I another deep breath, held up the test, and read the results.
Epilogue
Water dripped down my legs—not from the juice Miranda spilled all over the table. Or from the pool water Ruby just splashed all over the patio.
“Oliver?”
He looked up from the wrestling match with Christian in the shallow end of the pool. He’d let the six-year-old get him in a headlock. “Yeah?”
“I think it’s time.” A sharp pain ran through my belly.
Jackson appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, concern on his face. “You think what?”
“It’s time.” I glanced down and grimaced. “My water broke.”
“I’ll call Dena,” Jackson said, vanishing back the way he came. Dena was our mid-wife. Oliver was already out of the water, dripping wet and giving Christian a towel. He picked up his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Texting Amber, she said she’d watch the kids when the time came, remember.”
I nodded. “And Hayden? Anderson?”
“They shouldn’t be far—I told them not to go more than twenty miles until that baby comes. I’ll contact them too, if Jackson hasn’t already.” Sadie came running through the room. “Shit, let me go put her in her crate.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling a flutter of familiar nerves. It never got old, the excitement and anticipation. This was my third pregnancy. Christian came first, followed by the twins Miranda and Ruby, and now this little one.
That first pregnancy scare was just that—a scare, but it also confirmed something for me. I did want kids. Just not then. It took a few years, but when we were ready we were all ready, and like my mother said that day about Amber: it was intentional.
We had to go over a lot of emotions—who would be the biological father—did we want to plan it, let it be spontaneous, would there be jealousies or hurt? In the end, their love for me and our love for one another prevailed, and we let nature take its course.
There was no doubt when Christian arrived whose gray eyes he inherited, and true to their word, my boys embraced him whole-heartedly as one of their own. Two years later I was pregnant again--Russian-roulette style with the other three (Hayden had to wear condoms for the first time in many years)—with twins. Girls who have never known such devotion from their daddies. As they aged and their features set, it was clear they weren’t identical—dimples on Miranda, curly blonde locks on Ruby. It soon became obvious their fathers were not the same. Everyone was happy—completely and utterly exhausted.
Despite that happiness, there was one lingering desire. I wanted one last baby and for Anderson to be the father. He’d owned my soul for as long as I could remember. He wasn’t petty or jealous. He was an amazing, outstanding father to our three kids. But it was something I wanted and something I knew he wanted, too. We tried hard. Often. For months. And it took a bit longer than it did with the others, but when I tested positive I saw the sheer joy and relief on his face.
He’d wanted this badly.
I placed a hand over my belly and watched as Dena rolled in with her supplies and set up the room. We’d opted from the beginning for home births—not wanting the questions or judgment from the hospital. Each had gone smoothly, thank goodness, and with baby Thompson making an appearance within days of its due date, I felt confident this one would too.
“Is he here yet?” I asked Oliver after changing clothes.
“Yep. He’s cleaning up. He’ll be here soon.”
Amber arrived in a flurry of her own two kids, Sadie barking at her arrival. I kissed them all and sent them on their way.
“You’ve got this girl,” Amber said. “I?
??ll call your mom.”
“Call her in an hour. I don’t need another person in here right now.”
“You got it.”
This was a moment for me and the guys, but I wanted a minute alone with Anderson first.
When he walked in the room, I was easing down on the bed that Dena prepped and sterilized. Handsome as ever, there were still traces of that thirteen-year-old boy I fell for in school. Now his stature was bigger, muscles lean and strong. His jaw sharper—all traces of youthful baby fat gone, even a bit of the sleek twenty-year old had vanished. I didn’t care. I loved him at any age as much as I did at the beginning. A few gray hairs pulled at his temples but the mop on top was the same, wild and disheveled. His green eyes zeroed in on me and he came to the side of the bed.
A sharp pain hit just after and I grimaced.