Having The Soldier's Baby (Parent Portal 1)

Among other things.

“The child’s bone measurements didn’t indicate a need.”

So he had paid attention. In the olden days he’d have talked to her about everything he was thinking. Noticing. Wondering about. So this was a new day. What mattered was that he was there. And he cared.

“The test also tells you the sex of the baby,” she told him. “I really want to know. And I think it would be cool to know before we tell the parents, too, so we can give it to them all at once.”

She was going to tell Steve in the morning—just so they could plan maternity time for her into the ad campaigns they were developing. Her clients weren’t going to feel a blip. She was determined about that. She could work from home as she needed to. And hopefully Steve would step up for the rest.

She’d made him a boatload of money.

And Winston hadn’t said a word, which put her on the defensive.

“You said you wanted to be kept apprised of every detail.”

“I do.”

“I’m going to call the clinic on Monday. I’ll let you know when I get the results.”

“Thank you.”

Thank you? Seriously? Emily turned. Winston was up on a ladder, brush-painting the strip of wall where it met the ceiling, slowly, meticulously, perfectly.

God how she loved him.

And please, God, let it be that he still loved her, too.

* * *

Ocean. Air. Sand. Winston didn’t know about a God, but he sucked in his surroundings with every breath as he ran on the beach on Coronado Island the following Thursday afternoon. Another week gone. Once time was up he was going to have to push things with Emily. He needed time to get a place to live and settle in before his six months were up.

The thought of being back to work, of strapping on a gun every single day, revved him up enough to add speed to the last of his ten-mile stint. There’d be training first, of course. A nine-week stretch in San Antonio.

Bring it on.

Passing a woman with a little kid, maybe two or three years old, digging in the sand, he thought of Emily. And refused to dwell. They’d remain friends. She’d already agreed to keep him apprised of every aspect of the child’s life. Beyond that, any focus on her would be misplaced.

A quarter of a mile later, he was a full scenario deep in imagining her with her baby in the sand. Teaching it to be brave—and safe, at the same time. Encouraging it to explore, to try. And be aware of the sand crabs.

His wrist vibrated, startling him for the second it took him to remember the smartwatch he’d purchased earlier in the week, allowing him to get information even when he was without his phone.

When you were responsible for a woman who was having a child, you had to be ready at any moment for any eventuality. That was the conclusion he’d finally drawn when faced with all of the various things that could happen to a woman, or the child, during gestation.

Glancing at the dial, he saw the call was from her and skidded to an immediate stop. Maybe that nine weeks in San Antonio should wait until after the child was born.

“Hello?” Feeling like an idiot, standing there at the ocean, waves rolling in, talking to his wrist like some damned James Bond wannabe.

“I just wanted to let you know that I got the test results.”

“Negative for Down syndrome?” he asked. And then repeated the question for each of the other chromosomal abnormalities for which the NIPT tested, confirming that all were negative.

“We’re having a boy, Winston!”

The news slammed him down to his butt in the sand.

* * *

She was having a son. Giving Winston a son. A daughter would have been spectacular, too, in an entirely different way. But now, right when Winston needed something to which he could bond, they’d been blessed with a brand-new baby boy. She was back to really believing that the universe was helping them.