“I didn’t think—I just thought—” She swallows, tears brimming again.
I interrupt, telling him, “Sean, she got here in time to take care of the babies. She acted fast.”
His hazel eyes snap up to look at me, and then he looks down at a crying and anxious Willow, and they soften. He crushes her head to his chest and hugs her tight, whispering, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You did good.” He looks up at the monitor and says, “I’ll put a fiver it’s three stubborn girls, a carry-on of ’em, the way they love the drama.”
Willow actually laughs, and some of the tension drains from the room.
Another half hour, another knock. Rowan steps in quietly, unlike Sean. He shuts the door behind him, hands in his pockets, eyes sweeping the room before locking on Willow. I move my chair closer to her, feeling protective of the way he can be cruel whenscared. His gaze flicks to the monitor, then back to her belly. “What’s the strip?”
“Reactive. Stable.” I keep my tone level. Rowan doesn’t need my warmth; Willow does.
“What does strip mean?” she whispers to me.
I whisper back, “Fetal heart monitoring strip. He’s asking about the babies’ heart rates. They’re stable.”
Rowan steps closer, but not too close. His face is unreadable, voice clipped as he adds, “You feel movement yet?”
“Not much,” Willow admits, searching his face for reassurance. “Should I?”
“Not always,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Depends on position, fluid, placenta. The strip matters more than your perception, so.”
She blinks at the clinical sharpness. I see her shrink just slightly, though she tries to hide it.
I step in. “You’ll feel them again soon, Willow. Don’t let him scare you.”
Rowan’s eyes flick to mine, unreadable. Then back to the monitor. “Right,” he says, voice low.
We pass the hours like this. Sean fidgeting, cracking jokes to fill the silence. Rowan silent, precise, answering only when Willow asks something directly. I stay steady, explaining every fluctuation on the strip until she finally unclenches her fists.
At two thirty, the first flutter rolls under her skin. Her breath catches, her hand flying to her side.
“There,” she gasps. “That was?—”
“I saw it,” I confirm, pointing to the spike on the monitor. “That was baby two, shifting.”
Another flutter, this time lower. She exhales hard, tears spilling freely now. “Oh, thank God.”
Sean lets out a bark of laughter, part joy, part release of panic. He drops his forehead to her arm. “Don’t scare us like that again, huh?Jaysus, I nearly had a heart attack.”
Rowan doesn’t move, doesn’t soften, but I see the way his jaw unclenches, the way his shoulders settle an inch lower. His relief is quieter, but no less real.
Willow sags back into the pillows, her whole body trembling. I press a reassuring hand to her wrist again. “See? They just needed to remind you they like drama.”
She laughs through tears, nodding. “Guess they’re mine, then.”
20
WILLOW
I’ve beenin this ultrasound room enough now that my body knows what to do without thinking. I remove my shoes, kicking them at the laminated tile, bare my belly, and pull the falling paper gown further up my shoulders. I turn my head toward the screen anddon’tlook at the needles tray, even if they’re not for me.
“Warm gel,” Priya warns, already smiling because she knows I flinch anyway. She’s the sonographer with the bracelets that always click softly, the one who narrates without making it a lecture. “Dr. Patel’s on her way, but we’ll get started.”
I nod. My heart’s doing that hummingbird thing again, even though last night’s scare turned out fine. “Okay.”
Behind me, three shadows fall across the floor and stack into a single shape. The men—not mine yet, even after that heated conversation—line up at my shoulder like they rehearsed it.
Declan stands at my right, close enough that the heat off him warms my bare upper arm. Sean is just behind my head, his hands on both of my shoulders. Rowan is at my left, his posturecareful and his gaze fixed dead center on the monitor. He shifts legs and sucks his teeth and carefully avoids making eye contact with anyone but the dark screen.
