14 months later
The first thing I notice are the pillars. They draw the eye to the front porch, which must have been elaborately constructed, even back in its heyday. It’s a stately colonial, with a stone façade and strong, classical details. But the vines creeping up the north-facing side of the house, and the willow tree framing the west, do a lot to soften its presence. I’m immediately enchanted.
I step out of the car, having driven here with Tristian, and meet the others around the front.
Killian’s eyes find me and he pauses, staring intently. He recovers just as quickly, touching my back to usher me forward. Leaning down, he murmurs, “Nice dress,” which would be a sweet compliment if it weren’t followed by, “Trying to get fucked?”
I purposely remain silent, letting my sundress sway around my knees. I’m far from the days of these three picking my outfits, but I still know what riles them up, and I use the information accordingly. Clearing my throat, I say, “So, this one looks interesting.”
We all stare up at the house with matching, pensive expressions.
“Check it out.” Killian jerks his chin to the side of the property. “Three-car garage.”
“And two acres of pure charm!” Harried, Linda comes stumbling up the drive, struggling to adjust one of her tan pumps. “This home is truly a showcase to detail, gentlemen.” She pauses, addressing me. “And Lady.”
Tristian’s cheek puckers up into a half-grimace. “It looks old, Linda.”
“Oh, but it’s been modernized!” the real estate agent says, fumbling with her briefcase and phone. “This home has been here since the town of Forsyth’s incorporation. But don’t let its age fool you, Mr. Mercer. The previous owners updated it in every fashion.” She gestures to the front door. “Well, I’ll let her speak for herself. Shall we?”
Tristian shoots me a look, but I just shrug back. The last house we’d seen had felt much too new. Sterile. Cold. Walking through it gave me nothing. No feelings. No comfort. No joy. Linda had apparently taken my malcontent to heart, because now she shoots me a wink, swinging the door open.
“You are going to love it,” she whispers. The foyer is just as impressive as the outside had been, with high ceilings and a bold pendant light that descends to a point. “The first lady of this house had that commissioned from a local blacksmith,” Linda explains, pointing to the heavy metal and glass design. “Her husband was a general in the army. She wanted a light to be seen from all the way across the world, so he’d always be able to find his way back home. It was originally gas-lit, but it’s been very carefully restored.”
I feel a bit of awe imagining something so antique above our heads. What was the first lady of the house like? Did she worry when her husband left, waiting impatiently for him to return home safe? Because lately, I’ve been finding myself doing the same.
None of the guys look like they could care less.
“I’m going to check out the kitchen,” Tristian says, throwing us a lazy salute as he wanders away.
“Living room?” Dimitri gestures to the entryway, letting Linda lead.
Despite my feelings, I fall behind, letting Killian and Dimitri walk ahead. It doesn’t feel like I belong here, even though I know they’d all tell me differently. The huge picture window above the eaves casts the large room in a bright patch of golden warmth, and despite my reservations, I can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to stand beneath it during sunrise. I do a little turn in the rays, my sundress swooshing.
“There are six bedrooms, including one main with a bath and sitting room,” she says, not even needing to read from her phone, “along with a large space in the basement that can be turned into an in-law-suite or an entertainment room.”
“Entertainment room,” Killian and I say at the same time, sharing a look. When your parents are dead, absent, fuck-you rich, or in prison, there’s no need for a guest room. Killian looks over his shoulder at me, realizing I’m hanging back, and instantly grabs for me, folding me under an arm. He’s wearing a crisp, well-tailored suit that hugs his muscles in ways I’m still unprepared to see, but he’s removed his tie and undone his top two buttons. These are the trappings of a King: luxury clothing and a nice home to hang them in. “Maybe a pool table?” he adds, peering around the space.
I grab the hand he has slung over my shoulder, reluctantly suggesting, “And a big screen?” Killian may not play football anymore, but he definitely watches it. “We might be too old to go to LDZ parties, but we could still invite people over.”
“Who’s too old for a frat party?” Tristian asks, walking back from the kitchen. Much like Killian, he’s dressed to impress, having just come from a meeting with his father’s investors. “Alumni come back all the time. We’re welcome and revered.”
“You were Lords for a year longer than you were supposed to be.” I remind him, eyes rolling. “You’ve had your glory days.”
Once again, I get a swell of emotion at the reminder they’ve all graduated now. That means no more walks with them across campus. No more lunches with them in the student center. No more library make-out sessions with Tristian. No more sneaking into the music department’s studio rooms to listen to Dimitri’s newest piece. No more sneaking off with Killian in the middle of the day for target practice and some hasty backseat fucking.
No more brownstone.
“This place gets fiber, and it already has a great sound system,” Dimitri says, shutting a closet door. He came here straight from some sort of Avenue dealings, and he looks the part, gun peeking from the holster hiding beneath his worn leather jacket. He jerks his chin at Killian. “Good security, but we’ll definitely have to upgrade.”
“Oh, hey,” Tristian says, eyes lighting up. “Maybe we can get a dog. Izzy and Lizzy have been dying for a puppy, but you know my mom and her ‘allergies’.” He makes finger quotes around the word and rolls his eyes.
“That just sounds a lot like I’ll be taking care of a puppy. Hard pass.” I shake my head, undeterred by the very convincing plea in his eyes when he takes my hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckles.
He whispers, “Lady’s choice.” What a load of horseshit, and Tristian knows it, mouth curling against my hand.
Linda, the real estate agent, watches our banter, and I immediately recognize the questions in her eyes. Which one is my partner? Are the four of us going to live together? How does this work? What’s the dynamic, and who should she be appealing to? Even after all this time, she still doesn’t take the risk of actually asking. One thing she knows for certain is that Killian is King of South Side, which means discretion is important. “I’ll, um, let you all look around a little by yourselves. I’ll be outside if you have any questions.”
Once she’s out of the room, Dimitri emits this little wicked laugh. “Man, she’s confused as fuck.”
“She’s freaked out,” Tristian elaborates, crouching down to inspect the floor. “The last real estate agent for the King of South Side ended up with a bullet in her skull.”
Killian lets his arm fall away from my shoulder, walking to the French doors. “And the one before that still hasn’t been found.” A darkness crosses his expression as he stares outside, something wistful in his eyes.
For the millionth time, I carefully suggest, “Then maybe we should look for something a little less elaborate.”
They groan in an eerily perfect unison, each man turning to throw me an exasperated glance. “This again?” Tristian laments, gesturing to Dimitri. “Even Rath stopped pushing back on this.”
Dimitri urges, “We need a place to live, Story.”
“I know.” I shift from foot to foot, worrying, “But we don’t need a mansion.”
Tristian unapologetically disagrees, “I do.”
“I don’t not need one,” Killian mutters.
Dimitri and I share a look, but he’s long since stopped trying to talk any sense into these two. Instead, he approaches me, pulling me close. “Come on, baby. You know the deal.” Six months ago, Dimitri got an eyebrow piercing to go with the rest, and it makes every movement of his brow look impossibly expressive. Right now, as his dark eyes bore into mine, they’re crouched all low and intense. “It’s the family fund. What else are we going to do?”
The deal was that each of us contributes a percentage of our income to the family fund. For me, that’s a paltry amount. For Dimitri, it’s a little more substantial, since he still works South Side. For Killian, it’s an unspeakable amount, and for Tristian?
Well, for him, it’s utterly ridiculous.
But Dimitri is right. What else are we going to do? It’d be frankly hilarious to watch Tristian and Killian survive in a small starter home, but it wouldn’t be fair to them. They have money. They should be able to live within their means, even if it’s so far outside of mine, it might as well be Jupiter.
“Yeah,” I sigh, straining up to brush my lips against his. “I’ll keep looking around.”
“Let’s check out this entertainment room,” Killian says, waving the guys over.
While they do that, I walk through the living room and up the stairs, peeking into each of the bedrooms. Even though I know some of it is due to my hesitation, the clock is ticking. This is the seventh house we’ve looked at in two days, and we need to leave the brownstone soon. The guys graduated two days ago, and the new Lords are ready to start rolling into the place. In a few months, they’ll pick a new Lady and fill the house with their own parties and insanity. We’re not old, but we’re moving to a new place in life. A good place. Apparently, a very expensive place.
I walk to a small room with a door that opens into the main bedroom. It’s a bright room with a large window that overlooks the backyard, and I spend a long time staring out of it, not entirely sure why. Something about the space is just so calming, like I could see myself standing here again. A part of it is the view of the yard below. There’s a pool and a hot tub, plus space for the guys to put in a basketball court, or—
“A swing set would be good there,” Tristian says, wrapping his arms around my waist.
I touch his solid forearms, leaning back into his chest. “For the girls?”
“Or…” His hand ghosts over my flat belly. “…other kids.”
I twist my neck, arching an eyebrow. “You have plans I don’t know about?” It’s not the first time babies and the future of our little family have been brought up. The way they pump me full of their cum, it’s probably a miracle I haven’t had a slip-up. But I’m diligent with my birth control. I had to be. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life and getting knocked up in a frat house wasn’t going to be one of them. I’m not a goddamn princess.
“I have a lot of plans,” he says, kissing me on the neck. “Most involve defiling you in every room in the house once we buy it.” He looks around, fingers tapping against my belly. “Well, maybe not this one.”
Snorting, I ask, “Why not?” and he gives me a slow, crooked grin.
“Even I draw the line at fucking in the baby’s room.”
I shake my head, partly because there’s no possible way that’s true. Tristian will literally have sex anywhere, anytime, anyplace. But I’m also shaking my head because he can’t be for real. I know part of buying a house like this instead of a simple starter home is planning for the future. Knowing how you want to fill it. Understanding that you’ll have room to grow. I just haven’t quite let myself look that far into the future yet.
Tristian slips away, leaving me to my thoughts as he enters the bedroom. But I follow, enticed by the comforting feeling of the room and alternately intimidated by it. Dimitri and Killian are already in the room when we wander in.
“What do you think?” Killian asks, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “Pretty nice.”
“The kitchen is great,” Tristian says, even though he looks begrudging about it. “I’ve really been honing my skills lately, don’t you think?”
“Anything is an improvement to the slop Ms. Crane cooked,” Dimitri says. “No wonder the girls at the Hideaway are so skinny. People think it’s drugs.”
Dimitri and Tristian both turn to look at me. “Well?” Killian asks.
Feeling put on the spot—god, they always do this—I take a quick peek in the en suite bathroom, trying to imagine all of us crammed in here. It’s rare that any of us take showers alone anymore. Luckily, the shower is huge, fitted with three different heads and plenty of arm room. There’s also an expansive tub—perfect for Dmitri’s and my late night soaks. Satisfied, I prop a shoulder against the jamb, surveying the largeness of the bedroom. “It’s close enough to campus for me to get to my last two years of classes.” See? I can think of the future.
“But not too close to South Side,” Killian notes, peering out the window.
Dimitri agrees. “The grounds are nice and tight. Plenty of space.”
Tristian stresses, “Yeah, it checks the boxes, but guys,” He raises his hands, spinning. “Do we like it?”
I know what he’s asking. Is this the place we can see ourselves living—not just for the next couple of years, but for good. Can we see ourselves in this room, waking up every day, coming back to it at night, piling onto the bed, making love? Can we see ourselves downstairs entertaining Marcus and the other LDZ guys? Can we see ourselves in the backyard, swimming and having cookouts? Is this a house with the potential of being more than wood and stone?
Is this home?
I look around the big room, big enough for a bed to fit all of us, and think of the nursery next door. I imagine standing in front of that window a few years from now, holding a little Killian or Tristian or Dimitri in my arms. Maybe, soon, once I finish school and the guys get settled… maybe?
The big secret I’ve been holding inside is that it doesn’t really matter. Home is wherever they are.
“I think we should make an offer,” I say, firm and decisive.
Killian’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but he looks pleased, giving me a nod. “I agree.”
Tristian brings his hand together in a clap. “Are we doing this?”
Dimitri answers, “Looks like it,” and whips out his phone. “I’ll give Linda the all clear.”
The guys exit the bedroom, all caught up in the negotiations of purchasing the house. I let them go ahead, placing my hands on either side of the hallway wall, feeling the sturdiness of it, the stability. This will be the first real home I’ll ever have. Mom and I never owned anything—just bounced around from shitty motel to crappy apartment, then to Daniel’s house, boarding school, and the little hovel in Colorado. The LDZ house is the closest thing, but even that wasn’t really mine—it wasn’t even the Lords’, because it belongs to the frat. But this?
This would actually be ours.
I stand at the top of the staircase, looking out over the foyer, and imagine that pendant light beckoning my generals home.
12 months later
I’m always the last one down to breakfast.
Usually, it’s because I have to scrub the sweat and semen off my body, and forcing them out of the bathroom as I do is the only way to ensure it doesn’t start all over again. Sleeping with three horny men who have been instructed to save their cum just for me may have been a misstep. I think about reneging on it, telling them to go back to jerking off in the shower or into my panties or whatever, but then they pump me full, and like a greedy bitch, I just want it all.
That’s the problem usually.
Today, I spend thirty minutes trying to find something to wear. Finally, I give up and pull on a Forsyth shirt with Killian’s number on the back. I stole it a couple years ago, from some blond sorority girl in my stats class who kept wearing it around campus. I suspect she knew it irritated me. All it took was following her into the showers one day and snatching it up. He may not be with me on campus anymore, but people still need to know he’s mine.
“I can take Tris up there with me,” Dimitri says when I walk in. His eyes are fixed to his phone, even though his hand is shoveling a fork full of sausage to his mouth. “But you’ll probably get an earful from Ms. Crane about it later.”
“About what?” I ask, stopping to pour myself a mug of coffee.
Dimitri looks up to answer, but freezes, eyes lingering on my chest. “Uh. You know, she complains when she goes more than a couple weeks without verbally abusing one of us in person.”
“Well, I can’t miss this drop,” Killian complains, tapping distractedly at his laptop. “Tristian’s dad is already pissy enough we’ve corrupted his firstborn into a life of…” His words fade off when he looks up, eyes zeroing in on my chest. “What are you wearing?”
Grimacing, I try to stretch my top. “All my shirts shrunk in the dryer,” I say, tugging at the front. “I think it’s running too hot or something.”
Dimitri makes a saluting motion with his fork. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I think you look great.”
“I look like I’m wearing a shirt designed for a twelve-year-old,” I grumble, taking my seat. “Did I hear that right before? You’re going to the Hideaway?”
“Some dickbrained John is causing problems,” Dimitri explains, slathering some butter over his toast. “Augustine requested some muscle to scare him off the premises. For good, this time.”
“Someone’s causing problems?” A knot of worry tangles in my gut. “Is Ms. Crane okay?”
Killian gives me a puzzled look. “Of course she’s okay. You know Delores. She’d handle it herself, except she’s on doctor’s orders to relax.”
Ms. Crane’s blood pressure was too high at her last doctor appointment, which is something that’s been nagging at my mind. “She needs to be careful,” I fret, and even though I know it’s futile and not what she’d want, a part of me still wishes she’d move in downstairs. “You should take this John out once and for all. She needs people who can watch over her.” Unbidden, my eyes begin swelling with unshed tears, imagining her alone and in distress. Ms. Crane doesn’t deserve such a fate. I don’t know who this John is, but I hope they kill him. Slowly.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Dimitri gawks at me. “She’s got twenty hookers up her ass twenty-four-seven. She probably couldn’t take a piss without the whole whorehouse knowing.”
“Seriously,” Killian argues, adjusting his shirt cuff. “Why do you think Auggy asked us to come?”
“Oh, I know why she asked you to come,” I darkly mutter, narrowing my eyes at Dimitri. It’s such a sudden turn of emotion from heart clenching worry to blood boiling jealousy that it makes my head spin, but I just can’t help it. “I’m sure she’ll be waiting to welcome Dimitri through the doors with an erotic dance parade.”
There’s a long stretch of tense silence, but I have a difficult time letting it penetrate. My thoughts are just so full of Ms. Crane getting hurt again. And then Augustine with her slender waist and glamorous makeup and shirts that actually fucking fit. I want to hit something, and then double over and have a really good cry about it.
This must be PMS from hell.
“I’m confused.” Dimitri’s fork clatters to the plate and he sits back, dark eyes boring into me. “Do you want us to ride in like big fucking heroes, or let them fend for themselves?”
A lump forms in my throat at his tone, and I have to clench my jaw to stop my chin from wibbling. “You don’t have to snap at me.”
His jaw drops, and he looks at Killian. “I’m not snapping! I’m just completely fucking lost!”
Killian at least notices the tears shining unshed in my eyes. He leans forward to touch my wrist, thumb stroking over my daisy tattoo, and asks, “What’s going on, little sister?”
“What’s going on,” I grind out, both wanting to take his hand in mine and fling it away, “is that I’m tired, and sore, and all of my shirts are ruined, and I wish you didn’t have to waltz into a brothel to save Ms. Crane, but you do, and that’s just something I’m allowed to be irked about.” The first tear falls, even though I’ve moved past the unexpected grief and into overwhelming frustration. I angrily swipe at my cheek. “Just forget it.”
Now they’re both staring at me like I’m an actual alien, and the thing is, I understand why. I’m not being rational this morning. These are the ramblings of a crazy woman.
Just like your mother, says a nasty voice in my head. Augustine would never…
God, where did that come from? I bolt out of the chair and storm from the room, tears hot at the corner of my eyes. Just before I get out of earshot, I hear Tristian come in from the kitchen to bark, “What the fuck did you Neanderthals do?”
I go up to the bedroom and yank open a dresser drawer, looking for a shirt that actually fits, but it takes a while, since my vision is completely distorted from the tears. It looks like I’m doing this—crying at eight in the morning, for no good reason—so I accept defeat. I go ahead and free the clench of sobs in my chest. It feels good. Cathartic. Like an emotional bloodletting. When the pressure has released, I pull in a noisy sniffle and find one of Tristian’s workout shirts in my drawer. That’s sure to fit. His laundry never gets ruined.
I’m just pulling the tight shirt off when Tristian appears in the doorway, face etched into a frown. “I don’t know what those assholes said to you, but don’t let it ruin breakfast. I made these incredible pancakes—they taste like real wheat.”
My stomach lurches and I freeze, swallowing down bile in the back of my throat. “No, thanks.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, approaching me much like Jack Hanna approaches a pack of hyenas. Slow and cautious. “What’s going on? You’ve been crying.”
I shake my head as another tear tracks down my cheek. “I’m just having a shitty day. My shirts have all shrunk, and Ms. Crane is out there all alone, and Augustine wants to fuck my boyfriend, and—” And gluten-free pancakes that taste like wheat are disgusting.
Tristian places his hands on my shoulders. “Story, look at me. We can buy you new shirts. Ms. Crane is never alone. And Augustine has her own boyfriend now. Her run at Rath is ancient history. Not like she’d ever make a move on a Queen’s man, anyway.” His eyes drop to my tits, and I try not to hold it against him. I know better than to attempt a serious conversation in this house while I’m shirtless. “Hey, wait,” he says, taking in my half-bare torso. “It’s the sixteenth, isn’t it?”
I groan, knowing he was going to bring this up. “Yes, okay? I’m obviously PMSing! Sorry if that throws a wrench in your weekend plans, but…”
My words cut off when he abruptly grabs my breasts.
It’s not really a grab, since it’s gentle and testing, but he cups his palms around them, engulfing them, weighing them. His face is pulled into a calculating expression.
I squirm away. “Tristian, I don’t have time for your kinky shit today.”
“Just… wait. Hold on.” He keeps touching them, and when Killian and Dimitri appear in the doorway, he throws them a quick look. “Come feel these.”
I bat his hands away, wrestling my shirt up my arms. “You’ve lost your mind!”
“I have not,” he demands, gesturing to the tits I’m stuffing into his workout shirt. “I know your tits, Story. I know the size, shape, circumference, weight. They’re absolute perfection. Your shirts didn’t shrink. Your tits are bigger.”
I give him a wry look. “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously!” he insists, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me toward the mirror on the dresser. “Look at them! They’re bigger.” At my skeptical expression, he raises an eyebrow. “If one of our dicks grew an inch, would you notice?”
Huh.
Well, when he puts it like that…
“Why would my tits grow?” I argue, pulling at my top. “I’m twenty three. I think I’m done outgrowing bras.”
He makes a sharp sound, like he’s willing me to catch onto something only he can see. “It’s the sixteenth.” He punctuates this with a thump on the dresser. “Your period is over a week late.”
Everything slows down. Murky. Thick. Indistinct. I struggle to wade through it, to find my way to reason, because there’s no way.
There is no goddamn way.
Dimitri rolls his eyes. “This is dumb.”
“It’s not dumb,” Tristian bites back. “You’re just in denial.”
“You can’t tell she’s pregnant just by feeling her up, Tris. Jesus, look at her.” Dimitri lifts a hand, indicating my general demeanor. “You’re freaking her out.”
I cup my own breasts, demanding, “I’m still on birth control.”
“Then you better throw it out, because you’re pregnant.” Tristian says it with such utter conviction that it shoots through me like a cattle prod.
“Bullshit.” Dimitri drops down onto the bed, eyes looking me over. “She looks completely normal. You’re full of it.”
He says the words with certainty, but there’s something in his eye that makes me nervous. A detachment. More like he doesn’t want it to be true.
Killian is just standing there, all rigid as he stares at my stomach, and his face eerily expressionless. He looks like he’s doing long division in his head, trying to count the days. “What if he’s right?” he says, tearing his eyes from me to look at Dimitri.
“He’s not,” Dimitri says, but he leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go get her some tests. Twenty bucks says we just need a new dryer.”
“Fine,” Tristian says, snapping straight. “I’ll go pull the car around.”
Thirty minutes later, I have the tests all laid out on the edge of the tub like some kind of science experiment. Tristian had bought one of every brand and type, and some of them are unnecessarily complicated, digital things that make me want to pitch them right into his face.
But armed with a cup of pee, I go through the motions of dipping every test. It’s not the first time I’ve had to take a pregnancy test. There was an incident a year ago between my implant coming out and going on a new pill that I thought I might have gotten knocked up. Turns out, I just had some light food poisoning.
This feels different, though, and as I wait for the tests to give my results, I try to ignore the sound of pacing feet on the other side of the bathroom door.
“What does it say?” Tristian asks, his anxious voice muffled through the wood.
Rolling my eyes, I shout, “It says to wait!”
It’s sooner than I wanted to have a baby. I’m still a year out from receiving my degree. We’re just now getting settled into our new home. The guys have only just entered into the professional world, no matter its illegal elements. Are we ready to have a child? Am I ready to be someone’s mother?
Beyond the nagging self-doubt is a seed of a thought. It’s the nursery next door, and that first day I stepped foot inside of it, imagining holding one of their babies. I wonder what they’d be like. A wily, curious, somber son, like Killian? A bright, golden-haired charmer like Tristian? Or a raven-haired, soulful, creative daughter, like Dimitri?
Mostly I think of a child that’s a part of them all. Killian’s seriousness, Tristian’s easy nature, and Dimitri’s gifted talents. That’s what I’d want to create, more than anything; a child that represents everything good and pure about them.
That’s what I’m thinking of when I step out of the bathroom, laying eyes on them. They’re all lined up on the side of the Alaskan bed, heads jolting up at the sound of the door opening. In their eyes, I see nervousness, fear, and an inkling of dread. But I also see hope, wonder, and the unmistakable presence of love.
I tap the pregnancy test against my palm. “They’re all positive.”
There’s a long stretch of stunned silence—even from Tristian, who was so confident before. “All of them?” he asks.
I nod, twisting to glance back at the neat little row of tests. “All twelve.”
“Holy shit,” Dimitri breathes, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “Holy fucking… oh, shit.”
“So you’re…” Killian gestures to my belly, face slack. “There’s a baby in there. Right now.”
“Yes.” I give them a moment to work through this, watching as it hits them in waves. Dimitri keeps shoving his hair back, and Killian keeps staring, and Tristian—
He jumps up and grabs me, spinning me around. “Fuck me, I’m going to be a dad!” He takes my face in his hands, and through the spark of excitement in his eyes is a reservation I’m surprised to see. “Is this okay? I know you wanted to wait until you got your degree, but—”
I grin, grabbing his wrists. “It’s okay. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved.”
“Relieved?” Killian asks, finally tearing his eyes away from my stomach.
“I’ve just been feeling so off,” I explain, knowing that my cheeks are glowing red. “Sometimes it’s like I was going crazy. But this makes sense.” I look over at Dimitri who looks shell-shocked. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yeah, I just…” Slowly, a little bit of clarity spreads through his dark eyes and he crosses over to me, touching my stomach. “I never let myself think this far ahead. I’m not sure I ever thought I’d live long enough to do something like this. Jesus. We made a baby.”
Tristian dips down to kiss me, so hard and deep that I almost miss Killian’s words.
“Whose do you think…?”
I tear away from Tristian’s lips to blurt, “It’s ours.” I tackle my step brother right there on the bed, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “It’s all of ours, no matter what.” He gazes at me with this dumbfounded expression, which I suppose is fair. We might have been talking about this, but it was such a hypothetical. “That’s the one thing I want,” I tell him, holding his face in my hands. “I want it to be all the best parts of all of you.” Looking back and forth between all of them, I plead, “Promise me we’ll never need to know. Promise me if it comes out looking more like one of you than the others, you won’t love it any less.”
The tears come again, springing them all into action. They huddle around me with soft words and gentle touches, but I don’t have the chance to explain that I’m not sad or frightened.
I just already see the promise in their eyes.
