Page 123 of The Logic of Loyalty

Carter, like my husband, seems to have eyes for one person, and his attention is burning. I turn to my friend to see that she is giving that heat right back.

“Those two need to fuck it out,” Sonya whispers into my ear. I barely hold back my snort. She’s not wrong, though. They are electric. It lights me up, and I think their energy affects the whole room when they share a shockingly restrained hug. They close their eyes and hold tight.

Billy comes striding into the room last. I rush over and greet him with a hug. “Hey, big guy. You haven’t been to eat with us for ages.”

“Carter threatened me.” His words are harsh, but he returns my hug with a small squeeze. When he doesn’t immediately let go, I look up to see his smirking face. What the hell? I escape his embrace and turn around to see my husband’s blue eyes shooting ice daggers at Billy from the bottom of the stairs.

I slap his chest. “Ouch.”

“Don’t tease him, you beast.”

He chuckles, a deep rolling sound, and backs up to grab something from the floor. “I brought some dessert.”

“Shh, Becky made dessert. Put that away.” Billy’s eyes go wide.

“She did not. You let her make food tonight?”

“Oh, you shush. I made most of it. She made a crumble, pie-type thing from the berries in their backyard.”

“Fuck. Carter is going to make sure that I eat every fucking bite.”

“Be nice, Billy”

“Yeah, be nice, Billy.” Sonya pops up at my elbow and grins up at Billy. He takes a quick step away from both of us.

“Sonya, I don’t remember if you were ever formally introduced to Billy.”

Sonya holds out her hand and waits patiently for his massive one to engulf it. “We know each other. She teaches my kid art.” They shake, but one of them doesn’t let go.

“He’s actually super talented, you should⁠—”

“Alright, everyone. Gather around so I can thank you once, and then we can eat!” Becky’s teacher voice rings out, effectively gaining our attention. We all file into the dining room and take our seats. Trevor sits to my right, and Becky to my left. It’s a lovely, full table, and it brings me so much happiness to see it. “Alright, so I’m way better at talking to kids than adults, but you all⁠—”

To my shock, Becky’s voice catches. I shoot out a hand to take her free one, but Carter is faster. I settle on squeezing her shoulder. “Thanks, y’all. I’m sorry. I just—thank you for seeing in me someone worth fighting for.” She sniffles. “Okay, that’s all I can say. Eat up and save room for dessert.”

Dinner is delicious, but with the company, and my pregnancy, I heat up. I’m able to hold off by drinking the ice water, but then I give up and pull off my cardigan.

Trevor stiffens beside me. Maybe he noticed the dip in my little dress.

He jerks up to his feet, knocking his chair to the ground. He shoots out his hand and points to Becky. “Call 911. Now.” His commanding voice rings out, completely out of place in the moment.

“What—Oh!” His arms sweep me up, and he rushes me into the kitchen, leaving our friends gaping in the other room.

I smack him in the chest. “What the heck? What are you doing, you psychopath?”

He talks like he can’t hear me. “How is your breathing? Your pee? Do you have a headache?” He lays me so gently on the counter and palms my cheeks, looking closely into my eyes. “Do you have any bruises? Chest pains?” I shake my head, and he looks over me, just to lock onto my arms again and groans. “Fuck no. Not again. Not this.”

My frantic husband releases me and rummages around our cabinets, pulling out drawers and leaving everything hanging open.

“Where the fuck is it? Where is it?” He completely pulls one drawer from the cabinet and drops it onto the floor. “Goddammit!”

Becky stands with Carter by the door, looking completely unsure. “Uh, Trevor? Why am I calling 911?”

“For her!” Trevor points his shaking finger at me, then grips his hair. “Fuck!” He opens another cabinet and pulls out our blood pressure cuff. “Why the hell was it there?” He rushes to my side and slides it into place, pressing the button. He holds up my arms and taps his fingers against my skin, alternating between looking at my arms and the machine.

Becky darts her eyes between us. “Trevor, what about Paige? I don’t know what to say?”

“Her arms! Don’t you see? Can’t you see them? Don’t you understand what this means?” His voice cracks, and agony bleeds through his words. He doesn’t look away from the machine. An error message pops up, and he gently rearranges it on my arm.