Page 32 of Final Down

He chuckles softly, then leans in to kiss my lips, smiling against my mouth.

“Anything for my baby mama,” he teases.

I swat his ass as he walks by, and he yelps playfully.

“Get a room!” Whiskey shouts from behind the kitchen counter where he is sampling one of everything my mom and Rosie laid out.

“Where’s your wife?” I ask. I suddenly decide to tell Tasha the news first, sort of for practice.

“She’s by the pool lathering up the girls with sunscreen.” He nods toward the sliding glass door, and I spot Tasha on one of the lounge chairs, slipping a pair of goggles around one of her six-year-old’s heads.

“Thanks.”

I drag Wyatt along behind me, making a stop by the patio table for my abandoned margarita before weaving through the extra chairs my dad put out on our way to Tasha. I hand Wyatt my drink before sitting next to my friend, just as she sends her girls out to the pool with a final warning not to splash the adults.Their giggles as their feet patter toward the steps tell me they’re breaking that rule right out of the gate.

“Were we that bad?” she asks.

I take in the innocent play happening on the steps, her girls already splashing the teenage boys in the pool.

“We were worse, but not by much,” I joke.

“So . . . I wanted to tell you something,” I say, my obvious lead-in clearly piquing my friend’s curiosity as she pulls her sunglasses from her face and situates herself on her chair to meet my gaze.

“I—”

“Peyton Johnson, why the fuck aren’t you drinking? Are you pregnant or something?”

My Aunt Sarah’s voice carries across the patio, her finger pointing at my husband as he stands behind me with the rim of my glass against his lips. He’s frozen, like the drink was before I let it melt. He didn’t even get a full sip in before my aunt called us out. My body deflates, my shoulders sagging as I glance back at Wyatt one more time, then turn to Tasha. All that’s left to do is give her a guilty shrug.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you,” I croak.

I’m not sure what my worries were about. The instant the news sinks in, my best friend’s hands cup her mouth and she lets out a piercing, joyous scream.

“Really?” Her eyes flash wide, and I nod as we both start to cry.

“Oh, my God, Peyt! I’m going to be an auntie,” she says, folding herself into me and wrapping her arms around me tight.

“It’s still pretty new. I’m not due until February.”Valentine’s Day, according to my doctor.

“Bitch, you’re serious?” My Aunt Sarah pipes in, pushing my uncle and a few of my dad’s assistant coaches out of her way as she climbs over seats to get to me.

I nod and get to my feet in time to receive Sarah’s attack of hugs.

“Peyton, congratulations, honey! Your mom is going to be so pissed I found out first,” she says at my ear. My pulse races at the realization, and I spin around with wide eyes, ready to hunt my mom down. I don’t even get a step away, though, before I’m confronted with a massive bouquet of pink and blue balloons along with a basket filled with what looks like pregnancy treats. I blink a few times and realize my mom is the one holding the basket.

Her smirk gives her away.

“Wait . . . you knew?”

She shrugs a shoulder and sets my gift and balloons to the side before pulling me into her arms and rocking me side to side.

“Baby, a mom always knows. I could tell something was up when you were in Portland. Your voice had a tone.”

“I had a tone?” I really can’t fathom this super power my mom has. I don’t think I acted any differently with her, but I’ve also been in my own head a lot.

“And don’t be mad at him, but Wyatt confirmed the news. It’s not his fault. I made your dad call him and ask, and well?—”

“You told?” I swat at my husband, who backs away and downs the entire margarita out of panic and fear.

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