Page 71 of Triplet Babies for Pucking Christmas

“How about this?” I say, throwing my bag in the trunk. “I take Noah for the night, and you spend it with the pup. Bonding time. Guilt-free.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing. “Nah, we can all hang out. Pup, Savannah, Noah. Make it a thing.”

I nod, thinking it over. “All right, but should we call Jared?”

“Hell yes,” Troy says immediately, pulling out his phone.

***

By the time we pick up the dog from my place—a tiny fluffball wagging his tail like he’s just won the lottery—Jared’s already on his way. The three of us pile into the house, Troy holding the dog, me balancing a brand-new bassinet with a baby bag slung over my shoulder.

As soon as we step inside, we freeze. Savannah’s leaning over the bassinet in the kitchen, one hand gripping the counter. Her hair’s pulled into a loose bun, strands sticking to her face. She looks pale. Too pale.

“What’s wrong?” Troy asks, moving first.

Her eyes flick up, tired and a little glassy. “I couldn’t find my charger. My phone’s dead. I didn’t wanna leave with Noah without telling you guys.”

“You don’t look so good,” I say, setting the bassinet down and stepping closer.

She shakes her head, swaying a little. “I don’t...I don’t feel so good.”

And then she just collapses.

“Shit!” Troy catches her before she hits the floor, lifting her like she weighs nothing.

“Savannah!” I’m beside him in a second, my hand on her face. She’s burning up. “We’ve gotta get her to the hospital. Now.”

Troy nods, his jaw tight. “Grab Noah. And the dog.”

I snatch up the bassinet with one hand, tucking the pup under my arm with the other. The little guy whimpers, like he knows something’s wrong.

We’re halfway to the door when Jared bursts in. He takes one look at us—Troy carrying Savannah, me juggling a baby and a dog—and his face goes pale.

“What the hell happened?”

“She collapsed,” Troy snaps, already moving past him.

Jared doesn’t ask more questions. He just turns and follows us out to the car.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of panicked breaths and tight silence. Savannah stirs once, mumbling something we can’t make out, but her eyes don’t open.

“She’s gonna be fine,” I say, mostly to myself.

Troy’s got her in his lap in the back seat, his face a mix of fear and determination. “She has to be.”

Jared’s driving like a maniac, weaving through traffic, one hand gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles are white.

“Faster,” Troy mutters.

“I’m going as fast as I fucking can,” Jared growls, slamming on the horn as some idiot cuts us off.

Noah starts crying, the wails sharp and piercing in the confined space.

“Jamie,” Troy says, his voice tight.

“I got him,” I say, rocking the bassinet as best as I can. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re gonna be okay.”

But I don’t know if I believe it.

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