia," I say around the frog in my throat. "Brady's going to come up there to you, and I'm going to get closer, too. To tell Claire what to do."

Mia whimpers an affirmative, and I step up, assessing the situation. Brady rushes to his fiancée's side, smoothing back her own sweat-soaked hair.

Claire and Mia have managed really well for themselves, and for a shitty situation, this is as good as it could at this moment. Without an ultrasound, there was no way to tell the position of the cord, and with one more push, Mia would have likely ruptured her placenta. She would have bled out.

The baby is still, its face wrinkled and pink. It makes me uneasy. Babies are meant to cry. To squirm.

Claire was right—time is of the essence here. And no matter how proud I am of her, or worried for the baby and Mia, there will be time for emotion later.

"Can you get a finger between the neck and the cord?" I ask Claire.

Her hands are shaking violently, but she manages to gently transfer the weight of the head to one hand, freeing her other to check. "Not even a little."

"It's too tight to slip back over, then. We'll need to clamp and cut."

She laughs, and it's a little hysterical. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather do that?"

"I—"

Mia moans loud, her agony filling the air along with the scent of iron and sweat. "I need to keep pushing."

"No, baby," Brady murmurs. "Just a few more minutes. You're so strong. You can do this."

Aaron rushes into the room, handing over the triage kit. I quickly free the clamp, the scissors. Neither are medical grade, neither are perfectly sterile the way I'd like, but the longer this cord is wrapped, the less oxygen the baby receives.

Claire accepts the clamp, which sort of looks like a candle wick trimmer, from my hand. "I was expecting more of a bag-clip situation."

"You're going to shoot for the middle of the cord. It's thicker than it looks, so go farther than you think you need to. Once you clamp it, twist one-eighty to lock it in place."

"It might nick the baby," she murmurs.

"It might," Bethany says over the phone, "but it will heal."

Claire's steadying breath take effect all over her body—and throughout the room. Her hand stills, and in one swift movement, she clamps and twists. Successfully.

She releases a breath, not taking her eyes off her task. Ever the learner. "What now?"

I point. "You're going to clamp again, two inches away."

"And cut in the middle?" She nods to herself, deciding. "Since we can't tell which direction the cord is wrapped."

"Exactly, sweetheart. You're doing so well." My heart hurts with how much I love her.

This movement is more practiced, swifter and surer. She's always been a fast learner.

I have the scissors ready when she extends her hand for them, and just like that, it's done. The cord falls away from the baby's neck. Claire drops the scissors, which clatter against the floor and rain blood on our shoes.

"One more push, Mia," Claire commands.

"Make it a good one," Bethany adds.

Behind us, the team stands near the doorway, watching silently. I hear one lone siren making its way to us. Mia's devolving breaths as she bears down. Brady's sniffles. Everyone else is holding their breath.

The baby spills into Claire's waiting arms, but it's the ear-splitting wail a few seconds later that finally breaks the tension.

"There you are, sweet girl," Claire says, hoisting the bloody baby onto Mia's chest.

The crew cheers wildly, thumping their boots against the floor and walls. It thunders loud enough to threaten the foundation.

Mia and Brady are both openly crying—he's murmuring about how stubborn Mia is, how he hopes their daughter is just like her—and so, to give them a private moment, I turn to Claire.

She's draping an extra towel over Mia's lap, giving her a semblance of her privacy. Claire's more thoughtful than she realizes. More lovely. More wonderful.

Finally, she turns to me, and I see the exhaustion as she recognizes it in her own body. She sways on her feet, and I'm there to catch her.

"You did it, sweetheart." I kiss her clammy forehead, over and over.

"Don't let Mia hear you say that," she mumbles, leaning into me.

"Too late," Mia says. "Thank you, Claire. For everything."

"You did it all. You're going to be a great mom, Mia. You already are."

Mia's eyes leak tears down her cheeks, and Brady brushes them away, his lips hovering near her forehead. "How can you know that? You don't have kids," Mia says.

"I have a mom." Claire's eyes are shining. "Who loved me very much. And your baby does, too."

The paramedics arrive shortly after, and the fire crew clears out to give them space to work. They're impressed by the work Claire did, and she goes bright pink when they tell her she saved both Mia and her daughter's life. Fuck, probably Brady's, too, just by association.

As the three of them are whisked downstairs, Claire finally signs off with Bethany, and hangs up her phone.

"Why don't you head home for the day, Quil," Chief says. "Take this fine young lady with you." He turns his attention to Claire. "You ever want to be a firefighter one day, you've got a spot at this station. I'm sure Quil would agree."

Her gaze turns inquisitive as it lands on me fleetingly, but she smiles and thanks him without calling me on it.

It seems Claire and I have much to discuss.

Her soft body is tucked against my own in my bed, both of us freshly showered after our Day from Hell. We're staring at the picture that just came through on my phone, of Brady, Mia, and baby. Stella Claire Fuller.

"You keep it up, you're going to have an entire town named after you, sweetheart." I kiss her forehead again.

She giggles, snuggling deeper into her side. "I think that means you're legally required to take me on a vacation when Bethany goes into labor."

"Anywhere."

She shifts onto her back, staring at the ceiling. My t-shirt swallows her, hitting above mid-thigh. It's riding up on the side that touches me. Her pink underwear peek through.

How is that her in my clothes is more erotic than her in nothing at all?

Claire turns her head to look at me. "Why did Chief make that comment today? About you agreeing that I'd make a good firefighter."

I was wondering whether she'd bring that up. "He wants me to be his replacement when he retires in a few years."

She sits bolt upright, gasping. "Quil! That's amazing!" She throws her arms around my neck. "I'm so proud of you!"

I pull her into my lap, situating her limbs more comfortably. The curves of her fit like puzzle pieces into the hard edges of me.

"It's not official yet." My fingers take to dancing among damp strands of her hair. "But it would mean we'd have to figure something out, schedule wise. If you did want to become a firefighter. I couldn't be your direct supervisor."

"Maybe," she hums quickly. Her lips press into my Adam's apple, and her pulse ratchets up.

"Quick on the trigger there, sweetheart. Try again with the truth."

She pulls back, trepidation darkening her face. "I… It's just an idea."

"I love your ideas. I'm really looking forward to the idea you're about to have, the one where you sit on my face in these pretty pink panties." My thumb slips under the elastic of them.

Her cheeks turn burgundy, and her thighs press together. She likes that idea, too.

"It's probably silly." She shakes her head. "But, I don't know. I just—I realized I sort of liked what I did today. It was challenging but important. I think I'd like to do something like that."

My eyebrows raise. "You want to be a paramedic?"

Claire wiggles her head in a yes-and-no gesture. "What if—what if I went to medical school? To be an OB-GYN."

"A doctor," I breathe, a wide grin taking root on my face. I'd wager it will never come off. "You want to be a doctor."

She nods, hesitantly. "I like delivering babies. And I'm—surprisingly good at it? I'd have to take out loans, and maybe do some pre-reqs online. But I think Port Angeles has an undergrad program, and I'm sure Seattle has more than one med school option. It's not ideal timing with your promotion, but I think—"

I cut her off with a searing kiss, attempting to push every ounce of passion and I love I have for her into it.

Claire is going to take the world by storm, and I get to have a passenger seat while she does it.

"Dr. Young," I say, pride shining in my voice and eyes. Hell, it's probably coming out of my pores at this point. "Sounds sexy."

"Dr. Young-Ateara," she corrects, pecking at my jaw. "Sounds sexier."

With another searing kiss, we lose ourselves in each other for the rest of the afternoon.