Suddenly, it strikes me that the two minutes must be up, and I force myself to open my eyes and take a look at the plastic strip in front of me.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I realize what I’m staring at.
Positive.
For a second, it doesn’t sink in at all—I just stand there, my heart drumming into my ribs, legs like jelly below me as I tighten my grip on the sink to keep from keeling over. My eyes begin to blur, so much so that I can almost convince myself that I’m seeing this wrong. But when I grab for the test and lift it a little closer, there’s no denying what I’m looking at.
A positive test. A promise that this is really happening.
That I have, somehow, managed to get myself pregnant by these men all over again.
And just like that, it feels as though I’ve been tossed bodily back in time, thrown back through history to the moment Idiscovered the first pregnancy. The same swirl of shock courses through me, the same shame and doubt as I realize that I don’t know precisely who the father is.
How could this have happened again?
I know the answer, but I don’t want to let myself so much as think it right now. Because there is something about those men, whether I want to admit it or not, that I just can’t let go of. Something that I don’t dare let slip through my fingers the moment I get a chance to taste it again.
And now, look where it’s gotten me, into a mess that exactly mirrors the one I was in four years ago. I cram the test into the bottom of the trash can, heaping up as much crap on top of it as I can in the hopes of keeping it hidden. The last thing I need is one of the kids dragging it out of there and asking me what exactly it means, when I don’t even have an answer to that for myself.
I stare at myself in the mirror.Pregnant. Again.
What do I do?
I know I have options here, options nobody would blame me for taking, options that, in any rational world, make a whole lot of sense. But when I think about taking those paths, my heart twists in protest. I already have four perfect children from a night with those guys, and the thought of another…it’s not something I can just pretend I don’t want, no matter how much stress and pressure it might pile on me in the process.
Which means I have to find a way to tell them.
That’s the difference here, the thing that separates this from what happened before. All of them have told me, in one way or another, that if they had known about the pregnancy, they wouldhave come back to be there for me. Well, now they get to find out if they can put their money where their mouth is. If they really want to be here for me, they have a chance to do just that. If I can find a way to put it into words, of course.
Suddenly, I hear a noise from down the hallway, and I snap back into reality, rushing out of the bathroom and plastering a smile on my face in the hopes that I can convince these kids that I’m entirely in control of myself.
I turn the corner and find Chrissie standing there, rubbing her face and frowning at me. “I woke up and you…”
“I’m right here, baby,” I promise her, leaning down to scoop her up into my arms and hold her close to me. She wraps her hands around me, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to just breathe in the moment.
Can I really do this whole baby thing again? I feel as though the newborn phase is only just behind me, and the thought of jumping straight into it again but this time with four toddlers to care for is almost overwhelming.
“Come on, you need to get your rest,” I tell her gently, pressing a kiss against her cheek. I carry her back through to the bedroom, where the others are still asleep, each sprawled on their own bed. I can barely fit all four in the room as it stands now, having to press a couple against the wall while the others almost block the door from opening all the way. I plant Chrissie down once more, pulling the covers up and over her, and perch on the edge of her bed as I stroke her hair and watch her begin to doze off again.
I haven’t told them about the house the guys are building for us. I don’t know how to put it into words, not when I could just wait to show them when it’s done. Aside from seeing the blueprints, Ihaven’t been up there to visit myself, not wanting to get excited about it until it really starts to take shape. Right now, the enormity of the job at hand is so overwhelming that I know I’ll be sucked in by how impossible it seems before I can stop myself…
Or maybe I’ll just be faced with the reality that it’s not going to be long till the guys have finished their work here. And when they’re done, they’ll likely be back on the road, picking right back up where they left off.
Even imagining them at that distance again, it stings my chest, like a thread has been pulled taut between us that will shatter at any moment and leave me groping to put the pieces back together. I don’t know how they’ve managed to make themselves such a home in my heart again so quickly, but there’s no denying it now that they’re there, and I can’t just ignore it and pretend like things will go back to how they were before.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been nurturing a part of them here with me all this time. I still might not know who the father of my children actually is—the ones who are asleep before me or the one I’m carrying inside of me right now—but they always seem to have carried so much of all four of them with them. Dylan’s confidence in Chrissie, Callum’s thoughtfulness in Jake, Joe’s warmth in Chuck, Carlisle’s focus in Stephanie. All those overlapping factors that have left me with an indelible mark in the shape of those men on my life that I can’t and don’t want to shake.
Once I’m sure that Chrissie is asleep again, I move to the door and pull it shut quietly, sinking down into a crouch for a moment to catch my breath.
Well, there’s only one thing for it—I’m going to have to tell them about it. They said they would have been there for me if they’dhad the chance before, now they have the opportunity to prove themselves.
Not like I have any clue what I’m going to say to them when the time comes, or what it’s even going to look like when it gets here. Not like I have any plan in place for how to break the news to them.
Bake the positive pregnancy test into a cake and cut them all a slice? I manage a small smile at the thought, though the weight of it all feels too enormous to escape out from under right now.
Finally, I drag myself to my feet again, and head for the stairs to make myself something to eat. No matter what kind of shock I’m in right now, I’m eating for two from this point forward, and I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to have as much as I want. Plus, I need to call the doctor, book an appointment to confirm the pregnancy and make sure that I haven’t managed to work myself into a panic over nothing more than a false positive.
As I stand next to the stove to heat up some soup, I plant my hands on my belly—that very same spot that held the quads once, the memory of their presence held in loose skin and stretchmarks. I doubt that the baby within me is much more than the size of a paperclip right now, hardly bigger than a cluster of cells, but that doesn’t stop me from whispering to it there in the middle of my kitchen.
