Chapter 30
Thirty
Lainey
SAWYER: Running late. My mom needs me. Don’t wait on me for dinner.
LAINEY: Is everything okay?
SAWYER: Yup. Just a problem with my her garage door. Don’t worry. I’ll still bring the cookies.
LAINEY: We don’t need the cookies. Just bring yourself when you can. I’ll save you a plate.
SAWYER: Thanks, Pages. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Then later—much later:
SAWYER: I’m sorry. I’m not going to make it. Please tell Ollie I’m sorry too.
I stare at my phone, something about the exchange from the day before still making my spidey senses tingle.
But I just tuck away my cell—and the odd feeling along with it—same as I have every time I’ve looked at Sawyer’s message over the last twenty-four hours, and focus on my computer and the video call all of us girls are on as we watch the Grizzlies game together.
Or well, right now as we hang out and chat during intermission.
“I don’t know which looks better,” Harper is saying, holding a framed print of a fictional rabbit and then a different one of a fictional pot-bellied bear up against the wall in her baby’s nursery. “What do you guys think?”
My eyes lock with Faye’s then Kailey’s then Veronica’s.
But Luna is the one to speak.
“I think one of my favorite people in the world has gone certifiably insane,” she says.
Harper glares at her. “You try being this pregnant and not be going a little crazy.”
“Oh, I have,” Luns says, her eyes dancing.
“Ugh. You’re annoying.” Harper scowls. “And I love you—”
“I love you too,” Luns tells her without missing a beat.
“I love all of you.” Harper sets the prints down and sinks into the rocking chair.
“But I cannot be pregnant any longer. And yes,” she adds.
“I ate that pizza and I did the dance to the YouTube video and I curb-walked my pregnant booty all around the neighborhood. But this baby seems determined to stay in for all eternity.”
I giggle.
She glares again.
“Okay,” I say. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”
“What?” she asks eagerly.
“You’re going to relax and eat a full meal and all the snacks you want. You’re going to go to the bathroom ten dozen times and wait for Leo to get home. And you’re going to enjoy this last bit of time before your life changes forever.”
She stares at me for a moment.
Then her bottom lip wobbles. “Dammit, Lanes.”
“What?” I ask.
“That’s beautiful and it makes sense and…” An aggrieved breath. “I hate that you’re right.”
“Do you want the good news?” Veronica asks.
“There’s good news?” Harper says.
“You won’t be pregnant forever.”
Harper’s face freezes comically.
Then she scowls, opens her mouth, and Kailey says,
“Game’s on.”
Later, I’m holding my phone, wondering if I should call Sawyer when the doorbell rings.
I frown.
He told me he was coming by after the game, but I figured he’d text me when he was on the way.
I hurry down the hall, pull it open, and see the man in question standing on my porch.
“Hey, handsome,” I say, pulse speeding as he opens his mouth and says,
“It’s time.”
I blink.
Frown.
“Time for what?”
“Harper’s having her baby.”
“Oh, my God!” I whirl around, suddenly frantic, as though I should be doing something. But there’s nothing for me to do. No bag to pack or baby to push out or car seat to grab or—
“Pages?” He steps into the house, cups my cheeks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m trying to figure out what to do,” I whisper. “Do we wake Ollie up and go to the hospital? He has school tomorrow. So maybe I shouldn’t. But will he be sad—or more importantly, will Harper be upset that we’re not there?”
His knuckles brush along my jaw and his voice goes gentle. “We wait, Pages. Visitor’s hours aren’t until the morning anyway. If we don’t hear anything by then, we’ll head over to the hospital.”
I exhale, mind clearing. “You’re right,” I say. “Of course you are.”
“Words a man loves to hear?” he teases.
Swatting at his chest, I tilt my head toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”
“For your cooking?” A grin. “Always.”
“Good, I have your plate from yesterday.”
He reaches into his backpack. “And I have the cookies.”
“Sawyer,” I whisper.
He brushes his lips over mine. “I’ll lock up. You make the coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“If we’re going to pull an all-nighter while we wait for baby news, we’re going to need caffeine.”
My mouth quirks. “How’d you get so smart?”
“School of Hard Knocks,” he jokes, slipping an arm around my middle. “Let’s hit it, Pages.”
We do just that, moving into the kitchen so I can heat up his plate and then eating all but one of the cookies he brought from Molly’s.
Eventually, we move to the couch.
“Is everything okay with your mom?” I ask as we settle onto the cushions.
“Yeah,” he says. “All good.”
Something about his tone has me leaning closer, taking his hand. “Sawyer,” I murmur. “Are you sure?” I ask when he looks at me.
“What?” A blip of something that looks very much like panic ripples across his face. “Of course I am.”
“And your mom too?”
His fingers spasm in mine. “Yeah. She’s fine.” He sighs, voice dropping. “Or as fine as she’s ever going to be.”
“What does that mean?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “It means…” He sighs. “Fuck, I don’t really know. She’s…she just needs a lot from me. Since my dad died, she always has. Sometimes it…”
I wait for him to finish that sentence.
God, I want him to finish that sentence so badly.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he just draws me into the circle of his arms and asks, “How’s The Book That Shall Not Be Written going?”
“It’s almost ready for you to read it,” I whisper.
His eyes lock with mine, something warm and unreadable sliding through the blue depths. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say.
The moment stretches, no words filling the air.
And then we’re talking about everything and nothing—the team, the upcoming schedule, his auction prize for Bri’s shelter (lunch with the highest bidders), Ollie’s upcoming winter concert, my plans for the book I actually have to write for my deadline, and how much real Ollie loves his stuffed grumpy Ollie.
It’s…peaceful and easy and us.
And I really, really like it.
Maybe I love it.
Especially when we lie on the couch, watching through the windows as the sky slowly lightens.
Just before dawn, our phones buzz in unison.
We reach for them together, look at the message that’s just hit the Grizzlies group chat.
Then our eyes lock, smiles growing.
He touches my cheek, brushes his lips over mine.
“Well, Pages, should we get ready to meet Reed Richardson?”