I’ve always run away from labels.

Now there’s one I cannot run away from.

Father.

Future

Vin

“Vin!”

“What!” Something about the way she said my name had me blinking and trying to focus my sleep fogged mind. A shudder traveled through my body. What the hell time is it? The connections in my brain were still a bit fuzzy, but I recognized the pitch of that voice. I’d heard it enough times. Something was wrong.

“Christie?” I spoke into my phone.

“I’m at the hospital, Vin. The baby…” Terror laced her tone.

“What? Isn’t it too early?” I questioned. Christie wasn’t quite eight months pregnant, since that was the last time we’d hooked up. “Is something wrong?”

“You’ve got to come now!”  Fear rippled in her voice.

I’d never heard her sound like this before. My heart pressed against my chest. “Okay, okay on my way.”

I glanced at the time on my phone. Since my head hit the pillow, I’d gotten less than three hours of sleep. Rolling out of bed, I downed some aspirin I kept on the nightstand. Staggering to the bathroom, I washed my face with cold water. It helped a little. My eyesight was no longer quite so blurry. When I glanced at the mirror, I could at least make out my blood shot eyes from too little sleep. But my mind was clear.

Quickly, I tossed on some clean clothes then caught a taxi to the hospital, Christie had scheduled her delivery in. I hoped like hell she would be there. This woman prepared for everything.

Except for an unplanned pregnancy.

I pulled out my phone to shoot a group text to my best friends, Maze and Dante. To let them know Christie was in the hospital and to meet me there but stopped myself before pressing send. First, it was three fucking o’clock in the morning and secondly, I had no idea what the hell was going on, other than I could hear the panic in Christie’s voice. I’d wait until I knew more.

At this hour, it only took about fifteen minutes for me to get to the hospital in midtown. Still, by the time I got there—it was the right hospital—they’d already taken Christie into surgery. I wasn’t family, just the father of the child we’d both agreed to put up for a private adoption. Which meant no one would tell me anything, other than to have a seat and wait for the doctor. Or the lawyer, for the couple adopting the baby. But I wasn’t sure if the hospital or Christie had notified the lawyer, or the couple, and I wasn’t going to remind anyone. At this point, I also didn’t give a rat’s ass. Christie might have been a one or two night hook up, but I still cared about her and the baby we created.

“Mr. Tinsdale?” A pretty young woman in plain purple colored scrubs stood in front of me.

I stood up. “Yes, that’s me. How’s Christie and the baby?”

“Christie signed a form before they took her in, allowing us to talk to you as the biological father of the baby. The baby is in distress, the doctor is performing an emergency C-section, as soon as he knows more, he’ll come out to speak to you.”

“Thank you.” Even if her words did little to relieve my anxiety. I plopped my ass back down onto the seat. It wasn’t until the nurse disappeared through the double doors, I questioned what she’d said. Or rather the way she said it, know more about what? Shouldn’t it only be to tell me if it was a boy or a girl? Oh, God! Did distress mean the baby might die? Was Christie going to be, okay?

I ran my fingers through my shorthair as these thoughts played table tennis in my mind. I’d made a bit of an ass of myself earlier at the nurses’ station, demanding someone come out to tell me something. All I could do now was sit and wait for the doctor.

I sat there alone, my hands rested on my knees, head down, eyes staring at the floor, seeing nothing but my f’ing life rolling away from me. Tied to someone I didn’t even like—for life. One who would be the mother of my child. All because some shitty piece of latex malfunctioned. Fuck of a malfunction. Still, I prayed to a supreme being or beings somewhere out there that Christie and the baby would be okay. Even if I’d agreed to the adoption, the thought of my child dying sent fear zinging through me.

I took a deep breath. Single mother, single father, nothing single about it. Not when an innocent life was involved. A life who apparently wanted to make an early appearance. Way early. A preemie. My child would be a preemie. Labels—fucking labels. All my life I’d dealt with them. But I refused to be placed in anyone’s box.