“You need to start taking this seriously,” I say quickly, my eyes darting to the door.
Willow blinks at me, startled. “I am taking this seriously,” she grunts, tugging at the bottom of her dress. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
I shake my head. “That’s not enough, and you know it. You need to do more than just show up for scans. You’ve got three lives in there, Willow.”
Her jaw tightens. “What about my life? I’m more than an incubator, you know.”
I lean forward and hiss, “Of course I know that. Do you realize how much your safety means to me, so it does?” I reach for her chin and gently pull her face to look up at me. She inhales sharply, her eyes moving back and forth between mine. “This isn’t just about the babies. I can’t lose you, Willow.” After a pause, I add, “I’m booking you into a Lamaze class.”
Her laugh is small, incredulous. “Lamaze? What’s the point? Isn’t that the part that comes naturally?”
“Nothing about birthing triplets feels natural. Listen, I want you prepared when you have these babies,” I bite back, then rein it in. “Everything is easier if you’ve prepared enough.”
She shakes her head, cheeks coloring. “I’m not doing that alone.”
“Good,” I say. “You won’t. I’ll go with you.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts again, like she can’t decide whether to argue or thank me. Finally, she mutters, “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously effective,” I correct, and I hold her gaze until the door bursts open with Dr. Patel holding the handles of a wheelchair. She pats the seat and smiles at Willow.
“Ms. Abel, I’m Dr. Patel. I hear we’re giving you the VIP tour,” Dr. Patel says affectionately. Willow rolls her eyes at the wheelchair and gives me a wide-eyed look, mock-dramatic. I can’t help matching it with the same twist of my mouth she had earlier.
“Not my favorite club,” Willow chirps, scooting off the bed.
“Same cover charge everywhere,” Patel replies. “Here’s the plan. Pressures are elevated. With triplets, we take that seriously. We’ll keep you tonight to watch you, run labs, decide if this is transient hypertension or the early whisper of preeclampsia. If the numbers drift down with rest and fluids, great. If not, we’ll start a low-dose antihypertensive and send you home with a cuff and a schedule you’ll hate. You’ll text us readings. You’ll think we’re overbearing. We won’t apologize. Either way, we have tools. You’re in the right place.”
Willow nods, jaw tight. “Okay.”
“And you’re not in trouble,” Patel adds, softer. “Your body is asking for attention. That’s not failure. It’s information.”
Willow’s eyes close like she needed to hear that. “Thank you.”
Patel glances at me. “Dr. Murray.” A beat. “Out.”
“Out,” I echo, and I retreat, knowing it’s the right thing to do the same way I know that it’s better for Willow to hate me than to risk her safety. But when I look back, she catches my gaze, and I sigh in relief knowing that she doesn’t.
11
SEAN
Bed rest.I wasn’t in the room for it, but I found out when Willow was leaving. Declan may move in shadows, sneaking around hallways hoping for an invitation like a vampire, but I prefer a more straightforward direction. I saw Cheyenne wheeling Willow out and just asked what the final word was. Seeing her bristle when she said it—“bed rest”—told me she’d be climbing the walls before the week was out.
Which is exactly why I’m standing in front of her door with three bags cutting into my hands and a grin I refuse to let slip.
Cheyenne answers, arms folded, suspicion in her eyes. “You.”
“Me,howya,” I say cheerfully, pushing past before she can mount a proper protest. “And look—I brought sustenance.”
Her gaze flickers to the bags. “That’s a lot of food. How long are you planning on staying?”
I toss the bags onto the kitchen counter and start pulling everything out, looking over my shoulder at her. “I’m planning on making dinner.”
Willow’s voice drifts from the couch, thin but amused. “Chey, if he brought bread, let him stay.”
“I brought bread,” I call, kicking the door shut behind me.
Cheyenne sighs like she’s been defeated in battle. “Fine. But only because I’m hungry too.”
