by Angel Payne
Just like the one to which I now drop my gaze.
The image, looking a hell of a lot like just a couple of kissing lima beans, that has me choking back a sob and reaching frantically for Lydia’s hand.
It’s the vision that changes everything.
The change that shifts all of my paradigms.
“Oh, God,” I rasp.
“Fuck me,” Lydia blurts.
“Hey!” I jerk my hand against hers. “Watch the language around my bean.”
“Who still is a freaking bean?” she retorts.
“Well.” Neeta wields the interjection with exaggerated patience. “If Mommy and Auntie will keep their bickering to a dull roar, perhaps I can maneuver a clearer bean shot for you.”
“Oh, yes please!” ’Dia bounces on the rolling stool she’s occupying, borrowed from its normal place in the command center over our heads. Yes, we’ve retreated to the bunker for all this, and we’ve declared it a no-guys zone until Angie’s declaration from two days ago can be proved completely true. “Holy sh—errr, I mean holy guacamole—it’s a damn good thing Fershan was able to find this ultrasound machine so fast.”
“And that Sawyer was able to procure it,” Neeta adds, her smile soft.
“But most of all, that you know how to operate it.” I reach up my free hand and squeeze around Neeta’s forearm. “A woman of many talents, for whom I’m really grateful,” I tell her with matching tenderness.
“Well, you can thank my sister,” she replies. “All those months of helping her with her certification exams must have rubbed off and stuck to the right brain cells.”
Lydia leans forward as Neeta rolls the ultrasound probe over to the other side of my stomach. “I can still hardly believe it,” she murmurs.
I shift on the table, trying to disguise the discomfited growl that brings back to my stomach. “Chemistry is a funny thing,” I mutter. Especially when Daddy’s a walking lightning bolt and Mommy’s uterus has become a solar-powered incubator.
Facts that haven’t left my mind and heart for more than two seconds since Angelique’s pronouncement. Right now, trusting any outside doctor, no matter how highly they come recommended for their “discretion,” is out of the question. Reece and I asked every single guest at our wedding for the same level of respect—and one glance at the online stats for my “SPF 70 Bridal Meltdown” video are proof of how well that went.
So, I’ve had to take the high—and freaking hard—road for two days. Wrestling with my insecurity, uncertainty, and flat-out panic about what Neeta’s probe would really find inside my belly. The possibilities have ranged from everything as insignificant as some gas bubbles to full-on absurdities straight out of a horror film fest. What kind of creature doesn’t show even a trace of human pregnancy hormones on a pee stick?
At this moment, I don’t give a damn about that answer anymore.
All I care about is my little smushed bean.
My magnificent, miraculous, creation of love and light…
“Oh, holy crap!” I blurt.
My bean—with arms I can now see. Look at that. Holy shit, Planet Earth! Look at that! One, two. Both there, so strong and mighty and perfect. And now, those precious little legs—one, two there, as well.
Look at him. Look at him!
And yes, I know it’s a him. I just…know. While science won’t be able to back me up on this one for a while longer, I just know this already. My little boy’s eyelids and nose and mouth and ears already speak that truth to me.
“Everything seems normal, my friend,” Neeta murmurs with her musically accented comfort. “This is a beautiful, healthy three-month-old. What?” She discernibly starts as soon as I whip my stare from the monitor to her.
“Th-Three months?” I falter out.
Neeta frowns a little. “Three and a half, to be exact,” she asserts.
“No. No,” I argue. “That’s not—that can’t be right. I was bleeding just seven weeks ago. I tracked everything back as soon as Angie made her call in the training center. I-I skipped last month but wrote that off to wedding stress. But before that—”
“You were probably just spotting.” Lydia folds her other hand over the juncture of where I’ve started gripping her like she’s a log in a storm, rubbing over my knuckles in reassuring circle. “You know that kind of thing is common, baby girl.”
As I turn my head back to her, I darken my scowl into a full glower. “And you also know that kind of stuff’s as common in our family as purple warts.”
She purses her lips. Glances back up at Neeta. “She’s right, damn it. The Crist women have never had any trouble proving our…errrmmm…fertility.”
Neeta copies my sister’s moue while pulling the probe away. She replaces the instrument by laying her own hand across my center, splaying long fingers that are full of fortitude, encouragement, and a warmth that permeates my skin, seeming to swaddle my bean in love already. Besides the radiance of Reece’s touch, I don’t think I’ve ever been so moved by another person’s clasp like this.
Reece.
Oh God, I miss him so.
I need him so.
At once, as welcome but as cursed as the swell of emotion in my soul, hot tears burn at the backs of my eyes. Neeta and Lydia, holding me in their different ways of comfort and support, let me indulge the deep pain for a long moment. Then, quietly as the night wind echoing through the canyons outside, Neeta rises. Slides a slow nod toward the place where her hand still rests on my stomach.
“Why don’t we all get some rest right now—and we will see how things are going with this sweet bean tomorrow afternoon?” Her smile is filled with calm confidence. “This child has already proved he is an extraordinary creation in several ways. If he adds to the list tomorrow, then we will assess the situation and go from there. But Emmalina”—as she bends over, she presses her fingers into my skin, compelling me to feel the outreach of her compassion and strength—“the key word here is we.” She rivets the bronze force of her gaze directly into mine. “You are not alone in this, my friend—nor shall you ever be. This child was created in love, and in love it will continue to be surrounded and uplifted.”
Next to me, there’s an obnoxious snuffle. “Holy shit,” Lydia finally blurts, swiping at her eyes. “Why don’t you have your own talk show or something?” she charges at Neeta, who just rolls her eyes and lets out a musical giggle. “You think I’m kidding?”
“What I think is that our little mama and her cargo need to get some dinner and then some sleep.” My gorgeous friend re-secures the giant clip holding back her ink-dark hair while beaming a bigger smile my way. “No more ignoring your health to the point of fainting, my stubborn girl!”
“Fine.” My sister waves a conceding hand. “But after we’re done with all that, you and I will be talking about at least a podcast, woman.”
A couple of hours later, I start to fall asleep with a peaceful smile on my lips and the echoes of my sister’s enthusiastic chattering in my ears. As ’Dia and Neeta talk, toning down their volume as they watch me drift off, they also cue the speaker system to switch the playlist from “Girl Pop Greats” to “Baby Brainpower.” And in the hazy moments between consciousness and slumber, as a lilting piano tune ushers little bean and me into the cocoon of deep sleep, I fold my arms over the middle of my being—of my existence—and whisper a promise only he and I can hear.
“I know you miss him as much as I do, buddy. Daddy will be home soon, I promise.”
But the belief of my promise doesn’t filter all the way up to my brain—or maybe it does and the damn thing rebels on me anyway, taunting my sleep with strange visions and terrifying ideas. I see Reece racing down narrow, dirty alleys of an old European city. Barcelona? Or somewhere else? Doesn’t matter because he’s looking for me. I know this because he’s yelling for me. Bellowing my name, with increasing fear, down every passage he turns. No matter how loud I scream in return, he doesn’t seem to hear me…
I’m here. I’m right
here! Please find me, baby. Please come back to us. Your family. Your family…
But he still doesn’t stop calling out. He’s hoarse and desperate.
Emma. Emmalina!
Damn it!
I’m here! I’m right here!
“Em. Emma!”
“Right here. Just—just look. I’m right—right here!”
“Emma. Baby girl. Oh, hell. Dude, she won’t wake up.”
I reach down inside myself, pulling out more air for the words. Pushing out more volume. “Reece. Reece. I’m here!”
“Do what now? All right, if you think it’ll work.”
“Reece.” I shriek it now. “Reece!”
“Velvet. Baby.”
“Reece!” I palm away the wetness on my cheeks. Oh, God. It’s like he’s here, but he’s not. I can hear him but not touch him. Not smell him. Where is he?
“Bunny,” he calls out. No longer lost. He’s found me…but now I can’t seem to find him. Where is he? “I’m right here. Wake up and talk to me, my gorgeous Flare.”
As he issues that dictate, I fasten my focus completely on his voice. Wake up. Why is he saying…
The phone.
He’s in the phone. The one Lydia’s pressing to my cheek, with pillow lines still etched across hers. Strawberry-blond curls are a sleep-tousled halo around her head, made that way by the light streaming in from the landing outside the ridge’s master bedroom.
“Wh-What time is—”
“Two thirteen,” she grumbles. “Yes, a.m. You weren’t picking up, so guess who was next on the call list?”
“Oh, God.” That’s when everything falls back into place. Reece, leaving for Barcelona. Reece, having to take his cell completely off-grid. Reece, not contactable.
Reece…not knowing he’s going to be a daddy.
I impale my sister with my fully alert stare. “Did you…”
“I’m half asleep, baby girl, not half stupid. Of course I didn’t tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
I home back in on the beloved baritone flowing through to me through the phone line—gripping ’Dia’s device with the same intensity I give my other hand, dropping at once to my middle.
Which has swelled from a bad period pooch into a small but defined baby bump.
Yes, overnight.
And no, not a figment of my imagination.
And yes, bringing along a flutter of tiny movement that I’ve never felt in my life. So indistinct that if it happened in the middle of the day, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. But right now, in the silence of the very early morning, in the stillness of the bed that’s empty without him in it, I know exactly what this is. Exactly who this is. My bean has sprouted wings and is now like a small…
“Butterfly.” I laugh it out quietly, answering my son’s vibrant drumbeat with some gentle circles around my belly button.
“Huh?”
“Errrr. The…uh…butterflies,” I answer to Reece’s perplexed grunt. “I was just saying that the monarchs are starting their migration a little early this year. They’re all over the sunflowers in the canyon.” It’s not a lie—and neither is the yearning that resonates through my sigh. “I wish you were here to see them, my love.”
I miss you so damn much, Reece Richards.
His answering brush of a breath lets me know he heard that part too. Yes, even nearly six thousand miles away, my Zeus still possesses the godlike power to decipher my thoughts. “Well…if fortune favors us today, maybe I’ll have a chance to catch the sight, as well.”
I push up sharply, adrenaline jolting my every vein. Bolty Bean immediately thrashes out his disapproval of that surprise, but fortunately, he’s still too small to dent anything inside. Yet. Knowing I won’t get back to sleep after this, I know the hours waiting for Neeta to wake up are going to be torture. But I’ll cross that long, lonnnng bridge when I come to it. Back to the really cool bomb my man has just dropped.
“What the—how?” I demand. “Did you find her already?” There’s more to that, but I can’t find the strength for the addendum. I can’t find it anywhere inside me to ask if he’s also killed Faline, even after all of the destruction she’s caused and the pain she’s dealt. Talking about death isn’t right after the universe has given me the miracle of life.
“Not yet.” Reece’s tone tightens as he addresses my question. “But we’ve connected with someone who has all the information we need to do so.” His pause is purposeful, and I hear the minor snag in his breath that always goes along with him rearranging index cards in his mind—perhaps even yanking a few out of the deck. While I’m not wholly uneasy about that, I am a few ticks past a basic case of nosey.
“Someone…who?” I murmur.
“A contact of a contact.”
“So you could tell me, but then you’d have to whack me?”
“Or make you whack me.” At once, his voice becomes as supple and seductive as his finest leathers. With matching speed, I think about him crawling into bed with me right now, clad in those leathers. How amazing and smooth and cool his outfit would feel against all of my nude flesh. I could be that way for him with just a kick of my PJ bottoms and a flick of my T-shirt…
Shit.
The subject.
We have to stick to the subject.
Especially right now.
After deep-breathing away my arousal and then rewetting my lips, I clear my throat to steer us both back to the correct path here. “So…what kind of specific information does this ‘contact’ have?”
“The kind that’s been encrypted.” He’s not hesitant about giving up that part.
“Well, damn.”
“And can’t be decrypted over here.” Nor about that.
“Because the walls have ears?” I suggest while propping up the pillows to support me leaning back and settling more comfortably. Holy shit. I must have gained ten pounds overnight, and half of it was in my boobs. At this point, I won’t require Neeta or that machine to tell me how far this pregnancy is progressing; I’ll simply need to assess my new bra sizes.
“Because the air has ears.”
While his reply is tense, there’s enough of the sarcastic Reece I know and love to make me start breathing easier. He wasn’t lying at the beginning of this exchange. He really is here. Not physically yet, but in all the other ways that matter, he’s absolutely here—and proves it with his gruff laugh, his smooth snark, his loving tone.
And yes…even in the defined weight of his long inhalation, followed by his weighted breath back out. The message, even without words, that he clearly conveys to me throughout the heavy silence that follows.
“So that means…what?” I follow pure instinct in finally issuing the prompt. Sensing he needs me to do it. To all but beat the words out of him now.
“It means…” Yes, another clunky pair of breaths before he finally says, “It means that we can’t extract the information here, Emma. And nor can it come home with us in the form it’s currently in. The thumb drive it’s been loaded onto has been encoded to send out a signal any time it’s inserted into a traditional USB port, so…”
No way has he randomly picked that moment to fade off on the explanation. As always, the man knows damn well what’s going on in my head right now. The conclusion my gray matter is already closing in on—and, considering the lack of blatant denials from his end, correctly so.
At last leading to the words I must blurt out. That I need to hear spoken, by at least one of us, to fully grasp. “So you’re going to let them plug it…into you, instead.”
Another one of his earnest breaths in. Then a decisive whoosh out. “Alex thinks that if we hook up an independent USB port to a defibrillator charger and then shock the information into me—”
“Shock the information into you?” I say it but still can’t believe it. “You mean, like what they do with the dying patients on the medical shows?”
“Only I’m not going to be dying, Emma.”
“Thanks for
that reassurance, Doc.”
“I can handle this, Emma!” For several long seconds, our connection is filled with nothing but the huffing force of his fierce breaths. “At least…this part of it.”
Everything stops throughout my body. Yes, even Bean Baby’s butterfly kicks. My thoughts cease in my head. My stomach quits its incessant growling. Even my nerve endings are still, like wheat stalks gone motionless before a summer storm. “And what the hell does that mean?” I ask it slowly, purposefully—and yes, even suspiciously. A small, silent part of me threatens the man with partial castration if he stalls with those leaden breaths again.
But there are no lead-up whiffs this time. Only his reserved, resigned growl as he finally states, “There’s a chance—a slight one—that the jolt from the paddles will dislodge the solar ions blocking Faline’s radio waves.”
Now I’m taking the lead on the whole heavy-breathing thing. If what my lungs are doing, despite the cinder blocks of anxiety dropped across them, can even be called breathing anymore. Finally, I manage to rasp past them, “Which means…what?”
“Probably nothing.” He’s fast out of the gate with that, giving away just how prepared he was for my query. “It’s just going to depend on how close, and how aware, Faline may be to El Prat.”
“The airport?” I clarify. “Why there?”
“Because that’s where Alex and Saber will attempt to get this shit done. And, if they’re successful, where I’ll be directly boarding a charter—and coming right home to you.”
I don’t feel an iota of guilt about drowning out the last of his assertion with my full, joyous gasp. Reece doesn’t seem to mind, either. As he chuckles softly, I level, “As much as I hate the means, that ending doesn’t suck.”
“No.” His utterance borders so totally on a whisper, I have to strain to hear it. But right now, I’ll gladly endure this man’s means in order to have his ends. “It doesn’t suck one damn bit, my perfect Flare.” Though he adds, as soon as I gulp so hard that it’s audible, “What, baby? What is it?”
I rub my stomach, borrowing strength from the little superhero inside to push out my answer. “Wh-What happens if your Plan A fails, mister?”