Chapter 28 Willow
WILLOW
There’s a silent beat while Declan thinks of how to answer.
The beat is so silent that it’s loud, and I can hear it from the bedroom, followed by a sudden clatter from the porch—a car door, closing hard.
Running footsteps on the walk. Cheyenne sounds breathless, ragged, when she gasps, “Hi, Camille. Hi, Nina. What did I miss?” Very natural.
My heart leaps so hard I swear one of the babies kicks in protest. I hear their pleasantries, my mom thanking Cheyenne for keeping her secret, Sean introducing himself. Rowan’s fingers are linked in mine, and he strokes my forehead before I realize all the tension being held there.
Their footsteps seem to move in slow motion through the house, like a scene in a movie with an approaching monster. Just like in those movies, my breathing feels extra loud, juxtaposed against my heart beating.
Camille blinks, halfway through the doorway, clutching a bakery box, her smile fading almost as instantly as she sees me.
“Where’s my girl?” my mom crows, coming in behind her. “There she is!” Her tone is so happy as she pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head, and then she freezes when she sees the bed, my hands on my stomach, my cocoon of pillows.
I receive their shock politely, my hands tangling in Rowan’s even harder.
He’s solid beside me, watchful, his fingers intertwined in mine, not letting go.
Declan and Sean slip in behind my mom and sister and stand respectfully against the wall of the room.
Their energy is restless, electric, and the air is thick with perfume, pastry glaze, and tension.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Camille,” I whisper, my voice coming out a rasp.
Mom’s eyes run over me, my face, shoulders, arms, then down, and there are all these micro-expressions, flickers like lightning behind clouds—worry, relief, calculation, anger, confusion.
She makes a small sound I’ve only heard when people see someone they love after a long absence.
It breaks me apart as all this guilt comes crashing over me.
I realize suddenly that these babies weren’t my secrets to keep. They’re people.
“Oh, sweetpea,” she says, and crosses the room.
Mom’s still scanning the room even as she crosses it to lean down and kiss my forehead. Her eyes land on Declan, move to Sean, linger on Rowan—who looks as unthreatening as a man can look sitting beside her very pregnant daughter—and then back to me.
“This is quite the welcome committee,” she says lightly, though her tone wobbles on the edge of question.
“Yeah,” I manage, my mouth dry. “They’ve been helping me a lot.”
“With the…baby?” She’s afraid to say it, but she knows it’s true. How could she not? I’m twice the size of myself. A small wave of relief shoots through me that I don’t even have to say the word “pregnant.”
“Babies,” I correct, and Rowan holds my fingers tighter.
“Oh my God. Oh my God, Willow.” Camille lets out a strangled cry and turns to Cheyenne, who gives a small shrug, her expression something I can’t quite make out. It’s nostalgia and shock—it’s bittersweetness.
Mom sits gingerly on the edge of the bed like she’s entering church, then cups my face and looks at me like there’s something on my face to fix—a crack running through me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
There it is. The question that’s been building for months.
I look down at my hands—at the tiny tremor that won’t quit—and then back up. “I didn’t know how. And then I kept not knowing. And then I was scared.”
Hurt flashes across her face. “Of me?” Mom asks, and it almost undoes me, almost pulls me apart piece by piece.
“Of everything,” I admit, swallowing. “Of telling, and of not telling. Of what you would think. Of what I would feel if you hated me for it.”
Under the blanket, Rowan squeezes my hand. I dare to look into his eyes for just a second, and he nods.
“I could never hate you. You’ll understand…soon? How many months along are you? You look…”
“Enormous, I know,” I finish for her.
“Third trimester with triplets,” Declan says from the doorway, gentle. He’s the exact right distance—near enough to be a resource, far enough to not crowd the moment. “She’s on bed rest right now. We’re monitoring.”
“Triplets,” Camille whispers. “What the fuck?”
That opens the floodgates, and I laugh out loud for a second, then realize that my face is sticky with tears falling down my cheeks and over my chin. They’ve pooled into my neck. Rowan dabs at them with his sleeves.
“And who are you exactly? Who is this ‘we’ monitoring my little girl?” my mom asks Declan, a look of suspicion on her face.
For a moment, Declan looks frozen, his face almost as red as his hair.
Sean comes to his rescue, grabbing him by the shoulder to jolt him out of it and handing him a donut from the box Camille brought.
“Well, I’m Dr. Sean Byrne,” he says, flashing a grin before taking a bite of a donut.
“Friend. Occasional butler. Sometimes emotional support human.”
That earns another small laugh, this one from Mom. He hands her a donut, and she presses a hand to her heart like she’s trying to steady it. “Emotional support human, that’s a new one. And a doctor. Thank goodness. And where’s that accent from, Dr. Byrne?”
“Dublin. Same place as their accents.” He offers her another smile that makes his dimples pop, and I swear I see my mom blush.
Declan steps forward next, setting down his donut and brushing his hands off to offer it to my mom with quiet politeness. “Declan. Um, Dr. Declan Murray. I’m a physician. I’ve been helping Willow monitor the pregnancy—checking vitals, meds, all that.”
Mom shakes his hand automatically. “Another doctor? Well, I suppose that makes sense. It takes a whole village for one baby; I suppose three need their own zip code.” Her voice wavers, but there’s warmth there now.
Rowan, still beside me, lifts his chin. “Rowan,” he says simply. “I’m here to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”
Camille cocks a brow. “And do you succeed?”
He glances at me, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Some days. She can be stubborn.”
“Runs in the family,” Camille says with a shrug.
Cheyenne grabs a donut of her own from the box. “They mean well, Nina. They’ve basically turned the house into a soft launch for a baby spa. Nobody’s ever been so hydrated.”
“Well, that’s great, but who’s the dad?” Camille takes a donut herself, red velvet with cream cheese frosting, and looks from me to the men again, eyes narrowing.
“Are you the dad?” she asks Sean. “You seem comfortable. Or is the guy holding her hand under the blanket the dad?” She looks at Rowan, and all my fears come flooding back.
Telling them about the triplets was one thing.
Telling them about the guys is something else entirely.
Mom shoots her a look. “Camille—”
“What? Someone had to ask!”
The room goes silent except for the clink of a teaspoon, waiting on my answer. It’s funny to think that I can’t honestly answer it anyway. Anxiety swells as I consider all the ways I could tell the truth and all the ways I could lie.
My mom sees something before any of us do, before I even feel it. She lays a hand on my knee and rubs it, murmuring, “Is something wrong?”
I start to tell her no, but as soon as she asks, I see it—the shifting behind my eyes, a sudden and sharp flare of white light bursting across my vision. I want to say it’s nothing, that this visit can stay ordinary for just a little longer.
I blink, trying to clear it. “Huh,” I say softly, more to myself than anyone else.
Rowan notices immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s fine,” I say, but my voice sounds far away.
Rowan reaches for my hand again. “Declan, look at her hand, like.”
I glance down, surprised to see that the skin over my knuckles looks tighter.