I smile. “And it was a very good morning.”
She snorts, though when I lean down and press my hand to her belly, the sound is cut short.
“Good morning, love.” I drop a kiss to her now-rounded stomach and savor the ability to do so. I don’t take any of it for granted anymore. Not my wife’s presence here or my son’s love for bedtime stories. We’ll only be a family of three for a little longer, so we’ve been having extra donut days and little adventures to places where T.J. can’t climb up the rafters and scare the shite out of me.
Sloane and I have also focused on date nights. The baseball game Sloane surprised me with was one of the best. After dinner with Beckett and Liv Langfield, Sloane and I spent the night in the city. When we woke up, she showed me the baby furniture she’d been considering for the penthouse. Since, as she said,we’ll eventually end up back here.
The way she said it, like we’ll all return together when it’s time, made it the greatest morning in a long bloody time.
The weekend ended perfectly that afternoon, when Cal, Lo, and Brian brought the boys to the city and the seven of us played a round of pickup in the park.
Life feels perfect. Happy. Right. And it’s all because of the woman smiling down at me while I give her belly one more kiss.
That serene sensation dissipates quickly, though, at the doctor’s office later that morning.
“Your blood pressure isn’t where I’d like it to be,” the doctor starts.
I grasp my wife’s hand and squeeze. “What does that mean?”
“If we were only dealing with elevated blood pressure, I’d say maybe nothing, but there’s also protein in your urine. And your amniotic fluid is on the low side.” She studies her computer screen and sighs. “I’m not putting you on bed rest yet…”
Sloane lets out a relieved breath.
I don’t feel nearly as relaxed. “But should we?”
Sloane whips her head in my direction. I’m sure she’s glaring, but I remain focused on the doctor. The older woman settles her focus on my wife. “Not yet. But I want you to take it easy. No running around to court?—”
“I don’t go to court,” Sloane interjects.
The doctor nods. “Desk work. Feet up at night. I want to see you next week so we can monitor this closely.”
Sloane shakes free of my hold and nods several times, like she’s working to convince herself that this is her reality. “Right. Of course.”
“But Sloane…” The doctor’s tone makes my hackles rise. “If you feel the slightest bit off, dizzy, nauseous, light-headed, I want you to call the office immediately. With your history, I don’t want to take any chances.”
With her history.
Though I outwardly keep it together, my mind spins. My wife needs me to be strong. But fuck, this is exactly what I’ve been worried about all these years. Doing this again. Risking her again.
I’m gathering my thoughts, readying to launch into a thousand questions, ready to try to covertly push the doctor to encourage Sloane into going on bed rest, when my wife grabs her purse with a trembling hand.
All the bluster escapes me. She doesn’t need me to freak out. She needs me to be calm. So I thank the doctor, take the card she offers, where she’s jotted her personal mobile number should we need it, and guide my wife out to the car.
When I go to take a left out of the parking lot, Sloane speaks up. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Sully, I have to go to the office.”
My stomach rolls. “Maybe just rest today?”
Her face is ashen, her eyes wide with terror, but she shakes her head. “I’m not on bed rest yet. Please, Sully. I need to work for as long as I can.”
I nod, the movement jerky, forced. The last thing I want is to leave my wife in the city. So after dropping her off, I head to the New York office of Murphy and Machon. I’ll work from here until she’s ready to go home.
Somehow, I make it through the day without pulling my hair out. Though I do spend the majority of the afternoon googling every possible symptom Sloane could present with and every suggestion for ways to help keep Tia on the inside for as long as possible.
By the time I pick her up, I’m spiraling again.
