Page 71 of 6+ Us Makes Eight (Baby Makes Three)

But I knew she was struggling with this. Just like I was.

The way she had walked out of that bathroom-- the way those tears effortlessly fell down her face-- it broke my heart. Emma was always such a vibrant person, and to see the exhaustion and the sadness in her face ached a part of my soul. I wanted to be with Emma. I wanted to support her through all of this. I wanted her to know that she wasn’t doing any of this alone. She wasn’t going to have to struggle through this as a single mother. Not if she didn’t want to.

But that meant she had to pick up my calls. And she still wasn’t doing that.

I didn’t let up. I called her every morning, on every lunch break, and every night. I sent her text messages letting her know I wanted to talk when she was ready. I never pursued a woman like his. I never took the time to wear her down like I was with Emma. In the past, they’d never been worth the energy. If one woman didn’t want to give me what I wanted, then there were plenty in the clubs in this damn town that would give me what I wanted.

And quickly.

But Emma was different, and I enjoyed that. She was also carrying my child. Which meant my efforts weren’t simply for her now. They were for our child.

Holy shit, Emma was pregnant with my child.

“Uncle Ryan!”

Zoey ran into my arms as I surprised the kids at school. I was going to pick them up and take them shopping for new decor for their rooms. I needed to do some rearranging of my life, but I had room in my

penthouse apartment for all of the kids to have their own space. And I wanted to make sure they got everything they wanted. Benjamin with his own television and his own set of games. Hunter and his own personal library. Zoey and her princess room. I was taking them to get new mattresses and new toys and new decorations and new colors to paint their walls.

I was also hoping to catch a glimpse of Emma.

She looked tired. Worn down. The bags underneath her eyes were growing and I could tell she was wearing a lot of makeup. The kids ran to me and I scooped them up into my arms. I had to file the new paperwork with the school, letting them know I was the children’s new guardian. I piled the kids in the car and asked someone to wait with them, then I passed Emma as I went inside. I reached my hand out for her and gripped her arm, our eyes connecting before I went inside.

I wanted her to know that I was here. Whenever she was ready to talk, I would be there to answer her call.

I filed the new paperwork with Lawrence Day and came back out to see Emma. She was standing at the car with the kids and they were all talking with her. Even her smile looked tired, and I grew worried about her.

Was she getting enough sleep?

She needed to, since she was pregnant.

We didn’t say a word to one another, and I didn’t push it. Her skin was paler than normal and all of me wanted to wrap her up in my arms. But the rational part of me told me that it wasn’t the time. Forcing her to be close to me would only push her farther away, and that was the last thing I wanted.

But I didn’t stop calling her.

I wanted to be with her. Seeing her that day cemented that belief in my heart. I wanted to raise a family with her. I wanted to move her in. I wanted to protect her and take care of her and get her whatever she needed during this time in her life. I wanted to be a part of this process. I wanted her around the kids. I wanted to be the family we felt like in the kitchen that night, baking a cake and cooking dinner and making a massive mess of things.

I wanted all of that.

And I wanted it with her.

I sat down on the edge of the bed after a long afternoon of shopping with the kids. The entire weekend would be spent moving in furniture and decorating their new space. I reached for my phone and mindlessly dialed Emma’s number. The routine had been ingrained into my psyche. I held the phone at my lap, preparing to hang it up the second her voice mailbox picked up.

“Hello?”

I furrowed my brow as the small voice echoed through the phone.

“Ryan? Is that you?”

“Emma?” I asked as I held the phone to my ear.

“Do you not know who you called?”

“Of course I do. I just… I didn’t expect you to pick up.”

I cringed at how terrible that sounded as silence fell onto the conversation.

“How are you?” I asked.

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