31. Mallory
Mallory
I didn’t know a heartbeat could feel smug.
I needed to text my sister but I had no idea where my phone was nor did I have the energy to ask.
The monitor beside my bed pulsed in perfect rhythm, taunting me with every steady beat.
The baby was fine—thriving, even. I’d heard it three times since midnight.
The nurse had grinned, tapping the side of the machine like it was a magic eight ball delivering good news on repeat.
Healthy. Active. Not in distress.
Just me.
I was the one malfunctioning.
My blood pressure was still lower than they liked, my pulse a little too fast. The saline drip had helped, but it hadn’t erased the exhaustion crawling over my skin like static.
Jay mie still sat beside me, quiet, one leg bouncing like it had a mind of its own. He hadn’t let go of my hand all morning.
The doctor knocked once and stepped in. She was tall, maybe mid-forties, with soft curls pulled back and reading glasses perched halfway down her nose. Her name tag—Dr. Neves—was stitched into her coat pocket in navy thread.
She smiled, but her eyes were serious. “You gave us a scare, Mallory.”
I tried to smile back, but my mouth barely moved. “Seems to be a theme lately.”
Jaymie’s grip on my hand tightened.
Dr. Neves pulled the chair closer to my bed and sat without ceremony. She flipped open a tablet, glanced at the monitor, then looked back at me.
“You’re thirty-one weeks. The baby looks good. Strong heartbeat, good activity. But you?”
She looked over her glasses now, directly at me.
“You’re running on fumes.”
I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. I just sat there, skin prickling under the thin hospital blanket, pulse loud in my ears.
“I want to talk about the rest of your pregnancy,” she said. “Specifically, how you’re going to get through it safely.”
Jaymie leaned forward. “What does that mean exactly?”
Dr. Neves glanced between us, assessing. “It means I’m recommending modified bedrest. Not full lock-down—this isn’t a high-risk situation yet. But she needs to stop pushing through. No long shifts. No standing for hours. No stress if it can be avoided.”
Jaymie nodded slowly, then looked at me.
I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Is this… optional?” I asked, hating the way my voice cracked.
“It’s a warning,” she said gently. “Your body’s telling you to slow down. If you don’t listen now, the next step might not be optional. We’re trying to avoid preterm labor.”
The words hit harder than I expected. Not because I didn’t know they were coming—but because hearing them from a doctor, in a quiet hospital room, with Jaymie holding my hand, made them real.
I blinked fast.
Jaymie’s thumb brushed lightly across the back of my hand.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I get it.”
Dr. Neves didn’t smile, but there was a warmth in her expression. “We’ll get you discharged later this afternoon. Go home. Rest. Hydrate. Take care of yourself.”
I nodded. My throat burned.
Jaymie squeezed my hand again. When the door clicked shut behind Dr. Neves, the silence rushed in like a wave.
“I hate this,” I said finally.
“ I know.”
“I don’t know how to stop.”
He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached for the cup of water on the tray and held the straw to my lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You don’t have to stop being who you are,” he said softly. “Just... maybe let the rest of us carry a little more for once.”
I looked up at him then, eyes blurry, and nodded.
And in that one nod, everything shifted.
***
The knock was too soft for Connor. I knew it before the door opened. He didn’t do gentle. Or subtle. But when he stepped into the room, he looked like he was trying—his eyes a little too focused, jaw working like he hadn’t stopped clenching it since last night.
Darren trailed behind him, hands full—one holding a paper bag from the café downstairs, the other gripping a cup with my name scrawled across the side in sharpie.
And Eliza brought up the rear, in her black puffer with snow still melting in her curls, her eyes already narrowed in assessment before she’d even crossed the threshold.
They didn’t say anything at first.
Con nor paced once across the foot of the bed, then leaned against the window ledge.
Darren set the bag on the tray table and hovered near the door, shifting his weight like his sneakers were on fire.
Eliza parked herself in the corner chair with the kind of deliberate calm that only came from years of watching people fall apart.
I pulled the blanket a little higher over my belly.
“They’re putting me on bedrest,” I said into the quiet. “Modified, but… yeah.”
Darren let out a low breath. “Shit.”
Connor didn’t respond—just stared out the window like the gray skyline was going to hand him something useful.
Eliza didn’t blink. “For how long?”
“Until delivery. Probably longer.”
“Okay,” she said. Like it was the simplest thing in the world.
I stared at her. “That’s it?”
She shrugged. “You think I didn’t see this coming? You’ve been burning the candle at both ends and lighting the middle on fire for months.”
That earned a weak snort from Darren.
Connor finally turned around. “What do you need?”
I blinked. “From you?”
“From any of us.”
Jay mie was standing near the doorway now, watching all of it unfold without a single word. Just there. Solid. Present.
“I don’t know,” I said, quieter now. “I don’t know how to ask.”
“Try,” Eliza said.
“I need...” The words stuck, thick in my throat. “I need not to do this alone.”
No one flinched.
Connor just nodded. “Then you won’t.”
Darren gave a little half-smile and added, “We’re really annoying, so consider us stuck to you.”
Eliza stood, brushing her hands together like a deal had been sealed. “I’ll handle the staff schedule. You’re off the grid until you’re back on your feet. No pressure. No timeline.”
“But—”
“I said no timeline,” she repeated, and her voice was soft, but firm enough to knock any protest right out of me.
I swallowed hard and nodded.
Jaymie waited until the room cleared again—until the door clicked shut and the quiet came rushing back.
He didn’t ask for a recap. Just stepped closer, brushing my knuckles with his thumb, like he was reminding me he was still there. That he’d always be there.
“ I can’t go home,” I said after a beat. “There’s too much to do and Too many things I can’t carry.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Come upstairs.”
“Jaymie…”
“My apartment is perfect. It’s already quiet. It’s two floors up. I’ll move the desk out of the guest room and turn it into yours. You’ll have your own bathroom. Your own bed. And I’ll keep you fed and watered like a very grumpy, beautiful houseplant.”
My laugh came out broken.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
There was no press in his voice. No desperation. Just warmth. Just him.
I exhaled, chest tight. “Okay.”
His eyes flicked up, searching mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His grin was quick and wide and softened with something deeper. Something I wasn’t ready to name yet—but felt all the way down to my ribs.
***
He wasn’t bluffing.
By the time they wheeled me downstairs later that afternoon, Jaymie had texted Connor and Darren, and somehow turned a casual favor into a full-on covert ops deployment.
I made it up the elevator one slow step at a time—Jaymie hovering close but not touching, not until I nodded. Then he slid an arm around my waist and steadied me like he’d done it a hundred times.
Inside his apartment, the lights were low and the windows wide open to the cold air, as if they’d wanted to air out the space and welcome me in.
And the guest room...
It didn’t look like a guest room anymore.
The bed had been moved against the far wall to make room for a small shelf with snacks, folded blankets, and a neatly stacked row of baby books—half mine, half clearly from Darren’s panicked shopping spree.
Connor was adjusting the height of the nightstand lamp like it mattered, arguing with Darren about “visual flow,” whatever the hell that meant.
“Do you two moonlight as interior decorators?” I asked, breathless.
“Absolutely not,” Connor said without turning around.
Darren looked proud. “Jaymie said make it comfortable. We took that personally.”
Jay mie guided me into the room, one hand still firm on my back, and I stood there frozen in the doorway, too overwhelmed to move.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said.
Connor grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Darren passed me a cold Gatorade like it was a sacred offering. “We also panic-bought groceries. You have five different types of hummus now. Don’t ask.”
My laugh came out soft. Lopsided. Real.
Jaymie helped me into the bed—careful, quiet, like I was made of something precious—and sat beside me just long enough to press a kiss to my temple.
The guys lingered in the kitchen, arguing over who had emergency key duty. I didn’t even bother weighing in.
My phone buzzed against my thigh. A message from Eliza.
Eliza:
You’re officially on maternity leave. No timeline. No pressure. Come back when you’re good and ready. We’ve got you covered.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Then I turned to Jaymie and whispered, “I think I’m going to be okay.”
He smiled, brushing hair back from my face with the backs of his fingers.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “You are.”