Page 109 of Broken King

The following Monday,when Lenny pops her head into my office, I look up from my laptop and brace myself for the fit I’m sure she’s going to throw, now that it’s just the two of us. I did kind of hijack her wedding, so I wouldn’t exactly say it’s uncalled for. “Hey, Scarlet. Got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?” I close the article I’m reading about the team we’re playing next week and take my glasses off.

Lenny takes a seat across from me with a pensive look on her face. “So, listen...”

“I’m sorry, Len. You have every right to be pissed—”

Lenny interrupts me with a smile, “Stop, Scar. I’m not mad. Not at all. I get it, and I kinda like that you did it then. I wish you’d have grabbed me to be there with you though.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s not what I was expecting. “Then what’s with that look?” I point my finger in a circle toward her face. “You don’t look happy.”

Lenny bites down on her lower lip and scrunches up her face. “Well...”

“Spill it, Len.”

“Amelia wants to throw you a baby shower,” she says quickly, like she’s ripping off a Band-Aid, and I cringe, wishing she’d left it on.

“A baby shower? As in let’s get a bunch of women together and play silly games while everyone guesses how much ribbon it’ll take to wrap around my stomach?” Oh, no. You’ve got to be kidding me. Yes, we did do this for Amelia. But it wasn’t us throwing the shower. It was Annabelle. Lenny and I are not throw-a-party-for-us kind of people. Luckily, Len planned her wedding so quickly, we didn’t even have time to discuss a bridal shower. I knew she wouldn’t want one.

Lenny leans back in her chair and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. “I tried to tell her it was a bad idea. I knew you wouldn’t be happy, but she’s insistent and determined. She’s already called Cade’s sisters, and his parents are flying in for it. I figured the least I could do is give you a heads-up so you can be prepared.”

“Oh my God. His mother? I’ve never met his parents. Does Cade know about this?” I’m going to kill him.

“Oh, yeah. He knows. Amelia promised to keep it small, just family. But Becks threw a fit when we mentioned it was just the girls, so the guys will be there too.” Len perks up, like that should make me feel better. “It’s next Saturday night.”

“Thanks, Len.”

She stands, and winks. “I got your back.”

Thank God one of them does.

My new favorite time of the week is Saturday mornings.

It’s turned into girls’ morning.

I take Brynlee to Annabelle Sinclair’s dance studio, Hart & Soul, for her ballet class. Then we stop in Amelia’s bakery, two doors down, for a cupcake and decaf coffee for me, hot chocolate for her. Listening to her tell me all about her class with an utterly contagious smile on her face has me praying each week that she always feels like she can talk to me about anything. And swearing on all that’s holy I’ll do everything in my power to make sure our relationship is everything mine never was.

When we get to dance today, Belle is behind the front desk, and her twins, Evie and Gracie, are standing next to her, waiting for Brynlee. The three of them squeal when they see each other like they hadn’t just seen each other yesterday at preschool. When Miss Maddie, one of the teachers at the studio, who happens to be the sister of my Kings Center, comes out to gather the girls, the three of them grasp hands and dance their little feet across the floor, giggling.

As the door to the practice studio closes, Belle eyes me up and smiles. “Come on back to my office, Scarlet. Put your feet up.”

“Thanks.” I follow her down the hall, past two other studios, then awkwardly sit down on a pretty dove-gray couch.

“Here.” She pushes the old coffee table in front of the couch closer to me, and I slip my shoes off and put my feet up. “Want some water?”

“Sure. How are you feeling?” Belle is around five months pregnant, if I remember correctly. She’s beautiful in her pink leotard and leggings with a wispy black skirt tied under her baby bump. Meanwhile, I sit here like a beached whale who was yelled at by my doctor that I had to give up my high heels this week.

One more month.

She hands me a bottle of water and joins me on the couch. “Well, I feel like I’ve been run over by a Mac truck. Between the twins and Nixon, I’m constantly exhausted. My brother, Tommy, is begging to be allowed to take driver’s ed, and my morning sickness never got the memo that it was supposed to end after twelve weeks. I swear this is the last baby. I can’t do this again. Declan may want a whole football team, but he doesn’t have to spend nine months vomiting.” She props her feet up next to mine and leans her head back against the couch.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

She taps her water bottle to mine. “We’re moms. It’s what we do.”

The tears come fast and hard, and I have no idea what the hell’s wrong with me.

I start to laugh, and they fall harder.

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