Page 39 of Triplets for the Rival MC

I pace the bathroom anxiously while I wait. After a moment, I decide I may as well take one of the others while I’m at it, just to be sure. The tiles are cold beneath my bare feet as I resume my pacing after taking the second test. I press a palm against my lower stomach without thinking, imagining the life that might be inside. My heart twists at the possibility of a baby that would be mine and Flint’s and Hunter’s and Cyrus’s. The four of us tangled together in love and chaos. I imagine what it would be like to raise a child with them, the thought blooms warm and golden in my chest. I want this. But, just as quickly, fear follows. I think of the war that is looming between the Ghost Riders and the Raging Bulls, of what this child represents. Already, I feel a surge of maternal protectiveness for this hypothetical baby. Could we protect something so fragile in the middle of so much violence?

The next five minutes are painfully slow. Time seems to warp and stretch endlessly, even as I count in my head; the numbers on my phone screen are sluggish, refusing to keep pace with my rushed counts. I watch the seconds change like they’re fighting me, each tick louder than the last. My pulse thrums in my ears, and I try to calm myself by pretending my men are here, how they might react if they were sharing this moment. I imagine Flint’s steady hands on my shoulders, Hunter’s teasing grin softening with awe, Cyrus looking at me with fierce devotion in his eyes. Would they be scared? Would they be happy? Will they want this baby as much as I now know I do?

“All good in there?” Shelly calls from behind the door.

Her voice makes me jump. I’d almost forgotten she was here. “Yes,” I squeak back as the time is finally up, and rush over to look at the results. My breath catches, lodging painfully in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, suddenly afraid to look. I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles white, bracing myself for either outcome. For the crushing disappointment I might feel if I’m wrong, or worse, will I feel relief? Will a positive result change my feelings? Will I suddenly crumble under the enormity of it? Will I regret and resent a child for coming into my life at such an inconvenient time? Will I be a bad mom?

I take a deep breath, calming myself, building my courage. Just take it one step at a time. You can’t decide anything, you can’t do anything, until you know for sure, I tell myself. I open my eyes, meeting my face in the mirror. Is a mother staring back at me? Finally, I look down at the two tests, lying side by side, their results ready and unmistakable.

They couldn’t be clearer. The first one has two very solid red lines; the second is even more certain. Its answer is written in plain English, just one word.

Pregnant.

Chapter 23

Tori

I didn’t tell the guys yesterday. I wanted to, but when they got home, I was so relieved that they were safe, and they were so anxious and stressed about the war that they have now officially declared, that the words got stuck in my throat. I told myself it’s not the right time, that I should wait until I’ve been to the doctor and had it confirmed officially before I tell them. In short, I’m a coward.

Thankfully, the guys haven’t noticed my strange behavior and haven’t argued with me about coming to the hospital. They’re too caught up in the logistics of planning their next move against the Raging Bulls and preparing for an attack.

Shelly has been incredible. She offered to drive me to the doctors today under the guise of us visiting Hank and Screw in the hospital. It wasn’t a total lie—we did visit them when we first got here. Hank is getting out today, and Screw is doing well. He’s still his usual self. He was flirting outrageously with the nurse and telling us all about his newfound love of spongebaths during our visit.

Shelly has promised she won’t tell a soul about the pregnancy. She says it’s my choice what I do and who I tell. I’m so grateful for her support. I left Shelly in Hank's room. I insisted I’d be fine and that I wanted to do this alone. She seemed uncertain, but eventually she agreed, giving me a tight hug and telling me to get her if I changed my mind.

I’m sitting waiting in the OBGYN department. The plastic chairs in the waiting room are hard and uncomfortable, making me fidget and constantly readjust, trying to get comfortable to no avail. There’s a daytime soap opera playing in the corner of the waiting room, the screen pixelated and the sound too low for anyone to hear it. The room is almost full of patients waiting to be seen, all wearing similar expressions of boredom and discomfort. A baby wails in a mother’s arms, a small child glumly plays in the pathetic play area designed to keep children entertained, but it is woefully lacking any actual toys. The mothers look weary, concern and fear marring their expressions. I turn away, not wanting to think about why they might be here.

A pregnant woman is sitting across from me, her belly huge and protruding, her hands protectively placed on her bump. I smile at her, and she smiles back, a peaceful, contented smile.

My leg jiggles with nervous anticipation. I stare at the hand on the wall-mounted clock, willing it to move faster. The hospital is a cacophony of noise, the ever-ringing phone, the beeping and whirring of machines, the chatter of people, the squeaking of nurses' sneakers as they rush between patients. I’ve always hated hospitals. I wonder if I can have a home birth, something peaceful with only my men and a midwife present. I doubt the guys would go for it. They’re so protective, they’d want the best care money can buy. They’ll be insufferably protective once they know I’m carrying their child. Or they won’t.

That will be worse. What if they don’t want this baby?

I bite the hangnail on my finger, and a red swell of blood blooms as I pull the skin too deep. Maybe I should have told the guys. They should be here, shouldn’t they? But they have other things to worry about right now. We’re at war and distractions could cost lives. I just need a little time. I want to tell them when the time is right, and I need to know the tests weren’t false positives; that the baby is healthy. There’s no point in worrying them unnecessarily.

Finally, the nurse calls my name. I jump up and do an awkward half wave to signal that’s me. She nods and doesn’t wait for me to pick up my bag and the book I’d brought to read while I waited, which sat unread beside me. I scramble to gather them, rushing after her as she walks briskly toward my appointment room, not looking back, confident I’m following or too busy to notice if I’m not. She knocks on the door once with a sharp rap of her knuckles and quickly announces me to the doctor before bustling away.

I’m relieved that my doctor is a woman. I don’t know why, but the thought of another man knowing about the pregnancy before the guys and inspecting my private areas, even a medical professional, doesn’t sit right with me. Dr. Hart is a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair swept back neatly from her face; her sharp cheekbones are softened by kind eyes. She smiles warmly as she welcomes me, her demeanor relaxed yet professional. She asks me a series of questions, and I explain as best I can, my quavering voice slowly calming as she puts me at ease.

Seeing as it’s been quite a while since my last period, the doctor explains that she will perform a blood test, a physical exam, and an ultrasound. She runs the tests, and the phlebotomist takes my blood, then leaves without explaining much. I’m waiting for the results, and now I’m here, I wish I’d brought Shelly to keep me company.

Dr. Hart knocks once before stepping back in. She gives me a small, reassuring smile as she pulls up her stool.

“Thanks for waiting, Tori. My apologies that it took a little longer than anticipated,” she says warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” I let out a shaky breath. “Exhausted. Nauseous. Overwhelmed.”

She nods like she’s heard it a thousand times and still takes it seriously every single time. “That tracks with what we’re seeing so far.” Dr. Hart flips through my chart.

“So, I can confirm the test results were correct. Your hCG levels are quite elevated for early pregnancy,” she explains calmly. “That hormone is what’s responsible for most of the nausea and fatigue. Higher levels can mean a few things, you may be farther along than you thought. Another possibility is multiples.”

Multiples. What does she mean, multiples? My heart skips. “Like… twins?”

She smiles slightly, gesturing for me to lie down. “Let’s take a look. Given that you’re likely to be in the early stages, we’ll do a transvaginal ultrasound.”

I lie back and wait. The probe is cold as she inserts it and I try and relax. I stare at the ceiling at first, afraid to look. Then I hear it. A rapid, rhythmic flutter. Like a tiny galloping horse.

“There’s one,” Dr. Hart murmurs, adjusting the angle.