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My husband is gone for fifteen minutes.
I never get my consolation prize.
A month later, I’m still caffeine-free, laying on the exam table in my OB’s office. I’ve had enough internal ultrasounds to last a gal a lifetime and turn my head away from the screen while the tech moves the probe, pointing and clicking.
Trig’s entranced by the monitor. As I watch him, my cheek draws up, my nose tingles, and my eyes get misty.
We’re five and a half weeks out. My HCG levels in my bloodwork the day after taking that silly—expired!—quickie mart test were elevated. I cried and laughed, full of unbridled joy, and then cried some more when the nurse called confirming the lab results. I can’t believe this is happening for us. My heart has been in my throat for weeks.
What if this isn’t happening? What if we got our hopes up to be dashed?
“My Love,” Trig says with urgency.
Chasing his euphoria, my head crinkles the paper over the flat pillow. I fight back tears. There’s pressure in my abdomen as squishy blobs focus in and out.
“There they are.” A soft voice confirms. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”
Elbows on the exam table, Trig grabs my hand. He crushes my fingers in his double fist and bows his head as if he’s praying. When he looks up, tears are streaming down my face and his.
He wipes mine away while the tech is offering us both tissues.
“You okay, My Love?” His voice is low, rough with emotion. With red-rimmed eyes, Trig snuffles.
“Never better.” I hiccup as his lips brush mine.
“Have you woken up yet?” Byron asks me.
We’re outside, leaning against the barn at the training facility, soaking up the spring sunshine. We both have our legs stretched out in front of us and crossed at the knees. There’s a six-pack on the grass between us—two empties, two fulls, and each of us have one in our paws.
Byron and I get together every other weekend now so Jovie and Tallulah can have a puppy playdate and blow off some stink in the wide fenced-in area. Tallulah loves the freedom of the dog park. But there’s no discounting the bond Jovie and Tallulah share. When they’re running like mad with their tongues hanging out of their mouths it is a sight to behold.
Outside of Aidy and Morgan, who we’ve told for necessary reasons, Byron’s the only one who knows Kimber is expecting. She’s tired a lot, and weepier than ever with her hormones doing their crazy baby thing. But I don’t mind since most of the time it’s tears of gratitude, like how much joy there was watching Owen blow out the candles on his cake when he turned three, or being uber-serious while he pretends like he’s on the mound, throwing out a pitch.
All things considered, I mean, we do have babies on the way, Kimber’s also relaxed, which has allowed my nerves to calm a fraction too. I’m conscious when I touch my wife because I don’t want anything to go wrong. Yet, Kimber’s all in and we’re enjoying pregnancy sex to the fullest the way we had when O was on the way.
“It seems surreal.” I tip my bottle to my lips.
Tallulah has retrieved a tennis ball and she drops it by my knee. Her tail wagging, I wait for her to plop her ass down on the ground before whipping it into the air. She’s lightning-fast. Adding those few seconds to the game with an intentional fake out throw is something it took playing a few rounds to figure out.
I blow out a deep breath that escapes the side of my mouth.
“What about the nightmares? It’s been a few months, are you seeing progress? Is Tallulah helping?” Byron checks in every now and again. Reality is he trained my pup for a purpose and he doesn’t want her to fail me.
“She is,” I respond with a tip of my chin. The dog is my constant companion. I take her everywhere. At night, if she’s not sleeping on the bed, she’ll get up on me acting like a weighted blanket when I start jerking in my sleep. “I’m still having dreams,” I admit. “They’re not as prevalent, but still can’t stop them and when I wake up for one it leaves me feeling like I’ll always be—”
“Helpless to stop them.” My Army buddy supplies. “I get ‘em too. Terrifies me when they come out of the clear blue. Do you talk to your shrink about them?”
I lift my shoulders and meh him. “Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. Haven’t had an appointment in long enough, and they’re not what they were. I guess I know the root of them, so it makes what my brain is doing more straightforward, but just as messy.”
I’m almost certain once we’re gotten through this week the lingering first trimester concerns will subside. After that, Kimber will be safe at home, doing what she’s supposed to do; baking cookies with O, and our babies in the more proverbial oven.
The only big deal is Jake’s reaction when he finds out Kimber is pregnant. To shield her from it happening before we’re ready, my ass has been perched on my favorite bar stool. I serve drinks when the bar is slammed, and make sure my wife can make it through her shift without over-exerting herself. So Aidy’s taken some of my night duty with Owen and Morgan’s been putting in more frequent evening hours with installs for the surveillance company.
I’d asked Kimber if she wanted to call it quits the day of the sonogram. My wife said she needed to stay at work a while longer. Managing Sweet Caroline’s was her insurance policy in case there were any complications during the first twelve weeks. I understood her motivation, but damned if I was letting her do it alone.
For once, Jake’s avoidance of Sweet Caroline’s, and subsequently me since our row, is working to our advantage. He hasn’t come to me for help. He’s dodged anything whatsoever having to do with Stanton. Although, word is someone put Jake on Cass’s radar. Hell, the only time I have seen Ballentine in weeks was when the three of us met: Jake, Carver, and me. We keep tabs on mill girls and Holly’s name came up. All he asked was if I had a handle on the William situation. When I said yes, Jake dropped it.
“Knowing is half the battle. I’m here now if you need an ear.” Byron offers.
