“I’ll be there. I promise. Have I ever let you down?”
Abigail’s glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “Really? You’re gonna ask me that right now?”
“Okay, bad question,” Colt rushed out. “I’m sorry. Sorry, Chloe.” His voice softened. “Hold on, baby-girl. I’m coming.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” I started, hoping to lighten the mood.
Abigail snapped her head toward me, eyes dark with fury. I swallowed hard. Holy shit, she looked terrifying. If Colt didn’t make it in time, I had no doubt she’d find a way to murder him—or at least permanently maim him.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Just trying to stay positive.”
The door swung open, and Dr. Nielsen strode in, his usual calm, borderline-too-relaxed energy filling the room.
“Mrs. Killian, how are we doing?” He pulled up a stool between Abigail’s legs, glancing over the monitors. “Didn’t I tell you it was too soon for you to be having a baby?” He smirked.
“Can I have the damn epidural yet?” Abigail ground out, her forehead glistening with sweat.
“You can, but you’re only at a two. We usually like to wait until a four or five, which is ideal since that’s when active labor really kicks in.”
Abigail groaned and flopped her head back against the pillow. “Jesus. Why did Eve eat that dam apple?”
“How soon do you think she’ll get there?” I asked Dr. Nielsen, hoping for some kind of reassurance.
“There’s no telling,” he admitted. “We can give you the epidural if you really want it, but it may wear off before it’s time to push.”
Abigail let out a shaky breath. “Fuck. I’ve dealt with pain my whole life—what’s a few more hours?”
Sweat beaded along her hairline, and as I watched her tense up again, I started rethinking this pregnancy thing. Maybe adoption was the way to go. Or, if Nick and I somehow made millions with the restaurant expanding, I’d seriously look into a surrogate.
I was exhausted to the bone. My body ached from hours of sitting in this stiff hospital chair, and my mind was clouded with worry. It felt like Abigail had been in labor forever. Hours had passed since they gave her the epidural, yet she was still stuck at eight centimeters. She needed to reach ten before she could start pushing.
The waiting room smelled of burnt coffee and antiseptic, the overhead lights buzzing like they, too, were losing patience.
“Here’s some coffee,” Nick said, settling beside me with a sigh. The warmth of the cup brushed against my hand as he offered it to me. “Why don’t you go home? Colt’s here, so she’ll be fine. It’s almost midnight. You need to rest.” He paused, studying me. “I checked on Loco earlier, left some food in the microwave. You should eat something other than vending machine peanuts.”
I curled my fingers around the cup, letting the heat seep into my cold hands. “I’m fine,” I mumbled, trying to sound convincing. My blood sugar was stable—I had checked. I even forced down some toast with avocado an hour ago. But my eyelids felt heavy, my body betraying me. The idea of a warm bed was a temptation I refused to give in to. I leaned my head against his shoulder,inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean laundry and the lingering trace of his cologne.
“I’m just glad Colt made it in time,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “I was seriously worried for his life earlier.”
Nick chuckled, low and amused. “Yeah, well, perks of being in the NFL and making millions. He had a charter plane on standby. Told the team if Abigail went into labor, he was leaving the second he got the call.”
“That’s cool,” I said, closing my eyes for just a second. “Must be nice.” A small smile tugged at my lips. “Abigail is so lucky. I’m so happy for her.”
Nick shifted beneath me, his posture suddenly rigid. I lifted my head, searching his face. “What?”
He hesitated, swirling the coffee in his cup as if the answer was somewhere in the dark liquid. Then, finally, he spoke. “You ever think… maybe this life, the simple life, isn’t really who you are? That one day you’ll miss all of it—the money, the luxury, the way things used to be?”
His words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My breath hitched. Was he really afraid I’d get tired of being loved? That I’d trade him—trade this—for something as empty as wealth?
I sat up, facing him fully. “No.”
He met my gaze, and for a moment, I forgot about the cold coffee in my hands, the exhaustion clawing at my body, the sterile hospital walls around us. I could have drowned in those green eyes.
“No,” I repeated, softer this time. “Never. That life—” I exhaled, shaking my head. “I was empty. Angry. At myself. At the world. I don’t miss it.” I tilted my head, teasing. “Well… maybe the endless shopping sprees and extravagant vacations.”
His jaw tensed.
I smirked. “I’m kidding. Kind of.”
