Page 42 of Rough Return

His arms came around her, squeezed. “We’ll make sure you get the best medical care out there. Even if we have to fly to Europe or… California.” How the hell would he know where good medical care existed? He’d probably seen a doctor twice in his adult life, once for a gunshot wound and once for a broken leg.

“Not miscarried. Lost. Misplaced. Forgot where I put him.” She shook her head and sniffled. “I had him with me when I went shopping.” And as if he had any control over her dreams, she looked up and scowled at him. “For your birthday present.”

“Sorry?”

“I sat him down to get my wallet out of this ridiculous bubble gum pink purse. Then I just walked out without him. I got home and had to go back, but I couldn’t remember which store I was in. Then I kept going in circles, and I couldn’t find him. I was calling out for him, you know, like a baby could answer. ‘Kermit! Kermit!’”

Grier shook his head. “We are not naming our kid Kermit.” Dear God, no. If she had any idea how he’d suffered with that name as a kid, she would never have suggested it.

She blew out a breath through her clenched teeth. “Not the point. Then when I woke up and you were gone, I thought I lost you, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and you won’t misplace our kid.” Of course, he couldn’t guarantee that. The kid part. But no damned way would she lose him. “We’ll get a leash or something.”

“We can’t put our baby on a leash.” She leaned back to look at him. “When’s your birthday?”

“April.” She cocked her head and pulled her lips into a twisted pout. “The ninth.”

“Maybe we should change it. Or celebrate it at a different time.”

He would if she asked. He didn’t really care about his birthday anyway. Growing up, it had just been another day that came and went, reinforcing that he had no one to care for. “Okay.” Curiosity, though. “But why?”

“So my dream doesn’t come true.” He didn’t tell her that it wasn’t the date that mattered, or the shopping, but she rolled her eyes and stalked back to the bed, flung the covers back, and flopped under, keeping her back to Grier’s side of the bed.

He watched, morbid fascination coupling with extreme confusion.

“Fi? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She sat up and punched her pillow a couple of times before slamming her head back down.

And because he knew nothing about pregnancy hormones other than that they existed, he stayed in the bathroom. “Did you want me to… sleep in here?” He dared not suggest the couch.

She sat up and her eyes brimmed with tears, almost like she’d turned on a faucet. “Oh, no!” Her wail rang through the quiet in the room and spurred Grier into action.

He slipped under the blanket and pulled her back against his chest as she sobbed into her pillow. “Shh. It’s okay. I just didn’t want to bother you. I want to sleep here. With you. Every night.”

It took a second before she turned to look up at him. He dried her eyes with his thumb then kissed the end of her nose. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

And while it was the truth, the idea of leaving her for her own good and the good of their child lurked in a quiet corner of his mind.

No one told her being pregnant would make her lose her damned mind. Or turn her into a blubbering mass of tears and snot. Also, no one mentioned fingers that looked like smoke sausage links, disappearing ankles, sore boobs, acne, or exactly how tired she’d be.

All she’d ever heard about was how women glowed when they were carrying their babies. If Fiona glowed, it could only be because she had to pee. Every minute of every day. And the mood swings… oh, God, the mood swings. One minute she wanted Grier more than she wanted to take her next breath. The next, she couldn’t stand any more questions—how’re you feeling, can I get you anything, want me to rub your feet—and hated the sight of him. She despised his good mood. And loved it.

He’d been coming home, but even that would change if she didn’t figure out how to work this out.

“What do I do?”

Jez sat across from her, listening as Fiona poured out the whole sordid thing. “He bought a crib?” Fiona glared at her. Jez was going to come down on Grier’s side—apparently, they had sides now—and she’d been Fiona’s friend first, owed her loyalty to Fiona. Jez scowled. “That bastard.”

“I just thought it was something we’d do together, you know? And he comes home with one then spent three hours—like there were no directions included in the box or something—putting it together. And it’s beautiful.” Her voice went soft. “It’s round and has a canopy that drapes over it.” But dammit, it would only work for a little girl. No boy of hers would sleep in such a feminine baby bed. She softened. Of course he would because his father cared enough to go out and spend nine hundred dollars on a bed for him. And if he grew up feminine, she would be absolutely fine with it.

Jez put a hand over her mouth. “Girl, you should see your face. One minute you’re pouty and petulant, the next happy as a clam in the sand.”

“Do I need to go to the doctor? Is this a normal thing?” She lowered her voice. “I don’t want to drive him away.”

Jez laughed. “You know what? First, he helped get you this way. He’ll be fine. And if not, you don’t want him anyway.”