Page 3 of Saving Their Forever

“Oh, shit. I didn’t think?—”

“It’s fine.” I shrug, forcing a smile. “This is a party. I’m only a little jealous. Besides, I’ve already told Ry he has one job after the baby’s born. In under twelve hours, he needs to bring me an ice cold beer.”

“Oh, please.” Inara shakes her head. “Like he’s going to leave your side or let Harlow out of his sight for the next, oh…eighteen years? We’ll never see him again. West will take over Hidden Agenda, and Ry will be nothing more than a memory.”

“He won’t be that bad.” I take my decaf iced tea and shuffle into the living room to sink down onto the couch. And then it hits me. “Oh, spitsnacks. He’ll be worse, won’t he? Hiring a dozen bodyguards to watch over us whenever we leave the building, buying a fudging preschool rather than letting her go off somewhere he can’t completely control…”

“The man, the myth, the legend. Ryker McCabe,” Inara says with a chuckle. “New recruits will hear stories about a mysterious giant, angry man who loved one-word answers and barking out orders. There will be whispers. Rumors. But only us old-timers will have ever met the man.”

Raelynn chokes on a sip of her beer. “Well, shee-it,” she manages, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Am I supposed to be an ‘old-timer’?” After a beat, she swears. “Fuck. I’m two years older than you. Wren, I’m gonna need somethin’ stronger than beer.”

I love these women. Cara, Hope, Inara…even Raelynn, though I wouldn't consider us "friends" yet. When the whole team—family—gets together, I fit in. We all do. But despite that, I've never been very good at "girl talk." Even this baby shower had conditions. I made Inara promise there wouldn't be any games. No "sniff the baby food" or "diaper a balloon." And God help anyone who tries to measure my belly with toilet paper.

Cara pops the top on a bottle of sparkling cider as Evianna’s voice carries over the intercom. “We’re here! We’re finally here!”

Inara uses her code to let Evianna and Cam in. Ry’s so overprotective, the door never stays unlocked for more than a few seconds. “Sorry,” Evianna calls as she breezes into the condo, laden down with half a dozen gift bags. “The car service got lost on the way to the hotel, then couldn’t find Cam’s house for a full fifteen minutes. I was on the phone with Dax when the driver finally figured it out.”

Cam sinks onto the loveseat with a sigh. Pixel immediately prances over and drops a squeaky toy into her lap. “All right, puffball,” she says and tosses the fuzzy donut across the room. “But only because you’re so polite.”

I don’t get up to hug either of the women. Evianna’s heard all about my swollen ankles, lack of sleep, backaches, and carpal tunnel. She wraps her arm around me and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “How you doing, hon?”

Better now.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper. “You’re staying, right? Until…?”

“Until you and Ryker tell us to go back to Boston. Or at least two weeks.”

The relief is so intense, I shiver.

Evianna, Cam, and I speak the same language. Awkward geek. Zephyr too, but she’s on a case for Austin and working fifteen-hour days. So having them—along with Cara, who keeps me in lasagna and secretly binges reality TV with me whenever the guys go to Hidden Agenda—here with me now is more of a comfort than I realized.

These last few weeks, whenever Harlow moves, I wonder if she knows that soon, everything is going to change. That she’s going to be in this big, scary world with sights and sounds and cars and dogs. That she’ll have to eat and be bathed and changed. She’ll be hot and cold and hungry and sleepy and happy and sad…and her parents won’t always know what’s wrong. Let alone be able to fix it. Panic threatens to take over, stealing my breath. Can I even do this?

“Earth to Wren,” Evianna says, oblivious to my distress. “You want some cider?”

I startle, and my heart thuds against my chest so hard, I can hear it. “Sorry. Cider would be great.”

She snags two glasses from Cara, sinks down next to me, and nudges my shoulder with hers. “You’ve been spacey since I got here. Did you have another panic attack this morning?”

“No. Not today.” The worst part of pregnancy? Not the nausea. Or the cankles. Or the stretch marks. It’s the panic attacks. My daily anxiety medication is safe enough to take, but the pill that can calm my panic attacks is too risky. Deep breathing only takes me so far. Or…not very far at all.

I rub my side. There’s usually a tiny hand over there somewhere. Can Harlow tell the difference between my touch and Ry’s? Does she know he talks to her every night before bed? That he sleeps with his hand on my belly?

“Then what is it?” Evianna angles her body between me and the rest of the room and lowers her voice. “Are you feeling up to this today? Say the word and I’ll get everyone out of here in less than ten minutes.”

“Spitsnacks.” I run my fingers through my hair. “No one needs to leave. I feel fine—physically. Or…as fine as I’m supposed to feel at thirty-nine weeks. But in just a few more days, there’s going to be a little person depending on us—on me—for everything. She won’t be able to talk. Or stand. Or tell me what’s wrong. What if I’m…bad at this?”

“Oh, honey. You’ll be a great mom,” Evianna says as she wraps her arms around me. I fight the tears that have been threatening for days, blinking them back as quickly as I can.

Inara takes a seat across from us. “She’s right. You’ve got this, Wren. Women have been having babies for centuries. But you have the power of the internet—and all of us. Though, I’ve never changed a diaper in my life. Or…shit…even held a baby before.”

“Graham has a little experience with kids,” Cara adds. “And Hope and I are only two floors down.”

Tears burn my eyes. The crying is almost as bad as the constant need to pee. My hormones are on a see-saw. One that’s spinning around in a circle as it goes up and down.

“We’ve got you, sugar. Whatever you need,” Raelynn says, then shrugs—like she’s regretting the offer. Or isn’t sure she should have interrupted in the first place.

I swipe at my cheeks. “Then you’re on backup beer duty. Can I trust you to pick a good beer?”

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