Page 379 of Wicked Brutal

“I know.”

I turn my head back. She’s watching me. “It felt like — like this is what home is supposed to sound like.”

There it is. Not silence. Not everybody being careful. Not waiting for a door to open, or listening for footsteps, or wondering who’s angry. Just laughter, and arguments about shoes, and Kaiden swearing because Cat promised a six-year-old explosives for a Nissan.

“Yeah,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I meant. “That’s what it felt like.”

She moves closer, forehead under my chin. “Our baby gets that.”

“Yeah. All of them.”

“That’s kind of terrifying.”

I laugh. “Imagine learning how to be a person from those assholes.”

She snorts. “Our kid’s first word is going to be fuck.”

“Hundred percent. And then Tobias is going to charge them a dollar for it.”

She laughs, and I roll onto my side to see her better. “Think about it, though. This kid is fucked. In a good way,” I add, before she can object. “They’re going to have everybody.”

That wipes the smile off her face, so I keep going, softer. “Cat with a spreadsheet for every milestone. Penny making sure nobody ever makes them feel weird. Xander teaching them how to throw a punch. Becca teaching them Russian, Danny teaching them how to swear in it. Kaiden and his cars. Iz teaching them French, and Bella fixing his pronunciation.” Ally’s eyes sparkle, then fill. “And Tobias.” I don’t finish it. I don’t have to. My hand moves to her stomach. “Tobias is going to love the shit out of this kid.”

“Ryan. I was doing really good.”

“You brought him up.”

“You finished it.” She covers my hand with hers, and for a few seconds we just look at the little bump. Almost four months. Our baby. Still insane.

“Do you really have no feeling?” she asks. “Boy or girl.”

“I said I didn’t in there. I was surrounded by lunatics.” I rub my thumb over her stomach. “But… Girl.”

Her whole face changes. “Really? Why?”

“No idea. I’ve just thought about it. A fucking lot.”

Her smile goes enormous, so I give her the rest before I lose the nerve. “Tiny. Your eyes. Hopefully your hair, because if she gets mine, Cassandra will spend eighteen years complaining she can’t do anything with it.”

Ally reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair, tells me she likes it, and I tell her I know, and she calls me smug, and I don’t argue.

“What about you?” I ask.

“Boy.” She shrugs. “I picture you with a little boy.” My chest does something stupid. “Not like Toby — Toby’s Toby, he’s always going to be his own thing with you. I mean a little version of you.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“I think it’d be cute. I want your dimples.”

“I don’t have dimples.”

“You do when you really smile.” She presses a fingertip into my cheek. “Right there.”

I catch the finger between my teeth and she squeals and yanks it back, accusing me of biting my pregnant girlfriend, and I start laughing, and so does she.

And fuck. This. This is the thing I wanted without ever knowing how to name it. Lying on the carpet of a half-finished nursery, talking about whose eyes our baby might have, hearing her laugh, knowing Tobias is coming back sticky from ice cream — and knowing nobody’s going to call and tell Ally she has to go home. Because she is home.

I look at her. Really look. Her smile fades. “What?”