Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Morning,” I say and kiss his cheek as if nothing’s wrong.
That’s something that hasn’t changed. We’re still great at distraction, miscommunicating, and pretending everything is okay. We’ve just learned to handle the fallout of it better.
“Pregnant people eat lots, don’t they?” Noah asks.
I take in the amount of food he’s bought. “Yeah, but I think you’ve mistaken being pregnant with being the Warriors’ entire defensive line.”
Noah shrugs. “We’ll eat leftovers.”
He moves around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with me.
“Noah—”
I’m taken off guard and stumble back when his arms come around me and his face burrows into my neck. “I’ll do it. I know you’ll want to help Fern and her baby, and I’ll do whatever you’re planning, because I agreed when I married you to support you.”
I hold him tight because he’s tense as fuck, but his words confuse me, because I haven’t actually said my plans out loud. “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. What are you actually saying here? Is this why you didn’t sleep last night?”
“Fern wants to meet with an adoption lawyer, you want to help Fern. I can already see where this is going, Matt. I didn’t want to face it last night, but I’m ready.”
“We should sit down and discuss it properly.”
Noah shakes his head. “I don’t need to. I love you. You’re my forever. And I spent all night telling myself that even if I’m scared fucking shitless and would make a terrible role model for a child—”
“You’re great with Jet when he’s home. You’ve been great with him ever since he came to us.”
“He was nineteen. That doesn’t count. I know nothing about babies or little kids.”
“Neither do most first-time parents.”
Noah backs up until he’s leaning against the kitchen counter. “First-time … par …”
“Breathe, hon.”
He shakes off his panic and stands taller. Totally faking it, but I love him for trying.
“I can do this,” he says. “Even though I’m terrified, it’s nowhere near as terrifying as risking you. I’m with you, babe. Wherever this takes us.”
I smile. “That’d be so much more convincing if you weren’t freaking out right now.”
“I’ll stop soon. I promise.”
One obstacle taken care of. Sort of. Knowing Noah’s with me eases any doubt or worry of how we’re going to tackle Fern’s situation. Which, we still don’t know much about, so this conversation could all be for nothing.
“For the record”—I pull Noah closer so he’s pressed against me again—“I think you’d make an excellent father.”
“Not as good as you would. You practically raised all your siblings. You’ve already been a dad figure.”
I go to open my mouth, but he cuts me off.
“If you make a Daddy joke right now, I’ll punch you.”
I laugh. “I’m going to try to find a lawyer today after practice.”
“I can do that. You focus on football.”
“After we meet with a lawyer, we’ll know more. Try not to stress about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
I know that’s easier said than done, because if Fern does put her baby up for adoption, there’s a very real chance we could become parents.
Kids may not have been on my radar, but with one pregnant belly, I realize it’s something I want.
And speaking of pregnant bellies, Fern and hers appear. “Mornin’.”
She’s wearing what we picked her up in: boots, leggings, short skirt, black tank top, and a gray cardigan, sans her thick jacket. She had a small bag with her, but I’m guessing she didn’t bring many clothes.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Coffee?” Noah asks.
I backhand his stomach. “Pregnant.”
“So?”
“I’m not supposed to have caffeine,” Fern says.
“No coffee? Like you’re not being tortured enough.” Noah winces, realizing comments like that probably don’t help her situation.
But Fern doesn’t seem to care. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker anyway. Thank you though.”
“Hungry? Noah bought enough to feed you for days, possibly weeks.”
My husband gives me the finger. He really loves me.
“Yes. Food. Food good,” Fern says. “I don’t think I’ve eaten so much in my life.”
“Growing body parts is hard, I imagine,” I say.
Fern screws up her face. “It sounds gross when you put it that way.”
“Yeah, it really does,” Noah agrees.
As we sit down to eat at the dining table, I get straight to business. We didn’t get a chance to talk much last night because it was so late, but now I need to know everything.
“How long are you here for?” I ask.
“I don’t know? Long enough to talk to a lawyer and figure out my options, I guess. I mean, if that’s okay with you. If you’ll help. I know I have no right to—”
“Fern. It’s okay. I’m here for you no matter what. Actually, that’s something we should talk about …”
“I know about the trusts you set up in our names.” Brown eyes blink at me.
“Char?”
She shakes her head. “Daisy.”
“But Daisy didn’t take it. Or contact me. Or—”
“She’s dating someone from a super-rich, super-conservative family. So …”