Getting Played (Getting Some 2)

She doesn’t say anything back, just breathes softly. But then her arm tightens across my chest, and she wiggles in closer, tucking herself right against me, not leaving a wisp of air between us. And there’s solace in holding each other. Comfort in whispered words and gentle touches.

I’m giving her that and she’s letting me. And for now, that’s enough.

“I know we still have a lot to talk about, Lainey, and we will. After we get through this, we’ll finish that conversation. But right now, I just want to hold you. Okay?”

A moment passes, and then Lainey rests her hand on my stomach and nods against my chest. I press my lips to the top of her head, and keep her safe and warm in the circle of my arms.

“Try and sleep, baby. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Chapter Sixteen

Lainey

They send me home from the hospital two days later on super-duper strict bed rest—that’s my term, not the doctor’s. It basically means I’m allowed to get up to pee and go to the OBGYN. But that’s it. No long walks around the lake for me, no walking—period. Not for ten weeks.

And I’m okay with that—I would stand on my head for the next ten weeks if it means our baby will be okay. That first night in the hospital, while Dean was asleep, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and talked softly to the baby. I told him or her how much I loved them, how much their daddy and I wanted them, and I asked them to try and stay inside for just a little bit longer.

My parents brought Jason to visit me the next day, and I heard the relief in his voice when he was able to see that the contractions had stopped and I was okay. My sisters visited that afternoon too and it was bustling and busy and distracting.

But now that I’m home, it’s all really hitting me. What the next ten weeks are actually going to be like. And so I lay on my back, propped up on pillows on the mattress in the unfinished master suite, with my phone in my hand, and no makeup on my face—crying—as I record a live video.

“Good news and bad news, Lifers. We’re home. The contractions have stopped and the watermelon and I are okay. But I’m on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, the baby is good—and I know that’s all that matters. And I feel so damn guilty for even worrying about anything else, but there’s so much to do. I don’t know how I’m going to take care of Jaybird, and the house is barely half-finished. I can’t decorate from bed and I can’t—”

Dean walks in the room, the muscles in his short-sleeved T-shirt straining under the weight of a giant duffel bag thrown over his back. He drops it on the floor with a plop.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I sniff. “I’m doing a live video.”

I turn the camera Dean’s way. He waves.

“Hey, Lifers.” Then he looks at me. “You need anything? Tea, something to eat?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay.”

Then he turns and walks back out the door.

I look into the camera. “When I have more details, I’ll let you know. Worst case scenario is—”

Dean comes back into the room, this time with a stuffed black garbage bag—like a poor man’s Santa Claus. He drops it beside the duffel without a word, and walks out again.

Seconds later, he’s back—carrying two drums from a set that he puts in the corner.

I sit up straighter in bed. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

His tone is Captain Obvious—like I should already know. “I’m moving in.”

“You’re moving in?”

“Shit, yeah. The house is only half-finished and you can’t decorate from bed. Then there’s Jay—someone has to make sure he eats something besides Pop-Tarts and doesn’t study too much. You’re going to need rides to OB appointments, and you might need something in the middle of the night. So . . . I’m moving in.”

He leans over me on the bed and plants a firm, hot kiss on my lips that will tolerate no arguments. Then he’s striding out the door again—a drive-by kissing.

I stare into the camera, and I shrug.

“He’s moving in.”

And the Lifers flood my screen with hearts.

~ ~ ~

Dean

After I finish moving my stuff in, and Lainey is settled upstairs, I head into the kitchen to see how Jay’s doing. When he came to visit Lainey in the hospital, he wouldn’t even look at me. But he wasn’t openly hostile and all nearby chairs stayed out of the windows. Today around the house, he’s been civil but cold—trying his damnedest not to interact with me and pretend I don’t exist.

He sits now on one of the kitchen stools, with a glass of juice on the counter and a book in his hand.