Page 41 of Final Down

She nods.

“And who arethey?”

Her fingertips drift to my shaft, keeping me hard.

“I am. I’m everything, and all you need to answer to . . .Sir.”

Well, fuck.

Chapter Sixteen

WYATT: Don’t freak out.

Ihave an ongoing mental list of texts I don’t like waking up to. There was the time he texted me that he was going to miss our anniversary because of the football rally fundraiser. I was only mildly mad because . . .football.Then there was the text that only said, “Sorry.”It took me a while to realize what he was apologizing for, and when I saw the cracked windshield on the Jeep, I was relieved it was something so trivial.

I think this is a new level, though. There’s really no way tonotfreak out when reading this. And then for him to not answer my texts on top of it—that’s the kicker.

“You hear from Wyatt yet?” Tasha asks as she snaps gum and flips through social media in the chair next to me. She’s clothed and not covered in ultrasound gel while awaiting someone to roll a device around her stomach.

“Aren’t you supposed to be onmyphone . . . you know . . . filmingthis?”

Tasha drops her phone into her purse on the floor and fumbles in her seat.

“Oh shit, right,” she stammers, flailing my phone around her lap before getting it situated the right way so she can record. “Okay, you’re live, baby.”

I grimace.

“I don’t want to belive.”

She levels me with a look that reads, “Duh.”

“I know, I was being creative. It’s a saying. I mean, I’m recording. Now, smile and tell us what we’re doing here.”

I roll my eyes until my focus lands on my doctor’s waiting gaze.

“Sorry,” I say, ignoring the frustrated expression barely concealed behind Dr. Mazel’s glasses.

“Hi, Wyatt. Here we are. It’s the big three-month check-up. Are you ready?” I hold up two thumbs.

“Good work, Mamma,” Tasha says, encouraging me. I’m in a bit of a funk today, and not only because of the mystery text Wyatt sent warning me of impending doom.

I miss him. And I don’t want to lean into those feelings because he’ll feel bad. I know he misses me too. He wanted to be here for this, and I wish he were. But football is his dream. And he’s good at it.Gah! He’s so good.

“That’s the head,” Dr. Mazel explains. Tasha captures the blur on the monitor. It doesn’t look like much yet, but the heartbeat is strong. I see our baby, and I know we can’t tell yet, but I swear it’s a boy.

“Want to hear it?” the doctor asks.

I nod, and she turns up the volume on the monitor, the regular swish of our tiny human’s heart flooding my ears. The tears come fast, for me and for Tasha.

“Wyatt, I hope you can hear this. That’s our girl right there,” Tasha says, throwing in her opinion. She’s the most vocal withher guess. Or should I say, her statement. She insists she’s never wrong about this. I don’t remind her that she thought she was havingonebaby, and she thought it would be a boy. She’s oh for two.

“I’ll make you a digital recording. You should be able to send it to him.”

I nod and sniffle at the doctor’s offer. While she clicks around and measures a few things, typing various numbers that don’t seem to raise any alarms, Tasha captures a few more seconds of my appointment before ending the recording and giving me back my phone. I text Wyatt the video, hoping maybe that will get his attention and he can fill me in on the freak out I’m not supposed to have.

My phone buzzes in my palm about thirty seconds later, and I answer without even thinking.

“Hey, babe. Did you get it?”

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