Mason looks down at our joined hands and immediately loosens his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
Brookes sets the magazine aside, as if relieved to stop pretending. “We’re not nervous.”
I raise an eyebrow.
He clears his throat. “Fine, I’m a little nervous.”
Mason huffs. “I’m a lot nervous.”
I laugh, feeling overcome with warmth for my big, nervous cowboys. I’m nervous, too. Of course I am. There’s a fluttery, breathless feeling beneath my ribs that hasn’t let up since we parked outside. But under the nerves is a glowing, bubbling happiness I can’t quite contain because today we get to see our baby.
Our baby.
Even now, weeks after I found the strength to tell my mom exactly how I felt, the words feel so precious.
My morning sickness finally eased two weeks ago, and I’ve started to feel like myself again. Or maybe like a new version of myself. My body has been changing in small, secret ways. My nipples have darkened to a deeper rose. There’s a firm swell low on my belly now—nothing dramatic yet, but I catch myself touching it constantly.
My skin looks softer in the mirror, and my eyes brighter. My body feels fuller, warmer, and more alive.
This is real.
Mason’s thumb brushes over my knuckles. “You okay?”
I look up at him and smile. “I’m perfect.”
His face changes when I say it. The worry doesn’t disappear completely, but tenderness softens the hard lines of him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You are.”
Brookes leans in and presses a kiss to my temple. “Whatever happens in there, we’ve got you.”
“I know.” I look from one of them to the other, my throat tightening. “I’ve never known anything more.”
Mason squeezes my hand again, gentler this time.
When the technician finally calls my name, all three of us stand.
The young woman in scrubs blinks at the sight of us. Her eyes move from me, to Mason, to Brookes, then down to the chart in her hand.
“Janey?”
“That’s me.”
“And…” Her gaze flicks between the two men again. “Who is the father?”
The question lands awkwardly in the small waiting area. Once, it might have made me shrink. Once, I might have stammered, blushed, apologized for taking up space in a world that likes its love stories neat and easily explained. But not anymore.
I lift my chin. “Both of them.”
Mason goes still beside me. Brookes’s hand settles at the small of my back, offering reassurance.
The technician’s eyes widen. Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “Okay,” she says, a little too brightly. “Wonderful. Follow me.”
As we walk down the hallway, I can feel the protective energy rolling off both men. Mason walks half a step ahead, like he’s prepared to shoulder open doors, walls, or the entire world if it gets in our way. Brookes stays close behind me, his fingers brushing my lower back every few steps, reminding me without words that he’s there.
Inside the dimly lit room, the air smells faintly of disinfectant and lavender. There’s a padded table, a screenangled toward us, and a small printer waiting beside the machine.
I lie back, my heart suddenly pounding.
