“Ow!”
I laughed, deep and genuine, the kind that loosens something inside you. Abigail waddled toward me, each step heavy with exhaustion. “You are the cutest pregnant lady ever,” I said, wrapping my arms gently around her, careful not to squeeze too hard.
“Thank you,” she sighed, her breath brushing my neck. “God, I hope she comes before March. I already feel like I’m carrying a watermelon in December.”
“Let’s make her happy and feed her some pasta,” I said, ushering her toward the door.
Abigail groaned dramatically. “The baby? Hell. I’m the one who’s been craving nothing but carbs and sweet and sour pickles wrapped in cheese.”
“Hey beautiful,” Nick’s voice curled around us like smoke, deep and low as he stepped onto the porch. “How’s our little kicker doing?”
“She’s happy as a clam,” Abigail said. “Kicking like she’s training for the Olympics.”
“Glad to hear it,” Nick smiled. “Where’s Bodie?”
“Cliff’s bringing him later. You know him—always on his own damn time.”
Nick nodded, a shared understanding in the dip of his chin.
“There’s my other favorite girl.” Josh scooped me up in a hug that spun me off my feet, the air whooshing from my lungs. I could feel Nick’s eyes on us, his gaze a heat trailing along my skin even after Josh set me down.
“How’s finals?” I asked, smoothing my hair back into place.
“Fucking brutal,” Josh groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “But I’ll survive.”
“You always do,” I said, smiling up at him.
He tapped his temple. “It’s all up here. This brain’s gonna earn me the big bucks.”
Nick stepped in close, his shoulder brushing mine. He extended a hand. “Good to see you again, man.”
Josh took it, firm grip, the shake holding just a second too long. A silent exchange passed between them—one only men who’ve loved the same woman would recognize.
“Are you brutes going to help an old lady with these pans or just stand there flexing?” Nora’s voice snapped the tension like a rubber band.
Nick and Josh scrambled down the steps, each grabbing one of the heavy casserole dishes she’d stacked in her trunk.
“Nora, you didn’t have to bring anything,” I said, stepping aside to let her pass.
“My grandbaby’s in there,” she huffed, pointing to Abigail’s belly. “And that baby’s going to come out fat and happy. Besides, this girl’s been eating like she grew up in the South, and I am here for it. I brought veggie casserole, dessert, and cookies in the car. You’re welcome.”
Laughter rippled through us, a shared joy lifting the room as we all filed inside.
Later, with bellies full and the house rich with the scent of pasta, spice, and warm bread, we huddled around the TV. Colt moved like lightning on the screen, dodging tackles, his jersey stretching over muscle and sweat.
“Go, go, GO!” Abigail shouted, hands in the air, her belly bouncing with the motion.
Bodie turned to little Faye, his eyes wide. “Did you see that? My dad’s the best football player in the whole world. One day, I’ll be big and strong like him.”
Faye nibbled her cookie, crumbs dotting her tiny lips. I’d offered her milk, tried to make her feel at home, but she missed her mom—I could see it in the way she curled into Nick’s side. Abigail told me things weren’t good at home, and it showed. I didn’t mind her being close to him. Nick was her comfort. He was mine, too.
“Even at thirty-one, my brother moves like he’s twenty-two,” Josh marveled.
“He’s like a superhero,” Bodie said, his voice full of pride.
“That’s because he trains like a madman,” Abigail said, stroking her belly with slow circles.
“Killian genes,” Cliff grunted, tipping his beer to his lips.
