Page 4 of One Hellion of a Christmas

“Someoneiswith me. Hayat drove because my belly is too big for me to fit behind the steering wheel. Besides, I was picking up your present that I had customized. You would have snooped and ruined the surprise. How long has your mom been there?”

“Seventy-eight minutes. Are you staying vigilant?”

I glanced around the crowded bathroom, thankful the line was moving at a reasonable pace. I wasn’t the only pregnant woman in line. The three others looked like they had been fighting a war they weren’t confident about winning. Flushed, sweaty faces. Wild eyes. Disheveled hair. Clutching their bags as they waddled to the stalls, the sink, then slowly out the door. One had walked past us, then gotten in line again, muttering under her breath about the ridiculously small size of her bladder—and painfully large-headed babies.

“I’m aware of my surroundings,” I assured Sammy, paying attention to Amala as she insisted I watch her do another step to the dance Hayat had been teaching her whenever we had a video call. Giving her an indulgent smile, I kept up the conversationwith Sammy. “After we get cookies, we’ll be on our way home. Are you sure you don’t need anything while we are here?”

“I finished my shopping weeks ago, but thanks for offering. Be careful on your drive back. See you soon.” She paused then gritted out, “You better stay vigilant, Abs.”

“Okay,” I soothed, knowing her crazy was already too close to being triggered with her mom around. “Love you.”

Five minutes later, we left the bathroom, and I waddled back out to the food court, holding on to Amala’s hand. In the time we had been gone, the line had doubled in size, but I didn’t see Hayat. With her hair and height, she was easy to spot in a crowd. But as I paused to glance at the tables, I couldn’t find her.

Instead of spending time searching for her, I called her phone. It immediately went to voice mail. Frowning, I pulled up the Find My app. Vaughn and Sammy might have high-tech equipment at their disposal, but I had my own ways of tracking the people I loved.

A little dot appeared on the screen when I clicked to ping Hayat’s phone, and I urged Amala to stay on my side away from the majority of the crowd as we walked around the outer circle of the tables. When I passed a trash can, I thought I heard the distinctivedingand froze.

Unease slithered down my spine, but I shook off the worst-case scenarios that floated through my mind. My gaze zipped around, and I fought the rush of fear that made my belly cramp when I didn’t see Hayat’s wild curls.

“Bestie?” Amala called out, turning her head back and forth in search of Hayat. “Where are you, bestie?”

The pinging from the trash can was still going off. Crossing to it, I pushed the flap back and peeked inside. Half-eaten sandwiches, wrappers, and messy ketchup packets were on top, but I could see the glow of a light. That annoyingpingwas still going strong.

“Ew. Gross. Mommy, you’re going to have to wash your hands again.”

Heart in my throat, I opened the door of the cabinet containing the trash can and dragged out the heavy bin. With each piece of trash I threw out in my rush to find the phone, I prayed.

It wasn’t her phone. She was fine. There was another explanation. Hayat was okay. She just went to the car.

“Mommy?”

I couldn’t look at Amala. Not even with that trace of fear in her voice. All I could see was the trash. Panic tried to choke me.

Hayat was okay.

“Mommy?”

She was okay.

“Mommy?”

She had to be okay.

“Mommy!”

All around me, people stopped to gape at me like I was insane.

When my fingers touched the phone, I whimpered. My vision went dim, the baby kicking so hard it stole my breath as a contraction tore through me.

Ah, fuck. No. Stay calm. You cannot panic, Abi. You are not in labor. Your best friend is fine. Everything is fucking fine.

Lifting the phone out of the trash, along with the two bags full of presents, I silenced the noisy thing. Even if, for whatever reason, Hayat had thrown away her phone, she wouldn’t have trashed the gifts for Vaughn and Sammy.

Another kick.

Another painful, twisted contraction that made it impossible to breathe.

“Mommy, you’re scaring me.” Amala’s voice wobbled, and I didn’t even notice that she’d switched from English to Russian.I was so familiar with the brutal, beautiful language now that I could understand and speak it somewhat fluently. And those words, in that sweet, little-girl voice that I loved more than life itself, unraveled me.

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