Page 104 of First Comes Forever

He wedges his hand between our bodies and presses so gently against my stomach. “Something more than this?”

“Yes, Adam. Something more. We can’t rely on a baby to carry our relationship. That’s a recipe for disaster. What do you need from me?”

“You’re going to think I’m selfish,” he says simply.

I want to reach over and flip on the lamp. His tone changed. We didn’t close the drapes tonight, so I can make out the worry lines on his forehead by a little moonlight sneaking through the blinds.

“No, I’m not. I promise. Tell me.”

“Fine,” he breathes out. “I need you to tell your friends we’re together, we’re having a baby, and you’re staying in L.A. for good.”

I lightly trace the crinkle on his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and over his lips. “Why do you need my friends to know?”

“Because I know you by now. When you tell your friends, that means it’s real to you. And I’ve been patient, not wanting to rush you. But I need to know this is real. That you’re not going to leave me or lie to me. Or lie about me. I don’t think I can survive one more broken family, Amani.”

I press my palm against his cheek, feeling his slight stubble. I’m so cozy in his arms like this. All I’ve felt since I met Adam was safety and security. He’s taken care of me from the moment we met. He saved me from my bad day, gave me a car, a home, and funded my last chance at motherhood. And I think I finally understand why Adam is trying so hard to save everyone around him. His dad, Chase, and me. He’s trying to lead by example. He needs someone to save him right back.

I put my lips on his, still tasting the remnants of his minty toothpaste.

“Adam, I won’t leave you. I won’t lie to you or about you. I love you, and I’ll call my friends tomorrow morning. Promise.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out. “I love you too.”

Adam falls asleep with my palm still on his cheek. He drifts off quietly, the only tip off is his rhythmic breathing. I slowly turn around and back my butt into his hips, letting him line my body from behind. His chest expands and relaxes against my back as a deep sleep claims him, like he can finally rest now that I’ve told him what he’s been aching to hear.

I’m not sure how my friends are going to react. During our girls’ trip, when I thought my chances at motherhood were over, I told them I was moving home. They were more than relieved. It’s like our dynamic shifted when I left. Like we were almost whole, but not quite. What Quinn, Reese, Addie, Noa, and I have is rare. It’s more than a friendship, even more than family. Our lives are threaded together. We’re one tapestry.

Had I told my friends how much I was hurting, I would’ve never moved to California. They would’ve been so supportive and loving, I would’ve been forced to heal. Quinn probably would’ve helped me get another job. Noa would’ve confiscated my phone had she known how addicted to social media I’d become. Reese probably would’ve fought a few trolls on my behalf.Why didn’t I tell them?Maybe I wanted to be rebellious. A part of me wonders if I was floating through life for so long that I simply wanted tofeel, even if it was the bad stuff.

I didn’t want solutions. I wasn’t ready.

It’s true. I stopped having faith in people, but somehow along the line I forgot my girls are the exception. They aren’t just people. They are my heart. And now Adam has big shoes to fill. I know they’ll be happy for me, especially when I tell them what kind of man Adam is… But even so, L.A. still doesn’t feel like home. I want to raise this baby in a place that feels like home. Then again, this baby only exists because of Adam.

Dammit.I breathe out deeply, and Adam flinches, instinctually tightening his grip on my hip. Even his subconscious knows I’m trying to escape. I’m caught in an impossible position.

This is my happily ever after, and yet it still feels a little off. Like a fish that grew lungs and feet. How much longer can I really survive out of water?

I’m interrupted by a gush between my legs, halting all my thoughts about home. A big gush.

Oh fuck.

My breath picks up as panic takes over my body before my brain can catch up.No, no, no.Discharge is normal. Dr. Michel said so. My body is surging with hormones. It’s completely normal.Everything is fine.

Then why am I crying?Because I know.Something is off.

Another gush causes me to reach between my thighs and press against the outside of my soaked underwear.

Please, please, please.I’m pleading as I bring my damp fingers to my face. I could turn on the light to check the color, but there’s no need. Inhaling, I smell the metallic scent.

It’s blood.

So much blood.

“Adam,” I say firmly as I scoot away from him. “Get out of bed.”

“What?” he mumbles, pulling himself out of his deep slumber. I feel him reaching for me. “What’s wrong? Are you hot?”

“I’m bleeding.”

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