“Everything is going to be fine.” Nylah buckles her seat belt, adjusting it to sit below the curve of her belly.
I glance at her beach ball stomach before starting the car and waving a final goodbye to Mom. She blows me a kiss, her smile sweet with understanding before she pulls away.
She’s heading to the airport now, returning the rental car, then flying home to San Francisco.
She’s still with the douchebag, although he’s turned out to be a pretty fucking awesome grandpa. The girls adore him, at first to my angst, and now to my reluctant acceptance.
He’ll be waiting for Mom when she lands, his arms wide open with a hug and a listening ear.
Shit, I should be happy she’s got a stable guy in her life.
Reversing out of the parking space, I head home, thinking about that bombshell that just blew up in my face. Dad left me a shit ton of money.
Holy fuck.
Gripping the wheel, I try to feel grateful for the gift.
And yeah, I am. I mean, it’s awesome, really.
But I would have given up every fucking penny if I’d gotten to spend more time with him when he was alive. If he’d let me reconnect with him after he got out of prison… shit, I would have taken that over any amount of money.
“He believed in you,” Nylah whispers. “He wouldn’t have left you that money if he didn’t. Please, don’t waste this chance, Carson. You’ll regret it forever if you do.”
“I…” Huffing out a sigh, I shake my head and finally mutter, “Just let me process this shit, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Nylah mumbles.
Resting her hand on her belly, she rubs the side, a habitual move she’s probably not even aware she does. Oh man, she can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over. It’s been tough on her, and I’m really hoping it’ll be her last.
I didn’t even want a third, but when she told me she was pregnant, I had to act happy, right? And when we found out we were having a boy, she got so excited.
I hugged her and smiled the way I was supposed to, but man… I’m fucking terrified.
A boy?
How the fuck am I supposed to raise a boy?
It was hard enough getting my head around two girls, but a boy?
What if I let him down?
What if I can’t teach him everything he needs to know?
And now Nylah’s thinking I can run a business on top of that?
She must be out of her mind.
She definitely is. That’s the only explanation. Pregnancy brain is making her say stupid shit to me.
Once the kid is born, she’ll come to her senses and things can just go back to the way they should be.
You mean working for a shit boss?
A growl rumbles in my throat, but it’s quiet enough to get drowned out by the music. Nylah’s now singing, rubbing circles on her belly and serenading our son.
We’ve decided to call him Jonas, although we’re gonna wait until he pops out before telling anyone that. We just want to make sure he looks like a Jonas.
The name is Nylah’s choice. I don’t mind it so much, but she let me name the girls—Portia and Harley—so it’s only fair.
