Page 73 of Playboy

“Yeah, we find out next week,” War is saying as I stuff my phone into my pocket and shuffle over to where he and Noah are standing by the bar. He’s holding a small piece of paper out. One that I’ve become all too familiar with.

“That the baby?” I ask, peeking over at the sonogram picture.

“Sure is.” He grins down at the image. “He’s a handsome guy, isn’t he?”

“Thought you weren’t finding out the sex until next week?” I ask.

“Oh, we aren’t, but we’re positive it’s a boy. All the signs point to it.”

I slip my wallet out of my pocket and pull out a picture of our baby.

Noah takes it and gives it a thoughtful look. “Is that one different from the one on Hannah’s shelf?”

“I’ve got, like, six, so maybe?”

War takes it next. “It’s wild. We’re going to have babies at the same time. Ava’s thrilled about it. How’s Hannah doing now that she’s had time to process?”

Though he’s looking at me, I focus on Noah. He’s more likely to have that answer. I’m pretty sure Hannah tells him everything.

When Noah realizes I’m watching him, he’s gracious enough to respond without making it weird. “You know Hannah. She goes with the flow and makes everything her bitch. She’s handling the pregnancy like a pro.”

“Are those pictures of the babies?” Aiden appears, and then we’re surrounded by the rest of the guys, all studying our two blobs and commenting on whether they think a certain angle makes it clear the babies are boys. Leave it to a group of men to see penises in every abstract image.

In all honesty, I don’t care whether the baby is a girl or a boy, though the idea of a son causes this strange pressure in my chest. Maybe because I’m so close with my dad, or maybe because I’m just more comfortable around guys.

I couldn’t begin to guess either way. The longer the conversation goes on, the less I realize I know.

War, of course, knows precisely how his wife is carrying—high—whether she’s got heartburn—she doesn’t—and what her cravings are—salty foods.

Luckily, the guys don’t ask me. Probably because they realize I won’t have the answers. We’re just sitting down for after-dinner drinks when my sister strolls into the apartment, her cheeks flushed and her gait relaxed. The moment Vivi sees her, she squeals. “Mama! Mama!”

With their daughter in his arms, Gavin gets up and greets my sister at the door. In this moment, I know what I’m witnessing is exactly what I want. I want to be greeted by my excited child when I get home. I want to share that home with Hannah. Andif I don’t figure out how to make that happen, these are the moments I’ll miss out on. Every night.

“How was your afternoon with the girls?” Gavin asks her as he ushers her inside. It may be guys’ night, but he welcomes her happily. That’s the kind of guy he is. Wherever he is, Millie and Vivi are welcome. If someone has a problem with that, they can leave. He’s a family guy, a great coach, and a genuinely good person. Thank god my sister didn’t listen to me when I told her seeing him was a bad idea.

Eyes glassy, she appraises the lot of us. “I feel like I’m tattling if I tell you.” She cups a hand to one side of her mouth, and in a loud whisper, says, “All their husbands are here.”

Noah holds up his hands and barks out a laugh. “Not married, so don’t look at me.”

She peruses the group again, this time more slowly, making eye contact with Aiden, Brooks, and War. “But they all are,” she whisper-shouts.

“Did you have a few drinks, Peaches?” Gavin murmurs.

My sister’s dark, curly hair bounces as she giggles. “Not pregnant yet, so might as well!” As the laughter dies down, she catches sight of me, and her eyes go wide. “You! You’re in trouble!”

“Why am I in trouble? Also, what do you mean not pregnantyet? Are you guys trying?”

Gavin presses a kiss to Millie’s neck. “We’re always trying. Right, Peaches?”

I gag and have to choke back bile. Otherwise I risk puking on the guys’ shoes.

“Nope, you don’t get to change the subject.” Millie shakes her head wildly. “Hannah is sad.”

My gut plummets. “She’s what?”

“Sad. You made her sad. You are very bad.” She giggles, the sound ending with a hiccup. “That rhymes. Look at that, Aiden. I’m almost as good as you are with bad lyrics.”

“You’re a songwriter,” I grumble. “You’re better than Aiden?—”

---