Page 221 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“I’m breathing normally.”

“You sound like a ghost seeing electricity.”

“That feels about right.”

Outside, Chicago greets us with cold air, traffic noise, and the deeply personal insult of continuing as usual when my entire life has just been turned upside down, shaken violently, and possibly stuffed into a diaper bag.

A sleek black car waits near the curb.

Of course it does.

Luci spots it before I do. “Please tell me that isn’t Ethan’s.”

I stare at the driver standing beside it, holding a tablet with my name on it.

The sign readsAdeline Clarkein crisp black lettering.

Formal, efficient, unmistakably Ethan.

My chest tightens. “He sent a car.”

Luci looks at me carefully. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No.” I swallow. “It’s a very Ethan thing.”

The driver steps forward. “Ms. Clarke? Mr. Strong asked me to take you home.”

Home.

The word hits in a soft, dangerous place.

Ethan’s penthouse. Oliver. Captain. My room. The kitchen island. His office. His hands. His fear.

I can’t go there yet.

If I see him right now, I might crumble. Or yell. Or throw up. Or tell him there are three babies before either of us has had enough caffeine to survive the sentence.

Possibly all four.

Luci must see it on my face because she turns to the driver with a pleasant smile that contains absolutely no warmth. “Change of plan.”

The driver blinks. “Mr. Strong requested?—”

“Mr. Strong can join the club of people not currently in charge of my sister’s uterus.”

I choke. “Luci.”

“What? It’s true.”

The driver looks like he’d rather drive directly into Lake Michigan than respond.

I press my fingertips to my temple. “Can you take us to Brewed Awakening?”

The driver hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Of course.”

Luci helps me into the back seat like I’m made of antique glass. I don’t complain because my knees feel weird and my body is doing that shaky post-hospital thing where it pretends to be functioning but is clearly considering unionizing.

Brewed Awakening smells like coffee, sugar, and the kind of warmth that makes a person believe civilization might survive after all.