“Shall I call an ambulance?” Mr Barton asked, half-rising from his chair.
The sound reached us before anyone moved—a slow, quiet drip. We all looked down at the same moment. A small puddle was pooling around Nika’s foot. Even Barton leaned over his desk to look.
The wood was too dark to see the colour.
I sniffed.
Sweet. Clean.
No infection.
“No ambulance,” Cuán said.“We’ll take the car. We’re not far.”
I glared at him.
“What?” he said.“It’s almost like you want me to fail at being an uncle-dad.”
I turned to Nika.
“You should have told me.”
“Ugh. Deal with it later. I’m dripping.”
Nothing new there.
I was wise enough not to say so.
??????
“I’m not sitting on that,” she said, frowning at the wheelchair I’d stolen for her.“I need to walk. Gravity has laws. You stuck two of them inside me and sitting on that won’t help them come out.”
People stared.
My cheeks grew warm.
Thank the Gods Cuán was parking the car.
“Fine. Fine,” I muttered, taking her arm and walking her down the corridor.“Everything is going to be okay.”
I breathed.
In and out.
In and out.
Everything was going to be okay.
In and out.
In and out.
Which one of you is in labour, Kael drawled.
I was surrounded by complete and utter arseholes.
That was only the beginning.
Nika and Bad Girl used me as both solace and punching bag—sometimes within the same sixty seconds. The whiplash was real. But all of us remained focused on what mattered. Getting them both here safely.
