Page 114 of Fractured
“Pete?” she asked.
I winced, “Ryder Pete? Isaiah Pete? Really?”
She winced, “Yeah, no.”
“Ryder Isacc Davis? Isaiah Ronan Davis?” I asked.
She tilted her head, mouthing the names, then she smiled, “Perfect.”
***
The day had finally come.
She was being induced in four hours.
I pressed kisses on her belly, trying to hide how scared I really was.
At our last appointment, we had been sent to the hospital because their ultrasound was showing that Baby A was growing correctly, but not Baby B.
To say we had both shed a sigh of relief when that wasn’t the case would be an understatement.
“You ready?” I asked her.
She nodded, “Ready to be able to put on my own shoes again.”
I snickered, “Can’t help that I love your little feet.”
She narrowed her eyes, “They aren’t little.”
I smirked, “Minx, comparing them to mine, they are.”
“Take it back,” she said.
I shook my head, “Nope.”
“Take it back or I’ll put blueberries in your next cake.” She said.
I winced, “Taking it back now.”
She snickered.
Then she sobered, “What if we can’t do this?”
I shook my head. “The Davis family doesn’t say can’t. We say we’re going to make this our bitch. Yeah?”
She sighed, then she nodded.
I winked, “You’re going to be an amazing mother. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father. I love you.”
“I love you, too, harpy.”
She smacked me upside the head.
I laughed.
She was a cute fucking harpy.
