Page 40 of Triplets for the Rival MC

I turn my head toward the screen. The image is grainy, black-and-white, but there, inside the dark oval of the gestational sac, is a tiny flicker. My throat tightens.

Dr. Hart goes quiet for a moment. “There’s a second.”

My breath catches. “Second?”

She nods, focused now. “Oh.”

There’s something in her tone that makes my heart stutter.

“And… there’s a third.”

The room goes very still. “Three?” My voice comes out barely audible.

“Yes.” Her tone remains steady, professional, but there’s unmistakable warmth in it. “You’re approximately seven weeks along, and you are carrying triplets.”

I stare at the monitor, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing but it’s just a blur to me. Three babies?

Dr. Hart continues, gently educational, no doubt aware of how monumental this information is. “A scan at eleven weeks will confirm, but what I’m seeing here are three distinct placentas and three separate amniotic sacs. That makes this a trichorionic-triamniotic pregnancy.”

I blink at her. “Is that… good?”

“It’s actually the lowest-risk type of triplet pregnancy,” she explains. “Each baby has its own placenta and its own sac. They’re not sharing a blood supply. That strongly suggests they’re fraternal, almost certainly from three separate eggs released during the same cycle.”

Three eggs. Three babies. Three fathers. Three men I love equally. Three men who love me, and now three babies. Three. My magic number.

My hand drifts to my stomach. I thought I was overwhelmed before. Now I feel like the floor has tilted beneath me.

“It also explains why you’ve been so sick,” Dr. Hart adds gently. “Higher hCG levels are very common with multiples. Severe morning sickness, extreme fatigue, it’s your body working overtime.”

Tears prick at my eyes, but I’m not sure if they’re from fear or awe. “Are they… okay?” I whisper.

“All three have strong heartbeats for this stage,” she says reassuringly. “Right now, everything looks exactly as it should.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I’m having triplets. Of all the things I expected to hear today, this wasn’t it. How on earth am I going to tell my men? This is so much bigger than just one baby. I’m pregnant with not one but three babies in the middle of a war. In the middle of chaos. Triplets mean triple the amount of work, triple the amount of danger, triple everything.

I should be terrified, but as I stare at those three flickering lights on the screen, something steadies inside me. No matter what’s coming, I’m not alone, I’ll never be alone again, and neither will these babies.

Chapter 24

Cyrus

I’m worried about Tori. The concern sits heavy in my chest, like a morsel I can’t swallow. Can anxiety cause indigestion? Is that why they call it heartburn? Because I feel like my heart is burning for Tori. For a week now, she’s barely left her bedroom. The door at the end of the hall stays shut. The light beneath it flicking on and off at strange hours. Sometimes I hear the bathroom tap running. Sometimes I hear her retching.

She refuses to see a doctor whenever I mention it, mumbling about a bug and saying she just needs rest. We’ve been so busy fighting with the Raging Bulls that none of us have been home much to look after her. When we offered to take it in turns, with one of us being there to look after her at all times, she point-blank refused. She insists that she’s fine, that we’re better off spending our time fighting the war.

Shelly has been a godsend, checking in on her and helping her whenever she can. Still, I worry about her. I understand that she’s sick, but it seems more than that. She seems anxious, as if something is weighing on her mind.

I know something is wrong, I can sense it, but I can’t work out what, or how to break through to her. Is it something we’ve done? And if not, why won’t she confide in us?

The clubhouse is loud tonight with the sound of engines revving outside, men shouting over a game of pool. The smell of stale beer and oil hangs in the air. But I feel as if I’m elsewhere entirely. I gesture to the guys for us to head somewhere quieter so we can talk. They wordlessly follow me out back to the office, anxiety radiating off them. Flint automatically moves to stand at the head of the scarred oak table in the meeting room, his jaw tight. Hunter leans against the wall with his arms crossed. The overhead light flickers slightly, casting hard shadows across their faces.

“We need to do something about Tori, something's wrong, she’s not just sick,” I say as soon as I shut the door behind me.

“She pushed me away again,” Hunter mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t even let me sit on the bed.”

Flint exhales slowly. “She looks like hell.”

I don’t snap at him for the bluntness because he’s right. The last time I saw Tori clearly, her skin looked pale, almost translucent. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were softer somehow, but drawn with exhaustion. She smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes.