“Oliver,” she chokes, fingers tightening.
“I’m here now.” I kiss the swell again, then again, until my lips are numb and her tears have slowed to a trickle. “I’m here for all of it. The good, the terrifying, the three a.m. feedings, and the first steps and the first day of kindergarten. I’m not missing another second.”
She curls into me, face tucked under my chin, body soft and warm and finally, finally relaxed. Within minutes, her breathing evens out.
I stay awake.
I watch the snow pile against the window in thick, silent waves. I count the rise and fall of her back under my hand. I memorize the weight of her head on my chest, the way her fingers curl instinctively over my heart even in sleep.
I press my lips to her temple and make another promise into her hair.
Never again.
I think about everything to come. Her belly growing rounder under my hands, the first time I feel the baby kick, the day wefind out if it’s a boy or girl, the moment I hold our child for the first time.
I think about putting a ring on her finger and making her mine forever. I think about watching her walk down an aisle in white, about lazy Sunday mornings with pancakes and cartoons and tiny feet pattering across hardwood floors.
I think about growing old with her, gray hair and laugh lines, and still reaching for her in the dark.
I think about how I almost threw it all away because I was too scared to feel this much.
Outside, the snow keeps falling, blanketing the world in forgiveness and second chances.
Inside, I hold everything I never knew I couldn’t live without, and I swear on every star hidden behind those clouds that I will spend the rest of my days earning the miracle asleep in my arms.
Chapter seven
Savannah
Three days of waking up wrapped in Oliver’s arms, of his hand never leaving my belly when he thinks I’m asleep. Three days of stolen kisses in hallways, of whispered I love yous against bare skin, of him tracing the tiny swell under my sweater like he still can’t believe it’s real.
I’m standing in front of his bedroom mirror, trying to tame my sex-hair into something that doesn’t scream I just spent two hours letting your brother worship every inch of me, when the door creaks open behind me.
Ellie freezes in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide. I’m wearing Oliver’s black Henley and panties. My lips are swollen, my neck has a fresh mark just below my jaw, and my hair looks like I stuck my finger in a socket.
For one horrifying second, we just stare at each other.
Then Ellie’s face splits into the biggest, most evil grin I’ve ever seen.
“Oh. My. God.” She kicks the door shut with her heel. “You little harlot. Three days. Three whole days I thought you were ‘napping’ in the blue room.”
Heat floods my face. “Ellie—”
“Don’t even try.” She barrels across the room, grabs my wrist, and drags me out into the hall before I can protest. “Guest room. Now. You are spilling everything.”
She shoves me into the blue room, the one I haven’t slept in since Oliver and I made up, and locks the door behind us.
I open my mouth to lie, but the second I meet her eyes, the words die. I’m tired of lying to my best friend.
I sit on the edge of the unmade bed, pull the Henley down around my knees, and take the deepest breath I’ve taken in months.
“I’m pregnant,” I say.
The room goes perfectly still.
Ellie blinks. Once. Twice. Then she screams and launches herself at me.
“You’re pregnant?!” She tackles me backward onto the mattress, hugging me so hard I can’t breathe. “I’m gonna be an aunt?! Oh my God, oh my God, Savannah!”
