Page 71 of Contracted to the Bikers

I shake my head slightly. “No. It’s been happening for a couple of weeks, feeling nauseous, though this is the first time I was actually sick. I just think it was nerves.”

I open my eyes to catch the subtle look that passes between them.

Cruz slowly enters the room. “You’ve been feeling sick for a couple of weeks?” he repeats.

I frown slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

He glances at Rook, then Boone, then back at me. “Maybe it’s not nerves.”

The implication of what he’s suggesting is clear. I’m rendered speechless for a moment, wondering how it hadn’t occurred to me before—especially considering we’re trying for a child. I shake my head. “But surely it’s too soon…”

Rook steps closer, his gaze steady. “Only one way to find out.”

***

The test feels heavier than it should; it’s just a plastic stick. My hands are shaking slightly as I hold it, following the instructions carefully. It feels like a lifetime ago that I did this last. But this time, I’m not alone. This time I’m sharing the moment with my partners. The guys hover outside the door while I take it, and when I’m done, we wait together.

The wait feels like the longest few minutes of my life. No one speaks. No one moves. It’s like we’re collectively holding our breath. Part of me wonders if they’re having second thoughts, if they’ll feel relief if my sickness turns out to be just nerves. But one look at their faces tells me that isn’t true.

The beeping alarm cuts through the silence like a knife, making me jump. Rook silences it and looks at me. “It’s time.”

“Moment of truth,” Cruz says with a smile.

Boone squeezes my free hand as I pick up the test. I take a deep breath as I tell myself that whatever the outcome, we’ll be fine. I look down.

There are two clear lines. Unmistakable.

My breath catches. “I’m—” I look up at my men, eyes shining with tears as the shock and joy hit me at once. “I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 28

Sloane

The waiting room is quiet, muted voices drifting from behind closed doors, the soft hum of air conditioning filling the gaps between them. The walls are pale blue with framed pictures of smiling babies and families. In one corner, there’s a play area where a young boy toddles around, his mom nearby, watching him closely.

There are rows of chairs that are a little too firm to be comfortable. I sit in one of them, my hand resting unconsciously over my stomach. It’s still flat, unchanged, and yet everything is different.

Rook sits to my right, his knee angled slightly toward mine, his presence solid and steady like always. Boone is on my left, one arm draped along the back of the chair behind me, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. Cruz leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, tapping his fingers together in a rhythm that tells me he’s more keyed up than he wants to admit.

None of us is talking much. Not because we don’t want to, but because there’s too much sitting just beneath the surface, excitement, nerves, hope.

“Ms. Mercer?”

I look up. A nurse in pale green scrubs stands in the doorway, clipboard in hand, offering a polite, practiced smile. “That’s me,” I say, pushing myself to my feet.

The guys stand with me automatically. The nurse’s smile flickers slightly as she takes in the four of us, but she recovers quickly. “Right this way.”

The exam room is cool, and the hum of the air conditioner is the only sound in the empty room. The nurse tells me to get up on the exam bed and that the doctor will be in soon, before leaving us.

The scent of disinfectant is stronger here, and as I sit on the edge of the exam bed, the paper sheet beneath me crinkles with every movement.

There are only two chairs on the other side of the doctor’s desk, presumably for the expected two parents, but the guys don’t sit in them at all. Boone stands near the wall, arms folded loosely, his gaze fixed on me. Cruz leans against the desk, glancing around like he’s taking everything in and filing it away. Rook stays closest, one hand resting lightly on my lower back, his concern coming out as possessive and protective.

The door opens again, and the OBGYN steps in. She’s in her late forties, maybe early fifties, with kind eyes and a no-nonsense posture that immediately puts me a little more at ease. Her hair is pulled back neatly, and she carries herself like someone who has seen everything, and nothing surprises her anymore. “Good morning,” she says warmly. “I’m Dr. Carter. You must be Ms. Mercer.”

“Sloane,” I reply.

She nods and glances briefly at the men, her eyebrows lifting just slightly, but she doesn’t comment. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”