Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
He laughs. “I only say what’s true. Amber seems excited?”
“She’s thrilled.”
“Things are going well. I’m scared to trust it.”
I understand that.
After everything, it is scary to believe that our lives are finally going how they are meant to.
“I think we just trust in it,” I say, crossing my legs as I shift to get comfortable. “Amber is back with us four days a week, and soon, it will be full time. That is something to celebrate.”
His eyes scan my face. “She loves you, you know that?”
“Obviously,” I tease. “How could she not?”
He snorts. “I wonder what our little bean will be like. Hopefully less feisty than his or her big sister, because that girl is going to cause chaos when she is a teenager.”
I bare my teeth in feigned fear. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that. Hopefully this one will be placid, sweet, and quiet just like its mother.”
Travis laughs, loud and booming. “If you were any of those things, I’d have hope. But if this baby is anything like you, the world better watch out.”
I roll my eyes. “Come now, I’m as quiet as a mouse.”
He raises his brows.
“Fine, I hope she is like you then.”
A frown tugs at his lips. “That might not be a good thing.”
I turn to face him, eyes narrowing. “You have been through a lot in your life, Travis. If this baby has even a quarter of your strength and resilience, then they will be an incredible human being. Of that, I’m certain.”
“Well fuck,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to mine.
Fuck indeed.
I have high hopes for this little one.
EPILOGUE
“Oh God,” I whisper, bolts of shock pulsing through me as I jerk upright in the dim light of our bedroom.
Damp sheets cling to my skin.
“What’s wrong?” Travis murmurs, sleep thick in his voice. He props himself on one elbow and peers at me, concern widening his eyes.
“My water... I think it just broke.”
He’s out of bed in an instant, panic lacing every word. “What? What do you mean? What does this mean? Oh fuck.”
“It means,” I say, clutching my belly. “This isn’t a drill.”
“Fuck.” He scrambles for clothes, tossing aside shirts until he finds a pair of sweatpants. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get you to the hospital, don’t even panic.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Travis, breathe. It only just started. This can go on for a long time. Just grab the bags, and we’ll go.”
His gaze flickers. “I should run next door, tell your mom. She’ll freak out if I don’t.”
“Okay, I will get changed. You go tell her,” I say, pushing to my feet, my stomach so tight it’s uncomfortable.
He nods, hair mussed, voice shaky. “Okay. I’ll get your mom. You get changed. Then, hospital.”
God, the poor man is a nervous wreck.
For someone who can sing in front of thousands of people, he isn’t coping with this small event.
Well, it’s not exactly small, but still.
I shuffle into the bathroom. Everything is wet. I feel messy. I clean up and pull on a loose cotton dress and a pair of old panties that I have no doubt will not make it through the next few hours. My feet shuffle downstairs, each step slow and careful. At the front door, my mother, Chief, and Travis burst in like a hurricane. Jesus. They’re acting like someone died.
“For Christ’s sake, you lot, I’m not having contractions yet!” I exclaim, laughing. “It’s a baby. Not the end of the world. Calm yourselves.”
My mother hurries to me. “Are you having contractions? How far apart? Should we call the hospital?”
“Mom,” I say, taking her hand and squeezing. “I’m okay. Only a few tight pains. Call them, see how long we should wait before going in. Tell them my water has broken.”
Chief hands her the phone. She disappears into the hallway, murmuring medical details. I close my eyes, breathe slow, and sit down. The first contraction begins, gripping my stomach with fierce intensity that has me crying out and clutching my belly. “Scratch that, contractions,” I call between breaths.
“Fuck,” Travis barks, rushing over.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, as the contraction fades.
“They said time them,” Mom informs me, her eyes wide. “If they get to five minutes, we should go in.”
I nod.
Chief plops next to me on the couch, cracking open a beer and handing one to Travis.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I say, raising my brows. “Father, not every occasion calls for a beer.”
Chief laughs. “I’ll have one then, I’m stressed too, you know.”
I raise my brows. “Oh really?”
“Yeah really. You’re about to push a baby out of the body I helped create, that’s a big deal.”
“Please never say that again,” I groan, then look to Travis. “You good?”
“Yeah, just don’t know what to expect.”
“Blood, body fluids—God knows what else,” Chief answers with a grin. “It’s messy, son.”
“Chief!” Mom and I scold in unison.