Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Madison lets out a sound that is absolutely a scream. I wince and pull the phone away from my ear until it subsides. “Hey, you promised.”
“I lied. Holy shit, Roxie. You’re pregnant? A bun in the oven? An actual, like, baby?”
“Stop saying actual,” I mutter, pressing my free hand to my forehead. “You’re making it worse.”
She sucks in a breath, and I hear sheets rustling, like she’s climbing out of bed. “Okay. Okay. You’re pregnant. I mean, oh my God, but are you happy?”
The question punches me right in the heart. My eyes slide shut and I breathe through the uncertainty for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel.”
“That’s okay,” she says gently. “Just tell me what’s going on in your head.”
“I am happy, but I’m also not. Because how can I be? I’m terrified. I’m in love with them, Mads. I know it’s fast. I know it’s insane to love three different guys at the same time, and I know I sound like someone who needs a seventy-two-hour psych evaluation, but I love them.”
Madison is quiet for a moment, then her voice softens. “Do they know?”
“God, no. Not yet. They’re already stressed about Caruso, and I’ve barely wrapped my own head around this.” I exhale shakily. “I don’t even know how to tell one of them, let alone all three.”
“Do you think they’ll be mad?”
“No,” I say instantly. “That’s the thing. Boone would probably start researching cribs. Chance would start installing panic rooms. Dillon would run, I don’t know, simulations or something. They’d take care of me. They always take care of me. I’m just—”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m scared of what this means. Of the danger. Of what Caruso might do if he finds us. Of being responsible for a tiny human when my life is already a dumpster fire.”
“Becoming a mom isn’t necessarily a dumpster fire.”
“Madison.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. I love you and I’m happy for you. Mostly because you sound like you’re already halfway there and you just don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m terrified,” I whisper. “What the fuck do I know about being a mother? I don’t even have one.”
My chest constricts like one of the snakes outside has shot through the window and wrapped itself around me. Whatever air is in my lungs gets stuck.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Breathe, Rox. Just breathe. You’re brave as hell and you’re not doing this alone. I’m right here, and I can be there in a couple days if you need me. Plus, even if one of your mountain giants freaks out, you’ve got two more.”
My eyes sting when I open them again. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too. I love you. And you’re gonna be okay. Even if the father is, uh, plural.”
I groan. “Do not joke about that.”
“I am absolutely joking about that. Saving the rest for the baby shower.”
I flop back onto the pillows, covering my face. “Madison?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t tell anyone yet.”
“Never. I promise.”
I lie there after we hang up, nerves and anticipation tightening my chest. Today. No more hiding.
I stare at the snowy peaks outside my window again, just trying to let reality settle, but long before it can, I know I have to get going. I still have a job to do, and if they haven’t noticed anything yet, they definitely will if I skip breakfast and stay in bed all day.
Even so, I linger in the bathroom a little longer than usual, trying to rehearse how I’ll tell them while I shower, then brush my teeth. I go through my normal routine at a snail’s pace. My brain goes around in circles while I floss, counting the ceiling tiles for focus.
Breakfast is the first real test. I join them in the kitchen, forcing a small smile as Boone fixes my tea and Dillon hands me a plate. I sit between Chance and Boone, taking tiny bites of scrambled eggs.
Every glance Boone throws my way makes my stomach flip. Just do it. Just say it. No, not yet.
At my desk later, I open my laptop and try to get to work. Emails, spreadsheets, the usual, but every ping of incoming mail and every notification on my phone makes me flinch. My mind is somewhere else entirely.
Lunch with Boone is even worse. I thought it would be easier, just the two of us. He chats casually while I push food around my plate, nodding and smiling, hoping I can hide the anxiety creeping up my spine. I open my mouth to speak, close it again, then take another bite.
Not now, Roxie. Not yet.
By the time the afternoon rolls around, I’ve given up pretending I’m fine. My hands hover over the keyboard, my mind a jumble of excuses and rehearsed sentences. Every time I try to start, my courage fizzles. I keep chickening out.