I can’t even disagree, because this is how I feel at the moment.
Through the bond, I feel Sergio's presence. He’s been working from home more, taking advantage of remote coaching opportunities so he can stay close during my pregnancy.
My phone buzzes. Sharon's contact photo lights up.
I answer immediately. “Hey.”
Sharon's laugh is tired but happy. "Just wanted to share some news. Can you video chat?"
I switch to video. Sharon appears on screen, looking exhausted but radiant. Behind her, I can see her office at Bourbon Bliss Weddings.
"You look terrible," I say fondly.
"Thanks. Morning sickness not getting any better.”
“I don’t even know why they call it that. At times it happens at any time of day.”
She grins. "Big news."
"You're pregnant again."
Her face falls. "How did you know?"
"You have that glow. Also you're drinking water which is very unlike you."
"Twins again." She sounds half-terrified, half-thrilled. "The universe apparently thinks I need four children."
"Congratulations! That's amazing. Terrifying, but amazing."
"Wait, there's more." Sharon leans closer to the camera. "Savannah's pregnant too. Due two months after me."
My eyes water. "You're both at the same time?”
"Four babies between us in eight months. And we’ve never been happier." She pauses. "How are you doing? Really?"
"I'm good. The business is thriving. Stacey's amazing. The pack is overprotective but sweet about it. Mom's living her best life in Mexico with her thirty-three-year-old boyfriend. And her house sale went through smoothly, but I still walk past the old house. Memories and all that.”
“I can imagine that you’re still missing your dad.”
I do at times, but then I switch the subject. Whenever I mention dad either I put on a face, or the room goes quiet.
“Mom wants me to visit again.”
"Are you going?"
“After the birth, I can’t now.”
We talk for another twenty minutes before we hang up, I'm smiling so hard my face hurts.
Sharon and Savannah. Both pregnant. Both living proof that running from the wrong thing leads you straight to the right thing.
That evening, Nacho comes home with news.
I'm in the kitchen making tea when he enters, still in uniform. His expression is carefully neutral, but I feel the weight through the bond.
"What is it?"
"Callum's sentencing was today." He pulls off his badge, sets it on the counter. "The prosecutor called."
