Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Amber
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
I stretch under the sheets, my hand instinctively going to the mound of my stomach. I’m six months along. I don’t just look pregnant; I am pregnant.
My center of gravity has shifted, my skin is stretched tight and shiny, and my belly button is long gone.
I lie there for a moment, listening to the warehouse.
It’s quiet. No sirens. No distant hum of traffic. Just the deep, rhythmic breathing of the three men I share this bed with.
Knox is on his back, one arm thrown over his head. Fallon is sprawled starfish-style, taking up three-quarters of the mattress. Eli is curled around my back, his hand resting possessively on the bump.
The guest room still smells faintly of Stella’s expensive French perfume, but with her gone, the warehouse feels truly settled.
I know she’ll be back tomorrow, but I miss her already.
My clothes are hanging in the closet next to Knox’s suits. My toiletries are in the bathroom. The spare room that used to be storage is now painted a soft, sage green, waiting for a crib.
The fear of Luke is a distant memory. He’s in a cage six hours away, and the shadow he cast over this town has been washed away by sunlight and the mundane miracle of growing a human being.
I need to pee. Again.
I wiggle out from between Eli and Fallon, groaning as my joints pop. I pad to the bathroom, and when I come back, the smell of something... strange hits me.
I didn’t take that long to pee, did I?
I walk into the kitchen area, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Knox is standing at the island, shirtless, wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” In front of him is a bowl.
“Morning,” he rumbles, his accent thicker in the morning. “You’re up early. The bean is kicking?”
“He’s dancing,” I say, walking over to see what he’s doing. “Knox... what is that?”
In the bowl is a stack of pickles. Doused in chocolate milk.
“It’s for you,” he says, dipping a pickle into the milk and holding it out to me. “You said you wanted salt and sugar. This is both.”
I stare at it. “That is disgusting.”
“Eat,” he commands gently, tapping the pickle against my lip. “It has calcium. And protein. And you’re growing a human.”
I take a bite. The crunch of the pickle mixes with the creaminess of the milk. It’s weirdly, undeniably good. I moan, taking the bowl from him and eating another.
“You are spoiling me,” I say around a mouthful.
“Good,” Knox says, turning back to the stove to scramble eggs. “You should be spoiled.”
A loud, frustrated curse echoes from the living room.
“Merde,” Knox mutters. “Fallon!”
I wander into the living room. Fallon is sitting on the floor, surrounded by pieces of wood.
He’s holding a crib instruction manual in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, looking like he wants to throw both against the wall.
“Need help?” I ask, lowering myself carefully onto the sofa.
“I don’t need help,” he grumbles, though he looks like he’s about to cry. “I need instructions that make sense. Why does piece A go into slot D? It doesn’t fit.”
“It’s because you put the base on upside down, genius,” Eli says, walking out of the bedroom. He’s holding a giant stack of books, his glasses perched on his nose.
Fallon looks at the crib base, then at the manual. “Son of a...”
“It’s okay,” I laugh. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“It has to be safe,” Fallon says, his face serious. He sets the screwdriver down and crawls over to me, resting his head on my knees. “I just want it to be perfect for him. Or her.”
“It will be,” I say, running my hands through his messy hair. “Even if you put it together upside down, the baby won’t know the difference.”
He looks up at me, grinning. “You think?”
“I know,” I say.
Eli sits next to me, stacking his books on the coffee table. The Happiest Baby on the Block, The Alpha Father’s Guide to Pregnancy, What to Expect When You’re Expecting... with Multiple Partners.
“You’ve read those four times,” I tease.
“And I will read them four more,” Eli says, looking at me with intense, serious eyes. “Did you know that in the third trimester, the baby can hear our voices? We should be reading to him. Or singing.”
“Or talking,” Knox says, coming in with a plate of eggs for me. “We talk plenty. The baby will probably come out knowing how to cook a steak… or curse.”
“I want to read,” Maisie says.
I look down. Maisie is standing by the sofa, wearing her pajamas, clutching her rabbit. She’s staring at my stomach like it’s an alien spacecraft.
“Good morning, bug,” I say. “Did you sleep well?”
“Uh-huh,” she says. She climbs onto the sofa, settling between Eli and me. She leans forward, pressing her ear against my belly button. “Hello, baby.”
The baby kicks, hard, right against Maisie’s cheek.
Maisie gasps, pulling back with wide eyes. “He kicked me!”
“That means he likes you,” I tell her.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asks, stroking my stomach gently.
“We don’t know yet,” Eli says. “Do you want it to be a boy or a girl?”
“A brother,” Maisie decides immediately. “Because he can protect me when I’m big. Like Knox protects you.”
My heart melts into a puddle.
“Knox does protect me,” I agree, looking at my big Alpha, who is currently wiping chocolate milk off the counter with a dishrag.
“Mets-en!” Knox says.
“And Fallon makes me laugh,” I continue. “And Eli reads me stories.”
Maisie thinks about this, nodding seriously. “Okay. I will teach him to read, too. And to build cribs.”
“Deal,” Fallon says, holding up his hand for a high-five.
Maisie slaps his hand, then rests her head back on my belly. She hums a soft tune, a song she learned at school, and we all just sit there. Listening.
I look around the room at my pack.
At the flower shop, I used to count the tips in the jar. I used to calculate how many hours I had left until I could run again. I used to jump when the phone rang, terrified it was him, or the hospital, or a debt collector.
Now, the phone is sitting on the counter, silent. My life isn’t about hiding anymore. It’s about nesting. It’s about pickles in chocolate milk and cribs built upside down.
It’s about the way Eli is already planning college funds, and the way Fallon is baby-proofing the cabinets, and the way Knox looks at me like I hung the moon.
I’m not just surviving. I’m not a ghost haunting the edges of a town.
I’m home.
“Hey,” Maisie says, lifting her head. “The baby is kicking again.”
“Is he?” Eli asks.
“Yeah. He’s dancing.” Maisie takes my hand and places it over a spot near my ribs. I feel the steady thump-thump-thump against my palm.
It’s the most magical thing I have ever felt.
“I love you,” I whisper to my stomach. “We all love you.”
“We do,” Knox says, coming over to kiss the top of my head. “Even if you do eat weird food.”
“It’s good,” I defend myself, taking another sip of the pickle milk. “You should try it.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Fallon says.
I laugh, and the movement makes the baby kick again. I wince, pressing a hand to my lower back.
“Sore?” Eli asks immediately, his hand going to my back to rub.
“Just stiff,” I say. “I’m going to go lay down for a little while before Maisie goes to school.”
“I’ll walk you,” Eli says, standing up.
“No, stay,” I say. “I want to look at the nursery for a minute.”
I grab my phone and walk slowly down the hall to the spare room. The door is open. The sage green walls are bright in the morning light.
The crib is still a pile of wood in the other room, but in here, we’ve set up the rocking chair Simon gave us. There are shelves lined with tiny, folded onesies. Mobiles of stars and moons hang from the ceiling.
I sink into the rocking chair, putting my feet up.
I look at the empty space where the crib will go. I think about the baby coming into this room. About the baby smelling like Knox and Fallon and Eli.
About the baby being safe, surrounded by a pack that will burn the world down to keep him warm.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out. It’s a text from Norah.
Baby shower tomorrow at 2 p.m.
I smile, typing back: See you tomorrow.
I set the phone down and close my eyes, rocking gently. The sun is warm on my face. The house is quiet.
And I am so incredibly happy.