Chapter 23 Sloane
SLOANE
I wake up feeling well-rested for once, until I realize Tucker must have carried me to bed last night. I check the time on my phone and see that it’s nearly eight. Tucker Stag really does have magic fingers if he can massage me into deep slumber and transfer me without waking me.
I bite my lip and listen to see if he’s up or moving around, but all I hear is silence.
He must have already gone to hockey practice.
I sit up slowly, my hand moving to my stomach. Still flat, but not for much longer, according to Dr. Patel. I try not to think about Tucker’s assertion that Stag babies grow big.
Better to focus on the physical space.
The bedroom is gorgeous in the morning light. Enormous, with that sitting area Tucker mentioned, the walk-in closet, the ensuite bathroom with a tub big enough to swim in. The bed is absurdly comfortable—some fancy mattress that manages to be the exact perfect firmness I like.
But what gets me are the small details I missed last night when I was too exhausted to notice.
As I wander around, I notice a basket on the dresser brims with snacks—crackers, dried fruit, those lavender candies from the doctor's office.
He thought of everything.
I make my way to the bathroom. The counter has been cleared—empty except for a note in Tucker's handwriting propped against the mirror:
Towels in the closet. Make yourself at home. - T
I open the drawers to find them lined with that fancy shelf paper, completely empty and waiting. The medicine cabinet's the same—cleared out, ready for my things.
He gave me his bedroom and moved himself into the guest room without complaint.
I brush my teeth and head back out to explore.
The living room looks different in daylight—less intimidating, more lived-in. My boxes are stacked neatly by the wall, labeled in my own handwriting. But what catches my eye are the shopping bags piled by the door.
So many bags.
I move closer, peeking inside the first one. Bamboo crib sheets in soft neutrals—gray, cream, sage green. I pull out another package. More sheets. A third bag has receiving blankets, also bamboo, also expensive.
"Jesus, Tucker," I mutter, moving to the next bag.
A sound machine. Swaddles. A baby bathtub. Hooded towels with little animal ears. Everything is high-quality, thoughtfully chosen, ridiculously expensive.
And then I see the box.
It's huge, leaning against the wall, and the picture on the side shows a sleek double stroller. I recognize the brand—European, featured in all the "best of" lists I've been secretly reading at 2 AM when I can't sleep. A four-figure gadget.
I sink onto the couch, staring at the pile of supplies. He went shopping. By himself. And bought everything we might need and then some.
My phone buzzes.
Tucker
Morning. How'd you sleep?
I stare at the message, then at the shopping bags, then back at the message.
Good. You bought a lot of stuff.
Tucker
Too much? I can return things.
A $2,400 stroller might be a little extra.
Tucker
It has the highest safety ratings. And it converts from infant car seats to toddler seats. We'll use it for years.
We could use it to drive the babies to college.
Tucker
Exactly. Practical.
Despite everything, I smile.
Thank you. For all of it. It's really thoughtful.
Tucker
You're welcome. Appointment at 2, right?
Yes.
Tucker
I'll be home by 1:30 to pick you up.
I set the phone down and look around the apartment again. Our apartment. With all these baby supplies. With Tucker thinking ahead, preparing, making space for me and the twins.
This is real. This is actually happening.
I'm having babies with Tucker Stag.
And I'm living with him and his expensive tastes.
I need coffee. Or tea. Something with caffeine that won't make me puke.
Dr. Patel's office is becoming familiar—the same motivational posters, the same exam table, the same sterile smell. Same Tucker Stag sitting beside me, note app open on his phone, recording everything from my vitals to my comments on the temperature of the room.
"Blood pressure is good," the nurse says, making a note on her own tablet. "Weight is up three pounds since last visit, which is perfect. Any concerns?"
"She's exhausted all the time," Tucker says before I can answer. "Like, falling asleep sitting up. Is that normal?"
The nurse looks at me for confirmation. I nod reluctantly.
"Very normal, especially in the first trimester going into the second." She makes another note. "Are you able to rest when you need to?"
"I'm trying," I say. "I have school—"
"She's taking an incomplete in one class," Tucker interrupts again. "But she's still stressed about it. And she just moved. Is there anything I can do to help?"
The nurse frowns. “I need Sloane to answer her own medical questions, sir.”
His eyes widen. “I’m doing it again. I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”
Something in my chest softens at the genuine concern in his voice. He's not asking for himself—he's advocating for me.
“He’s right,” I assert. “I moved in with Tucker, hoping to ease stress and get more rest.”
"Rest is crucial," the nurse says. "Especially with twins. If you're feeling overwhelmed, don't push through it. Listen to your body."
"She has coursework to finish," Tucker presses. "How can I help her balance that with needing rest?"
The nurse looks between us, a small smile forming.
"It sounds like you're already helping by being aware.
Make sure she's eating regularly—small meals throughout the day.
Encourage naps. Take over household tasks so she doesn't have to worry about them.
" She looks at me. "And Sloane, let him help. Pride doesn't grow healthy babies."
"I'm not—" I start, then stop because she's kind of right. I am being proud. Stubborn about accepting help.
"I'll make sure she rests," Tucker says firmly, typing furiously on his phone. Has he always looked this good when he’s concentrating?
"Good." The nurse finishes her notes. "Dr. Patel will be in shortly for the exam."
When she leaves, I look at Tucker. "You didn't have to do that."
"Do what?"
"Ask about helping me. I can manage."
"I know you can manage," he says. "But you don't have to manage alone anymore. That's the whole point." He gestures vaguely between us.
"The roommate arrangement?"
"The co-parenting partnership." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Sloane, you're growing two humans. My humans. The least I can do is make your life easier while you do it."
Before I can respond, Dr. Patel enters with her warm smile.
"Good to see you both again. How are we feeling?"
"Tired," I admit, eyeing Tucker. "But okay."
"Excellent. Let's take a listen to these babies."
She squirts the gel on my stomach—still cold, still startling—and presses the doppler wand against my skin. Static fills the room, then that rapid flutter of a heartbeat.
"There's Baby A," Dr. Patel says, moving the wand slightly. The heartbeat changes pitch. "And Baby B. Both sound strong and healthy."
Tucker reaches for my hand without seeming to think about it, his fingers threading through mine as we listen to our babies' heartbeats. I should pull away, maintain boundaries, but I can't make myself do it.
"Heart rates are excellent," Dr. Patel continues, making notes. "Growth is on track. Everything looks great. You’ll start feeling movement any day now if you haven’t already.”
I grin at the thought of that, of feeling my babies swim and turn inside my body. What will that be like? And then I’m hit with a wave of sadness wondering if my own mother was even aware enough to appreciate my internal gymnastics.
"What about the exhaustion?" Tucker asks, his voice cutting through my melancholy. "The nurse said it's normal, but it seems extreme."
Dr. Patel gives him an appraising look. "Twin pregnancies are demanding. Her body is working overtime. The exhaustion should improve in the second trimester, which she's entering now, but with twins it might persist longer."
"So rest, small meals, and what else?"
"Hydration is crucial. Prenatal vitamins. And Sloane—" She looks at me seriously. "Don't try to maintain your pre-pregnancy schedule. Your body has different priorities now."
"I have school," I repeat weakly. It’s all I have right now. A few classes and shacking up in a fancy palace full of designer baby gear. I need to recalibrate. Remember my mission. I’m building the experience of the people I said I want to help, right? First-hand knowledge.
Dr. Patel taps her fingers on her leg. “Well, I would say whittle your days down to absolute must-dos and use the rest of your time sleeping and hydrating. There's no prize for pushing yourself to exhaustion."
Tucker squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.
"Any other questions?" Dr. Patel asks.
"When will we be able to tell what they are?" Tucker asks. "Like, boy or girl?"
“We should do an ultrasound to check things out visually. We'll schedule that for your next appointment."
I tune out as Dr. Patel goes through the now-familiar litany of what I should expect for the next round of appointments.
My belly will be goo-ed up, the babies will be on screen, and I will double in size.
Tucker helps me off the exam table with a gentle arm that dances across the small of my back as we make our way to the parking garage.
I realize I like the feel of it, the warmth of his skin, the quiet support of his physical strength.
In the car on the way home, Tucker is quiet. I watch the city pass by the window, settling in to the growing comfort of being around him.
"Thank you," I say finally.
"For what?"
"For asking about the exhaustion. For caring about whether I'm okay."
He glances at me, then back at the road. "Of course I care. You're—" He stops himself. "You're carrying my kids. Your health is their health."
Right. It's about the babies, not me. I shouldn't feel disappointed by that, but I do anyway.