I meet Emery’s nervous gaze and expel a loaded breath. “Your choice.”
“Yes,” Emery says, her voice trembling. “We want to know.”
The doctor adjusts the ultrasound probe, focusing on a particular area. “It’s a boy.”
My heart races, emotions rushing through me like the currents of an endless river—elation, pride, a tinge of sadness that Damon isn’t here. But above all, there’s overwhelming love for Emery and our baby. A son.
“We’re having a boy,” I whisper, choked. Emery’s face lights up with a radiant smile, her eyes glossy as she stares at the monitor. “He’s going to be strong, just like his mom.”
Emery’s smile fractures, like a splintering bone, and I can see the worry, the fear. She can’t go there. She can’t sink into that dreaded feeling. And so I distract her. I make her forget. Standing up, I arch over and cup her cheek. Her damp skin meets my touch, and I wishfor nothing more than to have the power to cause a drought.
My lips press against hers in a tender kiss as I swallow her hesitation, claiming it as my own, determined to shield her, protect her. Protect our son.
Emery swallows as I full away, and she gives me a knowing smile. “Thank you.”
I feign ignorance. “Whatever for?”
She grins, and for fifteen minutes we sit together, staring at the monitor, at the trajectory our lives have taken. When the doctor forces a cough for the third time, Emery sighs, rolling down her shirt and hopping off the table. Dr. Wells informs us of our next appointment, and I fish out my car keys, ready to drive us home.
Emery pauses and purses her lips. “Actually, can we walk? There’s an ice cream place just around the corner and?—”
I grin at her playfully. “I doubt they’ll have pickles as a topping.”
Emery gives me a small scowl. “That was one time, and it tasted amazing.”
“Of course it did.”
Hand in hand, we enjoy the warm Manhattan breeze and bustle of the city. As we approach the shop, Emery’s head abruptly snaps to a dog park across the street. She frowns.
I twist my lips in suspicion, my gaze flitting around the park. “What is it?”
Emery hesitates for a moment. “I thought I saw… Never mind.” She shakes her head, brows knitted together. “It’s nothing.”
“Are you sure? We can?—”
“No, it’s fine.” She tugs aggressively on my hand. “Just drop it, okay?” She nods down the street. “It’s just over there.”
Not wanting to argue or pry, I acquiesce, letting her lead the way inside the parlor. I watch Emery scan dozens of flavors as she takes her time deciding on which one she wants. I rein in a laugh. It’s as if she’s combing through sheets of data, so meticulous and determined.
Fifteen minutes later, we sit outside on a bench, and Emery stares off into the distance, absentmindedly licking her cone. “I think I want a will.”
I swallow, keeping my expression neutral. “A will?”
“Yes. A will or a power of attorney. Whatever people get. In case something happens to me.” She turns to face me, squinting from the sun. “Can you find me a lawyer?”
“Emery…”
“Quin.” She sighs. “Please. I’m not… It’s the smart thing to do. Regardless of my medical status, it’s the smart thing to do. I don’t want my parents to be the ones to decide my fate if…” She pauses, nibbling on her lip as if she can’t fathom the thought. Then, an equally bleak realization takes the limelight. She swallows. “I’m going to need to put a name down on the birth certificate.”
The waffle cone in my hand nearly crumbles. “I know.”
Her face falls. “He painted the mural in the nursery. He painted it, Quin. Why would he paint it if he was going to leave?”
My heart clenches. "Because he loves you, darling. And he loves this baby.”
Emery's fragile facade crumbles, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shakes her head. "If he loves me, he would be here. If he loves me, he wouldn't have left."
Helpless. I feel so fucking helpless. The busy street fades into a blur as Emery's cries pierce the air, as she wails uncontrollably. Nothing. There’s nothing I can do.
