Chapter Forty-Three-Andrea
I know something’s happened.
I don’t know how, but I feel it.
Like a storm breaking far out at sea. Its thunder is silent, but I can feel it rolling through my very bones.
Remy.
He’s out there, doing whatever he thinks he has to, and I can’t shake the sense that tonight changed everything. For him. For us.
But I can’t dwell on it right now.
Because Callie is curled up beside me in her flannel pajamas, her little hands wrapped around the edges of the book in my lap, waiting for me to read.
“Ready?” I ask, and she nods, eyes already drooping but shining bright at the same time.
I smile and start.
“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” I read aloud.
She giggles at that part. “Not even the ones that live in your old apartment, Mommy Andy?”
My heart squeezes. “Not even those, Baby Girl.”
Her laugh is soft, muffled against my arm as I keep reading.
The tree glows in the corner, decked out with glittering ornaments Callie insisted on hanging herself.
Every glitter blob, every crooked bow, every candy cane drooping a little too far to the side—it’s all hers.
And honestly? I think it’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen.
I keep reading, letting the rhythm of the words soothe us both, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around me like armor against the ache in my chest.
Because even if the storm is still raging outside, in here?
It’s just us.
Me and my girl and my babies safe inside me.
And all of us are here, just waiting for the man who’s become my whole world to come home.
Please come home safe, Remy.
I send that prayer out into the universe, willing it to come true, and I sit and cuddle and read.
The minutes tick by oh so slowly, and I listen to the wind rustling through the tall pine trees standing sentinel over our home outside.
I’d never been to Roseland before Remy brought me here, and it is every bit as pretty as its name. I already have plans to plant rose bushes everywhere in our backyard this spring.
Funny how quickly the future comes, bleeding into reality.
And when Callie finally drifts off, head heavy against me, I brush a kiss over her hair and whisper into the quiet, into the magical glow that seems to fill our house from all the fairy lights and holiday decorations, into the dark storm only I seem to feel.
“Hurry home, Remy.”
Mom’s voice is calm, but I can hear the panic under it. Because even thinking he might not come back is too much to bear.
And it’s when that awful thought starts to take hold that I feel the first pain, and I call my mother.
A few hours later.
“I think it's time. You need to get to the hospital, honey.”
I shake my head, sweat beading on my brow even though the December air creeping through the cracked window is cool.
Stubborn.
That’s me.
Always has been.
“Not without him. I’m not doing this without him.”
Mom rubs my back, sighing. “Andrea, twins come early sometimes.”
“Ohhh, oh, oh wow, ow, owieee,” I groan, gasping and clutching my abdomen as another contraction rocks through me.
“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,” Mom says, grabbing her phone.
“Mom, noooooh!” I snap, and the word breaks off into a strangled groan as another wave of pain rips through me.
My whole body seizes, bending me forward, one hand on the table, the other on my belly, swollen and heavy at eight months.
I’ve been trying to hold them off.
To breathe through it.
To will these babies to wait.
But stress is a cruel mistress, and my body isn’t listening to reason.
Not without him.
I won’t do this without him.
The contraction subsides just enough for me to catch my breath—and then I hear it.
The slam of the door. The sound of heavy footsteps.
“Andy? What’s happening? ANDY!”
His voice. My world.
And suddenly, he’s here. Bursting through the door like a force of nature, green eyes blazing, still in tactical gear, sweat and danger clinging to him like a second skin.
“Remy,” I whimper, lifting my arms for his embrace.
I sag against him the second his arms scoop me up, my stubborn resolve crumbling under the weight of relief.
“Remy,” I whisper.
“Honey, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
His voice cracks with fury and fear, but his lips are already on my temple, my hair, my cheek.
“Not without you,” I murmur, clinging to his vest.
His jaw works, throat bobbing. Then he nods, like he understands completely.
Like there’s never been another option.
He kisses me again, fierce and tender, before picking me up in his capable arms and striding towards the door with me secure against his body.
The world outside is a blur of headlights and shadows. An SUV waits at the curb, engine rumbling. Dad’s there, stone-faced, his bulk taking up half the backseat.
A couple of Remy’s guys hover nearby, tense, armed, ready for anything.
“Mom’s inside,” I croak, fighting another wave of pain. “Help her.”
Dad hesitates for a fraction of a second—I see the torn look in his eyes, like leaving me for even that long is killing him.
But then he moves out of the way carefully and nods to Remy and me.
“Take care of her,” he says, and my husband nods.
“Always,” Remy promises, voice rough.
The SUV door slams open. Sammy climbs into the driver’s seat, jaw clenched.
He spares one look back at me, wild and protective.
“You prick,” he growls at Remy. “I should kick your ass for doing this to my sister.”
“Shut up, Sammy, and drive!” I shout through my teeth as another contraction tears through me.
Junior laughs, and maybe Connor does too.
But I’m too busy concentrating on my labor pains to pay any attention to them.
Remy only holds me tighter, his lips at my ear, murmuring over and over, a litany of love and certainty as my world spins.
“It’s gonna be okay. You hear me, Andy? It’s gonna be okay, my love. I’ve got you. Always.”
And somehow, even through the pain, I believe him.