Page 146 of The Rebel

The movement was slow, steady, her fingers rising through my stretched arms, and she positioned the test between us, my stare on the window that showed the results.

A word that was as clear as day.

“Cooper …”

My eyes returned to hers, the emotion slowly seeping in, filling the beautiful emerald with pools of tears.

I was positive the same emotion was entering mine as well.

I didn’t let my thoughts explode.

I kept my mind on track.

The here, the now, the way Rowan needed me, and my hands worked their way down until they were positioned at her waist to frame her stomach.

This was no longer just a part of her body.

This spot, this center, was now the home of my baby.

As she continued to stand in front of me, I pressed my lips against her belly, pushing against the flatness, knowing it was only a matter of time before it started to grow.

I would be here for that.

I would rub it.

Kiss it.

Talk to it.

The same way I was doing now.

Her hand went to my head, sliding through my locks as my mouth stayed glued to her. Whatever was inside, I needed it to feel my love.

“My baby,” I whispered. I kept my lips there and looked up at her. “Our baby.”

THIRTY-TWO

Rowan

Even though I’d feared my anxiety had gotten out of control and the symptoms I was experiencing were a result of that, deep down—as much as I couldn’t believe it—I had known I was pregnant. So, when I sawpregnanton the digital test that I’d taken with Cooper at home, every one of my fears was confirmed.

And maybe even a part of me, a small part, was relieved that it wasn’t all in my head. That my body was acting this way because a baby was growing inside of it and that it wasn’t stress or my nervous brain causing me to be sick.

An appointment with the OB-GYN confirmed, once again, everything we had already known to be true. But what sealed that truth was hearing the baby’s heartbeat. That little pound, which sounded more like a chug, caused both of us to get misty-eyed.

We discussed with the doctor that when I hit my second trimester in a few weeks, we would find out the sex of the baby.

Cooper and I agreed; we didn’t want to wait until the delivery to know what we were having. We wanted to finalize a name and have something to call our little one. We wanted to choose a color when it came to the design of the nursery.

Each night, while we lay in bed, him rubbing circles over my belly, we talked about what this pregnancy would look like, how we wanted the birth to take place in the hospital, how I was a firm believer in pain management when it came to the delivery. How I would continue to work until I was ready to stop with every intention of returning to my position once I felt comfortable enough to leave the baby.

We didn’t want a gender reveal party. We wanted that moment to stay intimate, just like our entire relationship had been.

Of course, Sky would insist on a baby shower. Cooper said his mother would, too, and I knew mine would want to plan one, but there was plenty of time for that. We weren’t even out of the first trimester yet.

And until we were beyond that fragile time frame, we weren’t going to tell our families.

We wanted to stay in this perfect, happy bubble for as long as we could.

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