Page 4 of One Night with Number Nineteen

Because then it became Ben’s whole life too.

More doctor’s appointments. More bills—so many more bills. Special diets and sleep aids. Renting medical equipment and tracking prescriptions and whether or not he took his medication.

And then it was writing a eulogy.

“Coming through!” Smitty booms.

Yup. Booms.

Because the big, bearded defenseman (and amateur matchmaker) doesn’t do anything quietly.

He booms boisterously (somehow without yelling). His voice echoes without being scary (even to my quiet and oftentimes far too shy for his own good kiddo). He’s big and brash and every bit a giant defenseman.

But he’s also soft.

And he knows how to handle shy.

Case in point?

His very shy and quiet and sweet wife Kailey—who’s currently carrying a very tiny newborn baby Sophie—is being herded toward an armchair he brought in earlier. A moment after her butt hits the cushion, he’s propping her feet up onto a box and passing her a water bottle filled with her favorite decaffeinated tea.

I know the latter is because he’s constantly doting after her, always making sure she has the things she needs—including something to keep her hydrated as she breastfeeds. It was also the only thing she could drink that helped with her nausea while she was pregnant.

God, that was the worst part of my pregnancy.

Being sick for the full nine months, puking everything up, struggling to gain weight, struggling to feel a modicum like my normal self, struggling…hell, just struggling.

All those weeks. The entire two and a half days of labor.

Even while pushing—and puking—Ollie out.

I did not appreciate the doctor telling me that the puking was helping me bring him down.

Nor did I appreciate Ben “eating for two because you can’t.”

But that was another time, another life, another⁠—

Just another.

“Coming through, Mom!” Ollie semi-echoes Smitty as he comes into the living room and deposits a small container on top of Kailey’s box. “There’s the Christmas lights you’re going to organize.”

“Ollie—” I begin because the last thing my friend needs to do is sort through my junk.

“Don’t,” Smitty murmurs—see? he can be quiet—as he moves by me. “She wants to help, but she’s exhausted. This way she can rest and get what she needs.”

My heart convulses.

When had Ben ever worried about me like Smitty does Kailey?

But just as quickly as the thought crosses my mind, I shove it away.

That’s not fair.

And anyway, I’m glad Kailey has that.

I turn and smile at Smitty, tucking the thoughts away. “Well, the tangled mess in that box should keep her busy for a good long while.”

Smitty grins, that bushy beard of his twitching. “That’s the plan.”