Chapter Twenty-Five Xalori Carson
The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and baby powder, and for once, it didn’t make me nauseous.
Nasir was curled up next to Eason on the vinyl loveseat, headphones in and eyes glued to the iPad while Ginger sat in his lap, babbling about wanting a lollipop and pointing at every pregnant belly that walked past.
And then there was me. Sitting here with a full heart, swollen ankles, and the man who once scared the hell out of me rubbing soft, lazy circles into the small of my back like it was second nature.
My name got called, and Eason stood before I even did.
“Come on, kids,” he said. “Let’s go check on our baby.”
That’s when it hit me—our baby. Not just mine. Not just his. Ours. And maybe for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I wasn’t terrified because I wasn’t doing this alone. Not anymore.
As I laid across the bed, my hand resting on the soft swell of my belly, my mind drifted back to the past. To the pregnancies I’d already survived.
With Nasir and Aaliyah, it had always been me alone, carrying the weight, both literally and figuratively, while Prime played ghost until it was convenient.
He didn’t show up for the ultrasounds, didn’t rub my back when I cried from the pain, and didn’t care enough to ask what I was craving or show up sober when I needed him the most.
Both times I went into labor, he showed up smelling like Hennessy, loud pack, and whatever cheap-ass stripper he’d been fucking the night before.
He sat on his phone through contractions like he had somewhere better to be.
Prime ass didn’t cut the cord, didn’t kiss their heads, and barely looked at me.
If it wasn’t for my mama, I don’t know how I would’ve survived. Even with her own heart failing, she was there. Every appointment. Every ER run. Every midnight craving and every morning panic attack. She was more of a partner than the man who gave me those babies.
And sometimes, when I let myself think too long, I wondered if it broke her down faster—trying to fill the shoes of a man who never deserved the role to begin with.
“Yo.” The sharpness in Eason’s voice snapped me out of my spiral.
“You don’t hear me talking to you?” he asked, voice rough and full of warning.
I looked up and blinked, forcing a small smile like that might soften the edge of whatever he saw in my eyes. “Sorry, babe. I was just thinking.”
Eason stared at me for a beat, long enough to make my skin prickle. “I swear I need a fuckin’ off switch for that thick-ass head of yours. You always thinkin’ yourself into circles,” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “What was it this time?”
I hesitated. Just long enough for his jaw to clench.
“Prime,” I said quietly.
That name hit the air like a bullet. Eason’s whole energy shifted. His eyes darkening, that cold rage creeping into his expression like a thundercloud.
His gaze flicked to Ginger and Nasir, both sitting on the floor in their own little worlds, completely unaware of the storm brewing a few feet away.
Eason’s voice dropped into something low and lethal. “I’mma give you a chance to fix that sentence, Muffin,” he said, deadly calm. “Because if you don’t say the next five words right, they gon’ be wheeling your ass into the NICU after I beat your baby daddy to death.”
I huffed, trying not to smile even though he was deadass serious.
“I wasn’t thinkin’ about him like that,” I said quickly, holding my hands up. “I was just… comparing.”
He didn’t say shit, but his stare told me I needed to explain the fuck on.
“I was thinking about how different it feels now,” I admitted. “How I had to do everything alone back then. How he ain’t show up—not for the pregnancy, not the pain, not the healing. Nothing. It was me and Mama. That’s it. And now…”
My eyes moved over to him.
“Now, I got this grumpy, protective, unhinged-ass man who keeps one hand on my belly like it’s made of glass, and the other on a trigger. It’s different. It’s a lot. But it’s good. Real good.”
His jaw unclenched, just slightly. He stepped closer.
“You better not ever put me and that sorry excuse of a sperm donor in the same damn thought again,” he muttered, cupping the side of my face. “He fumbled. That’s on him. But don’t you dare downplay what you’re getting now.”
“I’m not,” I whispered. “I know the difference. You make sure I do.”
He kissed my forehead, hard, like he needed to stake a claim right then and there.
“Damn right I do,” he murmured. “Because you and this baby?” He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. “Y’all not just mine. Y’all everything.”
And in that moment, there was no more Prime. No more ghosts. Just the man standing in front of me, ready to go to war for everything I used to beg God to give me.
Before I could respond, the door opened with a soft knock and the doctor stepped inside, clipboard in hand and a smile already plastered on her face.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Carson,” she greeted, eyes scanning the room quickly, then landing on me. “You’ve got quite the support squad today.”
Eason grunted. “Yeah, we don’t do anything halfway.”
I managed a small smile, even as my hands trembled slightly in my lap. The doctor started talking—asking the usual questions, checking vitals, making notes—but the moment her face shifted, I felt it. That gut-deep tightening in the chest that told you shit was about to take a turn.
Her smile faded just a little as she pressed the cold doppler to my stomach, searching for the baby’s heartbeat. It took longer than usual. Too long.
“There it is,” she finally said. But her eyes didn’t match her tone. “Heartbeat’s a little irregular. And your blood pressure is higher than we’d like. Have you been under more stress than normal?”
I let out a breath that felt like it’d been sitting in my chest for days. “Define normal.”
Eason didn’t say a word, but I could feel the way his grip flexed—his energy shifting, his pulse hammering through the bond of our fingers.
The doctor nodded slowly, her voice gentle now. “With the trauma in your history, we want to take extra precautions. Elevated stress can affect not only your pressure, but the baby’s rhythm too. I’d like to keep you for observation. Maybe run a few more tests.”
My vision blurred. Not from the lights. Not from fear of staying longer. But from the weight of it all collapsing at once. My throat closed up, my lungs constricting like they didn’t know how to breathe anymore.
“Muffin?” Eason’s voice was softer now, low and right beside my ear.
I blinked, but the tears came anyway—slow at first, then fast. I shook my head, trying to gather myself, but I couldn’t. My body was trembling, and it had nothing to do with the cold or the weight of the room.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, voice broken. “I’m so fucking scared, Eason.”
He didn’t respond right away. He just pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine, like he needed to ground us both.
“You don’t gotta be scared,” he murmured. “Not no more.”
“But I am,” I said, the words choking out of me. “I already buried one baby, Eason. I held her in my arms while she turned cold. I don’t think I can survive losing another. I don’t care how strong I look, I’m barely holding it together.”
Eason’s eyes darkened, and when he spoke, it was damn near a vow. “You’re not losing nobody else. I don’t give a fuck what I gotta do, who I gotta hurt, or what it costs. You and our baby gon’ be good. You hear me?”
I nodded, tears still streaming, body still trembling, but for the first time that day, I let myself believe him.
Because if there was one man who’d burn the world down to protect his family—it was Eason Storm.
Eason didn’t say shit else. He just held me, steady and fierce, while my whole body shook from fear I couldn’t name without crumbling again.
His hand stayed on the small of my back, the other on my belly, like he could shield the baby with his touch alone.
Like he could will the world to calm the fuck down just long enough for me to breathe again.
The doctor gave us a moment before clearing her throat gently. “Let’s get you lying down, Ms. Carson. I want to monitor your levels for the next couple of hours—make sure everything stays stable.”
Eason didn’t wait for me to move. He lifted me gently onto the exam bed like I weighed nothing. Like I was glass wrapped in gold, too precious to mishandle.
“I got you, Muffin,” he murmured low, brushing my curls away from my face. “You just lay back. Let me and the docs do the rest.”
Nasir’s little voice cut through the tension like a whisper of sunshine. “Mommy is the baby, okay?”
I turned my head just enough to see him standing near the corner of the room, his eyes wide, lips trembling. Ginger stood beside him, holding his hand, her thumb in her mouth, her curls wild and messy like they always got when she was worried.
My heart shattered in the most unexpected way.
“They’re okay, baby,” I managed, my voice hoarse but soft. “Mommy’s just tired. That’s all.”
Eason walked over, crouched down beside them. “We gon’ let the doctor check Mommy out, alright? Y’all know what that means?”
Nasir blinked. “You gonna do your mad face until they fix her?”
Eason chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Damn right.”
He stood, grabbed Nasir’s hand and tucked Ginger under his arm. “Come on, let’s go get some snacks from the vending machine and give Mommy some space.”
“No candy,” I called weakly after them. “Fruit snacks or them little pretzels, Nas. And Ginger don’t need no more juice.”
“I ain’t the juice police,” Eason muttered on his way out, “but aye, nobody in that hallway gon’ tell me no.”
The doctor smiled gently once the door shut. “That man of yours don’t play about you.”
I closed my eyes. “He really doesn’t.”
Once she got the monitor strapped to my stomach and the soft whooshing sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, something in my chest finally loosened. Not all the way. Not completely, but enough to exhale.
This wasn’t the end. It was just a warning.