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“Right, sweetums.”
“How does that happen?” Meghan asks.
“Well, during her ovulation, she released more than one egg. The woman had the sex with one man and his spermies fertilized her waiting egg, where she became pregnant. Therefore, when the hoochie mama slept with the second man right away, he fertilized the second egg. Double the sex. Double the babies, Meggy Pie.”
“That’s…a lot of fertilizing. Thanks,” I mumble.
“Well, just to clear up any confusion, both of my sons are Linkin’s. Just because they have a bit of size difference doesn’t mean anything,” Lexi defends, hormonal tears in her eyes.
“I think Hudson looks more like Linkin,” I add, trying to smooth over some of the extra tension that has suddenly joined us in the room, like a long lost family member.
“Agreed. He definitely has Linkin’s more squared jaw and fuller lips,” Payton decides.
“And Hemi looks more like Lexi. His hair is lighter, like hers. His eyes are more almond-shaped, like hers. His nose is small and cute, like hers. And he’s a fucking fighter, like her,” Linkin says, walking toward his unofficial-wife, who’s sitting up in the hospital bed. “I’d be honored to have one, if not both of my boys, look just like their mother.” He bends down and plants a firm and possessive kiss on her lips.
“And if you ever suggest there was another man in her life again, I’ll have to hide all of your husband’s Viagra and lose the key to your little playroom,” he adds, standing up to his full height (which seems gigantic when he’s in front of Grandma) and crosses his arms over his wide chest. Damn, this man is huge.
“What? You wouldn’t dare!” Grandma huffs, crossing her arms over her chest to mirror his stance.
“I will if you ever make your granddaughter cry again by asking something stupid.”
The room is quiet as we watch their showdown. They seem to square off, neither wanting to cave first. Grandma has the capacity to go a long damn time when she wants to, but the way Linkin is holding his ground, I’d say he’ll outmaneuver Grandma this time.
Her face breaks into a wrinkly smile. “My word in heaven, you sure are swoonworthy when you turn into an aggressive, overprotective husband, Linkin Stone. I think I like you more now than I did before,” she says, walking forward and wrapping her thin arms around his waist. Of course, I can tell she gooses him by the way he quickly straightens and blushes a dark shade of red.
Then she goes to Lexi and hugs her. “I’m sorry, dear. You know I didn’t mean to upset you. You have two beautiful baby boys, and they are the perfect blend of you and your husband.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want Linkin to take your Viagra and lock you out of your weird little room upstairs that we won’t be discussing any further,” Lexi says.
“But he can’t have the Viagra!” Grandma hollers. “We need that! How else will we be able to play cards every afternoon at three?”
“You need Viagra to play cards? What kinda cards are you playing?” Jaime asks.
“The naked kind, Jaimers. With lots of the sex.”
“Hell yes!” Grandpa bellows from his chair along the wall, causing all further talk of sex to die a quick death.
As I drive home that night, my mind fills with more Sawyer-related questions than I have answers, and as I slip into bed at ten, images of the reason why I have all of these questions accompanies me under the covers.
I just don’t understand.
Everything was fine.
Everything was great.
Then suddenly, it wasn’t.
Grabbing my phone, I check to make sure I didn’t miss any texts. There weren’t any earlier and there aren’t any now. I set it back down on my nightstand and grab a steamy paperback that Abby lent me. I should be able to submerge myself in the story until I can’t keep my eyes open, but once again, I’m only thinking of Sawyer.
Setting the book back down on the table, I reach for my phone.
Me: I met the two most perfect little boys in the world tonight. I hope you had a good evening. ‘Night.
Watching, no little bubbles appear to let me know he’s read and replying to my message. I continue to stare, willing a return message to pop up, for an embarrassingly long time before I finally take the hint and put my phone away.
Maybe he’s busy? Working out? In the shower? In bed already? He didn’t get much sleep the night before, so maybe he’s already passed out, and he’ll see my message and reply tomorrow. Right?
But as I slip farther into my bed and curl up with my pillow, dread starts to overpower my positive outlook.
