Soccer/Football Imagines

Marc Bartra (Part 8) [~] Contracted Love

                Marc rushed out of the house. He placed you in the passenger seat of his car and shut the door quickly. You pulled on the seat belt as Marc sprinted around to the other side of the car. Starting the car quickly, Marc back up out of the driveway. You picked up your phone and called the hospital, reserving a room for you when you got there. You called Shakira right afterwards.

                "Hello, how's moving going, (Y/N)?"

                "I'm in labor, Marc's driving me to the hospital right now," you gasped, rubbing your belly as another wave of pain hit.

                "Oh my god! What happened? Did something trigger it?" Shakira asked. You could hear her in the background telling Gerard to bring the kids to a friend's house. Biting your lip nervously, you answered her question.

                "Marc and I had a little screaming match before it happened," you admitted.

                "Is he an idiot? I'll scold him when we get there. We're dropping them off with Toni and then coming to the hospital, see you then. Hang in there," Shakira stated. You thanked her before hanging up. There was a red light and it seemed to be taking forever. You groaned as another contraction hit.

                "It's okay, it's okay. We're going to be alright, (Y/N), just breath," Marc said, sounding frantic as the light would not turn green. "C'mon, c'mon!" he shouted at the light. "Breathe, be calm, just breathe," Marc soothed you before shouting at the driver in front of you for not moving. You breathed in and out, focusing on your breathing instead of your pain. Marc quickly entered the hospital parking lot, parking the car near the entrance. He hopped out and half dragged, half carried you into the maternity wing.

                "Did you call ahead?" the lady behind the desk asked, not even looking up from the computer screen as you and Marc neared the front desk.

                "Yes," Marc stated, trying to right you into a semi-standing position.

                "Name?"

                "(Y/N) Bartra," you choked out.

                "Let me check," she mused, typing something your name into the computer. "How do you spell Bartra?"

                "B-a-r-t-r-a," Marc barked, getting visibly frustrated with the woman.

                "Here it is. Would you like a wheelchair?"

                "Yes, please," you gasped out. A woman came out from behind the desk and wheeled out a wheel chair. You sat in it as she pushed you towards your room. Marc was right next to you, letting you squeeze the life out of his hand. You arrived at your room and you told Marc to text Shakira and Gerard your room number. The nurse helped you change into a hospital gown and hooked you up to an IV.