Page 102 of Backup Plan

Eating at the hotel restaurant. Looking at that house on the hill with the white kitchen counters one more time.

Madden calls as I’m debating whether to accept Clay’s invitation to go to a club tonight, and I pick up.

“Hey, Madden.”

“You sound tired,” he says.

“I am.”

“Good. Keep working out. I’m just calling around with the latest on Dad’s trial.”

“Hit me with it.”

“The judge granted another continuance because of a jury member.”

I scrub a hand down my jaw. “Fuck. This is really getting dragged out.”

“They said our date won’t change since Archer’s schedule is so tight. I talked to his lawyers, and they’re going to try to plant doubt that he did it.”

“Thanks for the update.”

“Any time. Just making the rounds with everyone,” he says, hinting that he needs to get off the phone so he can make his next call.

“Hey, if I send you a house I’m looking at here in town, can you tell me if it’s in a good area?”

“I can tell you not only if it’s in a good area but if it was built by a reputable builder and what you can expect,” he says.

“Great. I’ll send it over.”

We hang up, and I copy the link and shoot it over to my brother.

I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but Madden replies right away that it’s a good find, and it’s big enough that Ivy can stay with me to help me with the baby.

I call my real estate agent and tell him I want to put in an offer.

And then I wait.

I don’t wait long, however, because early the next morning, my phone rings bright and early to wake me up.

Only it’s not my realtor.

It’s Izzy.

“Iz?” I answer.

“I think my water just broke.”

“Shit. I’m in San Diego. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

“Hurry, Liam.” She sounds scared, and you know what?

So the fuck am I.

I throw everything I have in my duffel except for a pair of shorts and a shirt, which I put on, and I check out of the hotel. I call an Uber and book it for the airport. The next flight heading to Chicago takes off in forty-five minutes, and I reserve a seat while I’m in the car on the way to the airport.

I speed through security, and the flight is already boarding as I rush toward the gate. I’m in coach, but at least I’ll be on a flight.

I nod to the middle seat, and the woman in her seventies buckled into her seat on the aisle unbuckles and stands to let me in. The man by the window is about as tall as me, but a bit bulkier, and I can tell we’re going to be fighting over the armrest for the next four hours.