Chapter 24
Cyrus
I’m worried about Tori. The concern sits heavy in my chest, like a morsel I can’t swallow.
Can anxiety cause indigestion? Is that why they call it heartburn?
Because I feel like my heart is burning for Tori.
For a week now, she’s barely left her bedroom.
The door at the end of the hall stays shut.
The light beneath it flicking on and off at strange hours.
Sometimes I hear the bathroom tap running. Sometimes I hear her retching.
She refuses to see a doctor whenever I mention it, mumbling about a bug and saying she just needs rest. We’ve been so busy fighting with the Raging Bulls that none of us have been home much to look after her.
When we offered to take it in turns, with one of us being there to look after her at all times, she point-blank refused.
She insists that she’s fine, that we’re better off spending our time fighting the war.
Shelly has been a godsend, checking in on her and helping her whenever she can. Still, I worry about her. I understand that she’s sick, but it seems more than that. She seems anxious, as if something is weighing on her mind.
I know something is wrong, I can sense it, but I can’t work out what, or how to break through to her. Is it something we’ve done? And if not, why won’t she confide in us?
The clubhouse is loud tonight with the sound of engines revving outside, men shouting over a game of pool.
The smell of stale beer and oil hangs in the air.
But I feel as if I’m elsewhere entirely.
I gesture to the guys for us to head somewhere quieter so we can talk.
They wordlessly follow me out back to the office, anxiety radiating off them.
Flint automatically moves to stand at the head of the scarred oak table in the meeting room, his jaw tight.
Hunter leans against the wall with his arms crossed.
The overhead light flickers slightly, casting hard shadows across their faces.
“We need to do something about Tori, something's wrong, she’s not just sick,” I say as soon as I shut the door behind me.
“She pushed me away again,” Hunter mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t even let me sit on the bed.”
Flint exhales slowly. “She looks like hell.”
I don’t snap at him for the bluntness because he’s right. The last time I saw Tori clearly, her skin looked pale, almost translucent. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were softer somehow, but drawn with exhaustion. She smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“She won’t see a doctor,” I say quietly. “That’s not like her.”
“No.” Flint’s voice is firm. “It’s not.”
“Do you think she’s regretting being with all of us?” I ask.
The silence that follows is thick with unspoken fear. We’ve faced bullets and ambushes. We’ve stood across from the Raging Bulls unafraid and knowing a fight is to come. We’ve dealt with broken bones, bloodied wounds, and losing our friends. But Tori shutting us out feels ten times worse.
“We have to confront her,” Hunter finally says. “Not aggressively, but we need to do it together. If she’s having second thoughts, we need her to know that we’ll still protect her from King.”
Flint nods once. “We should go up. Now.”
***
The hallway upstairs is dim, lit only by a wall sconce that casts a soft amber glow. The carpet muffles our footsteps as we walk toward Tori’s door.
Hunter carries a tray with soup, dry crackers, and a glass of water.
Flint has a small paper bag from the bakery downtown containing her favorite lemon pastries.
I’m holding a bundle of fresh flowers I picked on the way back from a run earlier, wildflowers.
She once told me she prefers them to roses because they’re stubborn enough to grow anywhere.
I hesitate before knocking, my hand hovering. “Tori?” I call gently. “Baby?”
A pause. Then, faintly, “Yeah?” Her voice is weak. Too weak.
Flint opens the door without waiting for permission. His concern can sometimes come off as controlling and domineering, but right now, we can’t take no for an answer.
The room is dark, the curtains half-drawn, letting in the only light from the streetlamp outside.
I move to the bedside and switch on the lamp.
It casts a soft pool of light over rumpled sheets.
Tori winces in the light, even though it isn’t bright.
She’s sitting propped up against the headboard, hair loose and tangled around her shoulders, one of my old shirts hanging off her frame.
Her eyes widen when she sees all three of us.
She pulls the blankets up higher, covering herself completely.
The gesture is modest and shy for someone whom we know every inch of her body.
“What’s all this?” she asks, glancing at the food, the flowers.
“We’re worried,” I say simply, setting the tray down on the dresser.
Flint moves to sit at the edge of the bed. I stand for a second, taking her in, reading every tiny shift in her expression. She looks cornered, like a stray cat ready to scratch its way out if needs be.
“You’ve been hiding,” Flint says, not unkindly.
“I’m not hiding,” Tori insists, but her fingers twist in the bedsheet.
“You are,” I say softly. I step forward and place the flowers on her nightstand. “And you’re pushing us away.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows.
“We love you,” Hunter adds, crouching in front of her so he’s at eye level. “Whatever this is, whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Her eyes shine immediately, like the tears were already waiting there.
I reach for her hand. This time, she doesn’t pull away. “Talk to us,” I plead. “If you’ve changed your mind about us, that’s okay. I mean… it isn’t okay… but we’ll protect you. We’re not gonna throw you out.”
The silence between us stretches painfully, and I fear she won’t speak, and that we’re too late, we’ve lost her. The clock on the wall ticks steadily. Somewhere downstairs, someone laughs loudly, the sound jarringly normal against the tension in this room.
“I…” she presses her lips together. “You’re not going to love me less?”
The question slices through me. I move to sit beside Tori, close enough that our thighs touch. “That’s not possible,” I murmur.
“Nothing you say changes what we feel,” Hunter says firmly, moving to sit on her other side.
Flint nods. “You’re ours. We’re yours. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”
Her breath shudders. “I went to the doctor,” she whispers.
All three of us stiffen.
“What? When?” I demand before I can stop myself. It’s the sort of thing I’d expect to hear Flint say.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Flint interjects, his voice strained.
“Because I didn’t know how.” Her hands come up to cradle her stomach unconsciously. The movement doesn’t escape me.
My heart thunders.
“I’m not sick. I’m pregnant,” Tori says.
The word detonates in the room. For a second, none of us breathe. Tori’s pregnant.
Hunter is the first to speak. “Pregnant… like—”
“Around eight weeks now,” she says quickly, as if ripping off a Band-Aid.
My mind scrambles to comprehend what she’s telling us.
How did this happen? I thought she was on contraception, though of course, accidents can happen.
Any one of us could be the father. Does she want to know who the father is?
Will the guys? Do I? Does it even matter?
Of course, it makes sense now, the sickness, why she’s been acting strangely, she’s worried how we’ll receive the news of a baby so soon into our fledgling relationship.
Flint’s hand tightens around hers. “Okay,” he says carefully. “Okay.”
“How long have you known?” I ask. How long has she been hiding this from us? And why?
“A week,” she admits shamefaced. I only feel relief. It explains why she’s been so distant this past week. “I went while we were visiting Hank and Screw. My period was late. Well… non-existent for a while, but I’m not regular. Then with everything that happened…”
“Does Shelly know?” Flint asks, his voice betraying nothing. I doubt he’ll mind. I imagine that, like me, he’ll be glad that she had someone to confide in. Even though I feel a little hurt that person wasn’t me.
Tori nods, biting her lip. “There’s more,” she adds, her voice small and tremulous, tears spilling over.
My stomach drops. What more can there be? Is something wrong with the baby? God forbid, are we somehow not the father? No. There’s no way. I shake that evil, jealous voice away.
“It’s not just one baby.”
The world tilts. I blink at Tori, dumbfounded. Twins?
“How many?” Hunter breathes, asking the question I wouldn’t have even thought to ask.
“Three.”
The silence that follows is absolute. You could hear a pin drop. It’s as if the air has been sucked out of the room as we all try to comprehend the news that there’s not one baby but three. Triplets.
“Three?” I repeat stupidly.
She nods, crying now in earnest, a mixture of relief and trepidation on her face. “Triplets. There are three separate placentas, three separate amniotic sacs. The doctor said they’re almost certainly from three different eggs.”
My brain struggles to keep up. I didn’t even know this was possible. Three eggs. Three babies. Could it be—?
Hunter’s eyes widen slowly. Flint’s mouth parts slightly as they must be drawing the same conclusion as I am. “Does that mean…” Flint begins carefully.
She looks between us, meeting each of our eyes in turn. “It means each of you could be the father. That each baby could have a different biological dad.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Each of us could be a father. I look at Hunter. Then Flint. They’re wearing identical looks of shocked awe, of disbelieving joy.
A laugh bursts out of Hunter, half hysteria, half joy. “You’re serious.”
I turn back to look at Tori, a blush of pink warming her cheeks as she realizes we aren’t mad, far from it. She nods again, smiling now. “Yes,” she sobs, the sound coming out as a laugh.