Page 13 of Knotted Laces

I huff out a laugh—a full one this time without worry of retribution because Joan of Freaking Arc has realized her favorite person is in the room and has decided to stop using me as a cat perch. She strolls over to Rome, her tail flicking in displeasure at the kittens, but still showing remarkable patience as they twine themselves around her legs and try to pounce onher and want to curl up next to her when she settles on Rome’s chest.

Prickly, but patient. Grumpy but kind.

Kind of like another perplexing female in my life.

And…am I obsessed?

Unfortunately, yes. I’ve been that way for almost a decade.

Plus, rehashing a hug—yes, I’m aware of how pathetic that makes me—is so much better than rehashing the game the day before.

Sighing silently, I push up to sitting, grimacing at the pinpricks from the kittens’ claws in my sweats, but knowing that it’s part of being here. Part of hanging out with people I care about and helping them for a few hours (since Rome had to step out and deal with a crisis with one of his former teammates—babysitting because one of their other kids needed to go to the hospital).

Same as I know it’s win-win, really.

Because it also gave me an excuse to escape some of the chaos at my house.

I love it, love my family. But they’re a lot, and my place is full to the brim of my siblings and their kids and my parents for the next two days—all of whom are blissfully happy.

All of whom remind me of exactly what Idon’thave.

“How’s Roxie?” I ask quietly.

Rome sighs. “Broke both bones in her arm, but totally a champ.” He chuckles and endures the wrath of Jane of Freaking Arc swiping out a paw. “Brit and Stefan, on the other hand, are wrecks.”

“It’s different when it’s your kid—or at least that’s what my parents say.”

“I can only imagine,” Chrissy says softly, settling a hand on her belly.

My stomach knots and for a second, my mind starts to unravel.

Pain. And fear. The knowledge that I can’t do anything different, can’t be better, can’t change the facts—all welling up and threatening to pull me from this moment.

Enough.

I just shove those thoughts down, and cling to the tell. This isn’t about me. It’s about them, about Chrissy. And if I’ve learned anything from my mom it’s tonever—fuckingnever—ask a woman if she’s pregnant.

So if Chrissyistouching her belly because there’s a baby on the way…

Well, I’ll be happy for her and Rome.

I’ll make certain of that.

Even if it kills me.

Grinding my teeth together, I lock that away, push to my feet, and start for the hall. “Speaking of parents,” I tell them. “I’d better get home.”

Rome grins. “If you need another breather, I’m sure that Chrissy will have some litter boxes to scoop.”

I grin back. “You’ll need to pay me more than in free baked goods from Molly’s for that.”

“Meow!”

I glance over at Rome, who’s dislodged a very unhappy Joan of Freaking Arc and the gaggle of kittens. Our eyes meet. “I’ll walk you out,” he says, tone brokering no argument.

For Christ’s sake.

“I know the way.” I start for the door.

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