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“Why’s it so fast?” Kiera asks the doctor.
“The fetal heart rate at this stage can be between 100 and 180 beats per minute.”
“It’s like a hummingbird’s wings,” Kiera says in awe and emotion clogs my throat. That’s the perfect way to describe it.
I lean over and brush my lips over her forehead. I’ve never felt closer to a human being in my life and it’s all due to the miracle flickering on the computer screen. That’s both me and Kiera, thriving against all odds.
It’s pure magic.
“I’d say date of conception was around January 1, which means your due date will be September 24. Although it could be a few days before or a few days after.”
“Holy shit,” I wheeze. That’s this year. Just months away.
Dr. Segal grins at me, then Kiera. “Congratulations.”
We walk out of the doctors’ office hand in hand with a picture of the ultrasound in Kiera’s purse. I already snapped it with my phone as we were checking out and sent it to my parents and brother.
“What do you think about grabbing a few nights’ worth of clothes and come stay at my place?” I ask.
Kiera’s been to my place before and she’s stayed the night, but we mostly have settled into a routine at her house.
“Sure,” she says because she’s easygoing that way.
“It’s closer to the arena and we have a game tomorrow, then the memorial the day after, which will be there. Save us some driving.”
“That it would.”
We play the Denver Blue Devils tomorrow and then the day after that is the twentieth—the first anniversary of the crash. A remembrance celebration has been planned at the arena. It’s a given that Kiera and I will go together after we talked about it earlier this week.
I push that out of my head, though. That’s two days away and I don’t want that dragging me down from my high of seeing my kid in Kiera’s belly.
CHAPTER 26
Kiera
Ihum tomyself as I pour the eggs into the pan, swirling it to evenly coat the bottom and lower edges. I precut all the things that Bain likes in his omelet and add them in large clumps. I’m using his largest pan and six eggs, so it can handle a lot.
Crisp bacon, diced ham, cheddar cheese, onions, red peppers.
I want to add mushrooms, but we’re going to share the omelet and he’ll gag if he gets one in his mouth.
Smiling, I consider what the omelet says about our relationship. I enjoy cooking for him. We love to share food. I know the things he likes and doesn’t. In fact, I got up early this morning and grabbed a quick shower just so I could do this for him and we could share a meal.
It’s game day and he’ll be heading to the arena around noon. He spends a lot of time getting into his headspace and derives energy hanging with his teammates. They might play video games in the players’ lounge or they might kick a hacky sack around in the parking garage. They’ll eat together and do warm-up preparations.
But then Bain also takes alone time. He’ll put on his game-day playlist filled with, oddly enough, Viking war music. It’s guttural lyrics with a heavy metal flair, and it gets his adrenaline going. He has a ritual when lacing his skates that he recites the various skills he uses on the ice.
We’re creating our own rituals and I like this morning game-day habit. Me slipping out of bed and making him breakfast.
My stomach grumbles as the smells intertwine and I have a brief curiosity as to how much weight I’ll gain. Dr. Segal gave advice to eat healthily and continue exercising, so I imagine I’ll be fine, but damn if I don’t feel like I can eat this entire omelet myself. That I know is psychological because the little “bean” isn’t big enough yet to pull on my resources.
I move to flip the edges of the omelet but jerk as I feel Bain’s big body step into mine. His chest is bare and warm, and I can smell the lingering scent of toothpaste as he kisses my neck.
“I don’t know what smells better… you or that omelet,” he murmurs as he buries his nose in my hair. He loves my coconut-scented shampoo. I was touched to see he bought some and put it in his shower.
His hands move from my hips so that his arms circle around my stomach. His teeth graze my ear and I shiver.
Bain chuckles over my reaction and then takes the spatula from my hand.
