Brookes nods, his expression serious. “We share everything, Janey. That means the responsibility, the medical history, and the legal right to protect both of you.”
It’s a pragmatic admission that makes the family we’re building feel like more than a dream; it makes it a fortress.
“And the nursery,” Brookes adds.
Mason’s face softens. “Yeah. The nursery.”
I blink back fresh tears. “Where?”
“The room across the hall,” Mason says.
“The one with the morning light,” Brookes adds.
I know the room. Pale walls. Wide window. A view of the pasture where the horses graze at sunrise.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper.
Mason smiles. “Then it’s theirs.”
“Theirs,” I echo.
Brookes kisses my belly. “You hear that, little bean?You’re already getting the best room in the house.”
The ridiculous sweetness of it breaks me open all over again.
I tug him up and kiss him. Then Mason. Then both of them in turn, until I lose track of where one kiss ends and the next begins.
Eventually, we end up tangled beneath the blankets, bodies warm and heavy, the sharpest edge of need softened into deeper sensation.
Mason spoons me from behind, one arm tucked beneath my head, the other draped over my waist. Brookes lies facing me, his hand resting over the small life growing inside me.
Their palms overlap on my belly.
I cover both with mine.
Brookes’s voice rasps when he says, “You’re home now. With us. Where you belong.”
My eyes sting, but I smile.
I close my eyes, safe and claimed and full in every possible way. Their bodies surround me, their hands protective over the small life growing between us.
This is what I was so afraid to want, but taking chances, even the scary ones, brought me here. To two rugged, loving cowboys who see every part of me and still choose me, giving me space to breathe between them. To a life I never imagined, but one that already feels like the only place I truly belong.
I smile into the darkness.
Whatever comes next, I’m excited to face it with my two handsome cowboys by my side.
Epilogue
Janey
The waiting room at the imaging center is quiet except for the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines. I sit between Mason and Brookes, their big bodies bracketing mine like living shields. Mason’s knee bounces like it’s trying to beat a hole through the floor. Brookes sits on my right, one palm resting warmly on my thigh, his thumb stroking slow, soothing circles through the fabric of my dress.
They’re both trying so hard to look calm. Neither one of them is succeeding.
Mason keeps glancing toward the hallway every time a door opens. Brookes has read the same paragraph in an outdated fishing magazine three times without turning the page.
“You know,” I say softly, “if either of you grip me any tighter, I’m going to lose circulation.”
