“Stop hovering. You’re worse than Cheyenne,” Willow hisses.
“Unlikely,” Cheyenne says, dropping her purse onto the chair. She kisses Willow’s forehead, murmurs something in her ear, and then turns to me. “Don’t let her push you out.”
“I won’t,” I say simply.
When the door closes behind her, Willow shifts restlessly, curls spilling across the pillow. “You don’t have to stay,” she mumbles.
“I do,” I answer, and I mean it.
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but fatigue wins. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes trembling, and a moment later her breathing evens.
I stay watching, unmoving, as the monitors hum. Three steady little peaks, one after another, a rhythm I know better than my own heartbeat. I’ve seen them before on the ultrasound, flickers of light tethered to her body. I should think in numbers—gestational weeks, survival odds, percentage risks. That’s what I’ve been trained for. But all I can think is that they’re hers. That’s enough to keep me here.
I plant myself in the chair by her bed, arms folded tight across my chest, eyes trained on the readouts even when I tell myself not to.
It’s habit. Years of training make it impossible to ignore those sounds, the mechanical sigh of the cuff inflating, the blip of heart rates scrolling steady on the screen. I’ve pined after the chase, wanting nothing more than for the patient to be okay. I’ve never wanted it this badly.
Willow stirs, murmuring, shifting against the sheets like she can’t find a comfortable place to exist. I stand instantly, hand hovering at her elbow, though I don’t dare touch. The early, preterm contractions that brought her here have slowed, thank God. The meds worked. She’s stable. But the idea that her body is already testing limits has left me on edge, too afraid to sit fully, to take my eyes off her.
Her curls spill across the pillow, her lips parted slightly as her breathing steadies. She’s beautiful like this, too beautiful and too still. Like a statue I shouldn’t touch. Something fragile and valuable.
I plant myself back in the chair and let the silence settle. The room smells like antiseptic and faint lavender from the lotion she rubbed into her hands earlier. My hand itches to touch her wrist, to feel the pulse there, to remind myself that she’s solid and here. Instead, I lean back and let the hum of the machines keep me company.
Hours pass like this. Just me, the dark, and her breathing.
The door creaks open near midnight. I don’t move, though my jaw tightens as Sean slips in, his grin dimmed by the hour.
He spots me instantly, one eyebrow arching, and whispers, “Ah. I might’ve guessed you’d be here, Murray.”
“Where else would I be,lad?” My voice is low, but firm.
He glances at Willow’s sleeping form, then back at me. “Bed. Like a normal human. But then again, when have you ever done that? If it weren’t Willow, it’d be something else.”
I don’t answer. I get the implication, that I don’t really care for Willow, that she’s just a distraction, that she could be replaced with anything else. I can’t help but think that if that were true, I wouldn’t be thinking about how I should go over to her house and fold her underwear for her so it’s done when she gets home.
He sets down a paper cup of coffee on the counter, pulls another chair close, and sinks into it like he belongs. The sight annoys me more than it should.
“You think you’re staying the night?” I ask.
He smirks, leaning back, stretching out like he’s daring me to shove him out. “What, you gonna kick me out?”
My teeth clench at that. I look at Willow again, her chest rising, falling, fragile and steady. “She deserves better than somegobshiteplaying games with her,” I bite out.
Sean’s grin fades, but not all the way. “And you think that’s you?” I feel the air shift heavy between us, thick with something unsaid. Rivalry. Want. Fear. I curl my hand into a fist against my thigh, grounding myself.
Sean studies me for a long moment, eyes sharp even in the dark. Then he chuckles softly, a sound that doesn’t match the tension pulling between us. “Grand so.But when the wee ones arrive, you know what’ll happen?”
I glance at him warily.
He grins, whispering like he’s letting me in on a joke. “We’ll be scrapping over who gets the spot beside her.”
The corner of my mouth twitches, unwilling humor pulling there despite myself. But the laugh that escapes me is short and rough. I know what Sean wants. He wants to make a joke and erase the big unsaid truth between us. Maybe he even thinks he can outcharm me, and I’ll give him Willow, or Willow will choose him. We don’t even know who the father of her triplets is, and already he thinks he’s won. I opt to simply tell him, “I don’t even want to think that far in the future. It’s a big question mark for me right now.”
Sean leans back, his grin lazy in the dark, his teeth shining in the lights of the machines around the woman I want to protect. After a pause, he crosses his legs and whispers, “She laughs easier with me. You ever notice that?”
My jaw flexes. I don’t answer. Because I have noticed. I let him have it for a second before retorting, “Sean, what d’you reckon she wants in a partner? A protecter? Or amuppet?”
In the dark, I can see the tint of Sean’s skin turning just a hair redder. I see his mouth pull taut with anger. It simmers underneath the surface. I have a moment where I think of superheated water—past the boiling point but no visible bubbles, waiting to be touched to explode. After a moment, he says gently, his voice strained, trying to be funny even as he rages, “At least we can agree it won’t be Rowan, God help him.”
