We meet Pete, Sam, and Reagan on the way into the hospital. “Did you just get here?” Pete asks. He has a bag filled with what I assume are Emily’s things over his shoulder.

“Just walked in the door,” I tell him, and I clap him on the shoulder. “We need to find out where they are.”

But Friday nibbles her thumbnail and motions us toward an elevator. We follow her and go up to the floor she punched. We get out, and there are pictures of babies on the walls and nurses walking around in scrubs with pacifiers and rattles on them. And dogs. And cats. Lots of cats. But I’m pretty sure we’re in the right place because pregnant women are walking by us pushing IV poles.

We stop at the desk and she asks, “Emily Reed?”

The nurse smiles and motions us forward. We follow her to a small room, where Em is sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a hospital gown. She jerks the rear of it closed, and Logan walks around behind her to tie it. He smiles, but she doesn’t really look that happy to see us. I hand Friday the bag and motion for Pete and Sam to follow me. Reagan and Friday walk into the room, and the door closes behind them.

“Why can’t we go in?” Sam asks, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Because she’s going to have a f**king baby, numbnuts,” I tell him. I shove him into the waiting room. A minute later, Logan comes out, wringing his hands.

“She kicked me out,” he says.

I swipe a hand across my smile. “Why?”

He glances toward her room. “Reagan and Friday are getting her dressed.” He paces from one side of the room to the other. “And they’re washing the basketball off her belly.”

I wave my hands wildly so he’ll stop long enough to look at me. “What did the doctor say?” I ask, when I finally have his attention.

“Oh,” Logan says, scratching his head. “Four centimeters.” He holds up four fingers. “One hundred percent effaced.”

“What the f**k does that mean?” Pete asks. “Is something wrong with its face?”

Logan goes and sits on his lap and bounces on top of him. “No, dumbass,” he says, when he finally stops. Pete is moaning and making funny noises from below him. “It means her cervix is ready.”

Pete shoves him and says, “Eww. I don’t want to talk about Emily’s cervix.”

Reagan sticks her head into the waiting room. “Paul,” she says, crooking her finger at me. “Emily wants to talk to you.”

“What about me?” Logan asks.

Reagan waves him off impatiently. “Not yet,” she says. Logan’s face falls.

“Do you mind?” I ask him, pointing toward the room where she’s waiting. She’s his wife, after all.

He shrugs and goes to the window to glare out it. There’s nothing but a cement wall outside that window, so I know he’s not enjoying the view. He’s hurt.

“Come on,” Reagan says, waving at me impatiently.

“Holy hell,” I mutter to myself.

I open the door cautiously and stick my head in. “Did you need something?” I ask. I try not to even look at her. But she barks at me.

“Get in here,” she says.

I walk in, my feet tentative against the floor, barely making a sound. I jab my hands in my pockets and wait.

“I need for you to take care of Logan,” she says. “I don’t want him to miss anything, so wherever he is, can you try to stay with him? Translate. Don’t let him miss a word. I will do as much as I can, but I’m afraid I’m going to get busy.”

That’s all she wanted? “Okay.” I scratch my head again. “You don’t mean I have to be in the room, do you?”

“Not for the actual birth, no,” she says, blowing out a breath. “But if anything goes wrong, you have to promise to stay with him. Promise you won’t leave him.”

That’s a given. “I promise.”

“You’re going to stay the whole time, right?” she asks.

You couldn’t pry me away with a tire iron. “Yes.”

Emily’s face tenses, and she takes in several slow breaths.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask.

Her face relaxes after a moment, and she looks up at me. “Go get Logan.”

“Thank God,” I say as I turn around and go get my brother.

But I have to give her credit. Even when she’s hurting and scared, she’s thinking about my brother and what he needs. My gut clenches. I want that for myself. I want it now.

Logan shoulders his way past me and glares at her. “I’m not leaving again,” he says to her.

She nods. “I know.”

“No matter what you say,” he goes on.

“I just needed to do something. I wanted it to be a surprise.” She holds her hand out to him. “I meant to do it later, but time got away from me, and then I realized that I hadn’t done it yet, and I was almost out of time. And so Friday helped me with it.” She motions for him to take her hand again. “But first we had to wash that stupid basketball off.”

A grin tugs at the corners of my lips when she lifts her hospital gown and I see that the ball is gone. She’s wearing a pair of Logan’s boxer shorts for now, but her belly is huge and she looks like the timer on her chicken has popped. Across her belly are the words, “My name is Catherine. And I’m my daddy’s girl.”

“You finally picked a name?” Logan asks. He puts his hand on her belly and draws out the letters. It’s made like his tattoo that says, “My name is Emily.” It’s the one he got when he found out her real name.