The Problem with Peace (Greenstone Security 3)

But it was the small but pronounced bump that got me.

That speared my heart with joy.

“You’re pregnant,” I whispered.

She glanced down, eyes bright. “Either that or I had a really big burrito last night.”

I continued to stare. “Lucy, you’re pregnant,” I repeated, my eyes shimmering and not just because the light was causing my head to pound and stomach to roil.

Her hand settled on the swell of the bump, cradling it protectively. “Yeah, I am,” she agreed.

“But you’re hungover, and I feel like that’s exactly the opposite of pregnant,” she continued, blinking rapidly as if to chase away tears. But Lucy didn’t cry.

Like ever.

“And pregnancy is a little more permanent than hangovers, lucky for you.” She winked at me. “So I would like to talk about the reason for the hangover. And not my husband, though he is not the most popular man in the house right now.” She scowled in the direction of the door and sounds coming from the kitchen. “But he’s a man, he saw a problem, he saw pain and he thought rubbing alcohol works on the outside, so he tried to use drinking alcohol for the inside. That’s not how it works.” She paused. “Well, it’s sometimes how it works. But it’s with cosmos, or martinis, or margaritas. Not whisky.”

My stomach lurched at the mention of all those alcoholic beverages in such a short amount of time.

“I’m never drinking again,” I moaned.

“Oh, I doubt that,” she said. “Because I’ve got a feeling this little thing is going to need a lot of rubbing alcohol and drinking alcohol.” She paused.

Her eyes searched mine as if she were gaging whether now was the appropriate time to get the truth out of me.

Lucy didn’t know the full story about Heath.

No one knew.

Which was in itself, strange.

I didn’t do secrets. Not when it came to my feelings, good or bad—or my love life, good and bad. Lucy had secrets. A lot of them. So many that they seeped into her face sometimes, making her beauty something different and darker entirely. She didn’t think I could see them. I was sure she—like everyone else—considered me too flaky and wrapped up in my own ridiculous fantasy world, dreaming of fairy tales and princes to be worrying about the dragons others fought in reality.

But I wasn’t.

I saw them.

I wanted to help. More than anything.

I didn’t want to be a princess, wasn’t looking for a crown, I was looking for a sword, a freaking butter knife to help my sister slay her dragons. And Rosie, my adopted sister. But not even Excalibur could slay the fire-breathing demons that darkened their doors.

And I had nothing on them.

My two brave heroines slayed the dragons they could and made friends with the ones they couldn’t. Their hot hubbies had a hand in it, to be sure, but they did most of the work themselves, they were never damsels.

Me?

I was the damsel.

From pretty much the start of my life. And definitely from the start of the ending that was Heath and me.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” I croaked. “To…go there.” It was a lame excuse, considering ‘there’ the past and I basically lived in it these days. I just pretended I didn’t.

Lucy squeezed my hand. “I know, sweetheart.” There was a comfortable silence.

Or what I thought was a comfortable silence until I remembered who my sister was, pregnant or not.

“No blowing up his car,” I demanded.

Lucy gave me faux innocent eyes. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Or his house,” I added.

The eyes narrowed, and Lucy huffed out a sigh. “Fine.”

She squeezed my hand again.

I almost felt whole.

If I ignored the gaping and jagged wound in my chest where my heart used to be.

Chapter Eight

One Week Later

Lucy had forgiven me for getting drunk and then spending the rest of the day hungover at her house. We had an Audrey Hepburn marathon.

My sister had seen every movie at least twice.

And so had I, but I wasn’t complaining since I was mostly trying not to barf the entire day. And cry.

Plus, I got to curl up on the sofa with the sister I’d missed fiercely, revel in her glow, her happiness and let it fill me up the best it could.

Keltan hadn’t gotten off quite as easy.

But he’d disappeared and come back with grapes, Fruit Loops, and burrito and suddenly all was forgiven.

“Okay, I love you again,” Lucy said, snatching the strange assortment of objects.

He was grinning as he leaned down to kiss her forehead and then her belly. “Again?” he teased.

“Or I’ve loved you all along, whatever,” she said, ripping into the Fruit Loop box, grabbing a handful, then a handful of grapes and shoving them in her mouth.

I screwed up my nose not just because the food was offensive to my delicate stomach.

“Pregnancy cravings,” Keltan explained, settling next to her and resting his hand on the small swell of her stomach.