Ellie presses her lips together, not succeeding to hide her smile. The nurse finishes and holds up a hospital gown that’s about ten million sizes too big for my little ballerina. Ellie turns slowly and the nurse slips it on. They had to cut her tank off her since it hurt her too much to lift her arms.
The nurse continues to verbally poke at me. “We’ll just keep tellin’ him and grin while doin’ it since he’s a looker.”
Ellie grins. “He’s a looker, all right.”
The nurse hands her the black and white photos of our blob that is nothing short of a miracle. “Here’re the pictures of your little angel. Feel free to keep the new fancy dress as a souvenir. Take your vitamins and see your OB as soon as possible.” The woman puts her hands on her hips and smiles at me. “Congratulations and take care of them.”
I move to the one who seized my heart when she was still a teenager. Putting my hand to her flat belly, I lean in to kiss her. “I plan to.”
Epilogue
Don’t be a quitter and never say never.
Zero-One-Zero-Eight
Ellie
Two months later
“Tomorrow.” The word comes out on a whisper, his lips working their way across my belly that’s starting to round with our baby. “Tomorrow, we’re going to right wrongs.”
“Yes,” I breathe and dip my hand into his thick, dark hair.
“You and Griffin,” he goes on, pressing his lips to the underside of my swelling breast, “will be mine.”
I shake my head and grip his hair until he looks up at me. “I’ve always been yours. And now we have even more life to love.”
Zero-one-zero-eight, new numbers that now mean everything to us.
His icy blues bore into mine as he splays a hand over our baby that’s due right after the first of the year. Whenever he does this, it reminds me of those few short weeks of happy we had all those years ago before everything was torn apart. “You have. But that doesn’t mean I’m not anxious to make up for lost time and that starts tomorrow.”
Tomorrow we say I do. And not in the way my mother wished for. Trig and I might’ve started out on the ranch I grew up on, but we wanted to do things our own way. It’s going to be small—Trig and I don’t need a lot of people nor do we want them. We’re picking up where we left off a decade ago.
Late tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be married by the lake in Faye’s backyard—our backyard. To finally tie ourselves to each other in a place that Faye loved, amidst her gardens that are now mine, a yard that’s now Griffin’s, and with the home Trig gave her in the backdrop.
Griffin turned one right after everything went down with Ray. We celebrated at the ranch and it was the first time Trig had been back in ten years. My parents welcomed him with open arms. I know this is because the guilt they carry is heavy and, also, because they had no choice. If they want Griffin and me in their lives, they know Trig will be a part of that … forever.
Griffin is the happiest—and as Trig describes him, the stickiest—baby around. And now I have nothing to shield him from. My ex-father-in-law is being investigated by the Drug Enforcement Administration for illegal distribution of a controlled substance. Trig says he’s in hot water and will likely lose his medical license. Carl and Teresa Ketteman are a distant memory and always will be. At least that’s what Trig promised and I know if they ever become a threat again, Trig will take care of it. He’s already claimed Griffin in almost every way, and tomorrow, right after we say I do, he’ll sign the official adoption papers. Griffin will be his even though he already is. My baby—he loves Trig and Trig loves him. It brings me to my knees at times … but pretty much everything does these days. The hormones are strong.
And it’s all I can do to keep my emotions in check as I watch them bond. Trig has made sure we’ve become a family, and has even mastered how to change a diaper and do it efficiently, which is good since we’ll have double the diapers to change soon.
He puts his lips to mine as he slides inside me. “Tomorrow, angel, it begins.”
“My love for you never ended, Trig.”
“Never,” he promises.
And, this time, I know nothing will ever rip us apart.
* * *
Five years later
“There you go, baby. Walk to daddy.”
My heart swells.
No, it bursts.
Our little Evelyn Faye, with her sweet blond curls and blue eyes the color of her daddy’s, flaps her arms and grins a big, bubbly smile as she toddles on her chubby legs from me to Trig. She’s got ketchup on her face and is fisting mushy bits of french fries in each tiny hand, but she does it. She eats up the five feet between us, waddling like a little penguin as she takes her first steps.
Her brothers hoot and holler as she moves right into Trig’s arms.
She’ll turn one next month. Griffin and Asher didn’t walk until they were well over a year—they didn’t have the patience and were happy to cruise around on all fours. But our little peanut, she has the will of a thousand with the disposition of her namesake in heaven.
She’s also got her daddy wrapped around her sticky little fingers and he loves every moment of it.
Our family has grown and our home is bursting with trucks, balls, and, now, baby dolls. We’ve filled all the bedrooms. The sunroom is now a toy room. The kitchen is now referred to as Barrett Command Central. And it’s perfect—all of it. Trig was right all those years ago. We could have so much more but this is home. As we’ve added to our growing family, it becomes more and more cemented in our hearts. We’re here, we’re close, and we’re together.
Trig and I had ten years apart. We’ll never take for granted being where we are now.
We found our own way, different from Cam, Jen, and even Quinn. Any divide between the Montgomerys and the Barretts is long gone and life is good.
Family is good.
Trig swings Evie up in his arms, making her squeal, and blows in her neck. She, in turn, gives him wet, ketchup kisses right on the nose.
This doesn’t bother my husband. He’s used to baby muck by now—he has no choice. Not since he likes to keep me pregnant. I told him one more—that was it.
I’m down to teaching ten hours a week at the studio but pop into every class when I can. I love getting to know my students, especially the little ones. Dance should be fun and that’s how we teach it.
Trig is still at Montgomery Industries, ruling the business world with my sister. We’re done with babysitters and nannies—the kids go to the in-house daycare at MI with their cousins when I teach.
Just when I think life can’t get any better, Trig will do something to take my breath away, and it does. Every touch, every whispered profession of love, and every time he makes a dad move that melts my heart, he goes and makes me fall deeper than I already am.
“Look at my girl.” Trig beams at Evie as she squeals. “Small and mighty, just like your mama.”
I go to them and lift up on my toes to kiss her chubby cheek. “Good girl, baby.”
Trig doesn’t move away and grabs me by the back of my head to pull me to him. He kisses me deep and hard before letting me go as Maxi, our sweet pound puppy, jumps at our legs. “You make good babies.”
“Quit trying to butter me up for another one.”
He doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “It’s time.”
I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly obsessed,” he amends. “You know you love it.”
I shake my head as the boys get louder, demanding something for dinner that isn’t green.
There’s no way I can argue with him, because I do love his obsession—mine is just as strong. “Quit being so wonderful.”
“I know, it’s annoying how amazing I am. I can’t help it.”
I try to wipe the smile off my face but can’t. Because he’s right and I love everything about him.
* * *
Faye
A mama doesn’t have to birth a baby fo
r that sweet soul to be hers. I’m lucky enough to have three humans who have carved their initials into my heart where they’ll forever stay. My Easton, my sweet pea, and in just the last few years, my angel, with her broken halo and all.
They might not all share my blood, but that doesn’t make ‘em any less mine. All a mama wants is for her babies to be healthy and happy. The first you pray for and the second … well, sometimes you have to wait for the happy. And sometimes it takes a long time—too long. Our patience as a human race is dwindling and I find that sad.
I stopped my treatments today. It was my choice and I’m not gonna tell anyone. My life might’ve been hard at times—holy heck, what am I even saying to myself? It’s been downright horrible because of the man I tied myself too when I was too young and too optimistic.
But I’ve had a happy life and hold not one regret in my soul. I know I’ll meet my Maker sooner rather than later and I’m ready to lay it all at His feet. I’m not a proud woman but I am proud of my choices and I’d pick ‘em again, if the good Lord challenged me. Doin’ the right thing isn’t always the right thing in everyone else’s book. Who am I kidding? Even in the big book.
Death—the looming kind that likes to sit on my shoulder and heckle me as it eats away at my body—has a way of making me look at the world differently and still, I just know.
I know things’ll turn out okay. I feel it in my weak heart and diseased bones.
I’ve had a happy life, and it may take a bit, but my babies will, too.
Because I’m a mama and we know things.
* * *
Thank you for reading. Stay tuned for the third book in the Montgomery Series.
Read Jen and Eli’s story here.
Bad Situation
The Carpino Series
Overflow – The Carpino Series, Book 1
Beautiful Life – The Carpino Series, Book 2
Athica Lane – The Carpino Series, Book 3
Until Avery – A Carpino Series Crossover Novella
Killers Series
Vines – A Killers Novel, Book 1
Paths – A Killers Novel, Book 2
Gifts – A Killers Novel, Book 3
Until the Tequila – A Killers Crossover Novella
The Montgomery Series
Bad Situation – The Montgomery Series, Book 1
Broken Halo – The Montgomery Series, Book 2
Standalones
Blackburn
Acknowledgments
Writing Trig and Ellie’s story was a true journey and I have so many people to thank. Writing a book may be a solitary experience, but publishing one takes an army .
To my hubs and three kids, thank you for cheering me on, for eating leftovers and frozen dinners from Trader Joes, and for being generally amazing.
Elle, there’s no way I could do this without you. From my first words to my twelfth book, you’ve always believed in me and that’s all I need. You’re my sister by choice and my dream is to live across the street from you again.
Kristan, as my editor and my new favorite traveling roomie, you’re the best.
Ivy, Laurie, and Gi, without you, my legal speak and timelines would be all over the place. Gillian, Pat, Carrie, Kolleen, Penny, and Dina … what would I do without you? Thank you for your eagle eyes and support for my books.
To Book Nerd Services—Michelle and Annette—thank you for all your support of me and my work. I adore you both.
To Layla and Sarah, my author besties. Thank you for putting up with my crazy Marco Polos when I don’t even mean to be Marco Polo-ing, for your inspiration, sprints, and support.
My Beauties! I love the group we’ve become together. When social media turns ugly, I can count on you for shining bright with cows, wine, shoes, and our shared love for romance.
To my review team … your dedication, time, and effort are gifts I cherish. I’m humbled you want to be a part of my little corner of the universe and could not do this without you.
And to my readers. Thank you for wanting my words, cherishing my characters, and embracing the worlds I love to spin.
Bad Situation - Chapter 1
Four Minutes
Read a Sample from Bad Situation
Jen
Adult purgatory.
I swear, it’s where I’m stuck.
I don’t have time to keep up with old friends. I’m drifting in nowhere-land, somewhere between I’m too old to act like this and I’m popping out babies. Since there’s no way I’m popping out a baby anytime soon, I finally relented and let the friends who are too old to act like this twist my arm.
Earlier today, I shut my laptop and stored my Jimmy Choo’s away in their neatly labeled storage container on their assigned shelf in my closet. I traded my smart business chic for ripped jeans, a slouchy blouse, and threw on my favorite vintage Manolos because my college friends from SMU called me over a week ago and talked me into reliving our college days. When I’d reluctantly said yes, I hadn’t planned on my week turning into a shit show, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer.
In the past four hours, I’ve drank enough to be slightly buzzed and more-than-slightly bloated. The good old days aren’t what they used to be.
Not to sound like a boring hag, but I don’t have the luxury of wasting an entire Sunday recovering from an exhausting night out. I have important meetings first thing Monday morning about our newest—and biggest ever—acquisition and, since I just flew in this afternoon from New York, I need to work all day tomorrow.
But unlike years ago when we were drinking Boone’s and downing cheap tequila, we’ve all graduated to martinis, top-shelf mixed drinks, and fancy shooters that don’t go down like a sack of nails.
A couple standing next to me at the bar have been all over each other for at least the last fifteen minutes. Juggling enough drinks for a small tribe, they’re finally off to deliver their big-ass order that took forever to fill. As soon as they clear out, something—or someone—catches my eye and I can’t make myself look away.
Leaning into the bar is a man who doesn’t belong and it has nothing to do with his appearance. He’s tall, solid, and clearly not out to impress anyone and even less impressed with those around him. In fact, by the stony expression engraved into his profile, he seems to be enjoying himself less than I am—and that’s saying something.
He lifts a glass of ice water to his full lips to take a swig, causing his jaw to flex and his Adam’s apple to bob. I find myself staring unabashedly, making the pounding of the music and roar of the crowd melt away.
Tipping my head, I study him—strong and resolute, yet aloof and melancholy. He exudes boredom even though he’s subtly surveying the room, attentive in a way that’s odd for this time on a Saturday night. As the crowd around us creates a brash hum with bodies clashing, he invites none of it, creating a wide berth around himself.
I’m not sure what makes me do it since he’s clearly not making eye contact with anyone, but for some reason the words pop out of my mouth anyway. “So, you’re the DD?”
His eyes move first, jumping to me so fast it might be an optical world record, followed by a lazy shift of his head. His dark eyes minutely narrow but the rest of his face remains stoic. He looks me up and down and when he speaks, he doesn’t even raise his voice, yet his low baritone comes out loud and clear. “Yeah.”
I raise a brow, wondering what the fuck is up with this guy. No one intimidates me—besides my dad when he’s pissed off—and, since I’m bored, I turn to him and take a step, closing half the distance between us. It’s probably my personality mixed with the buzz and a strong dose of my own boredom, but I really want to get this guy to talk.
I love a challenge. Hell, I get off on it.
“How did you draw the short straw?”
His apathetic countenance breaks and he turns to me, setting his water glass on the bar and leans farther into it. When his arms cross on his wide chest, my eyes go straight to the tattoo of some sort of intricate map
running down the outside of his forearm. Just when I’m trying to make out the words entwined within it, he says, “We didn’t draw straws. I’m new to town and my co-workers insisted on dragging me out tonight. When I saw the rate they were going, I switched to water.”
“The responsible one.” I tip my head and raise a brow. “I like it.”
He lifts his head once and doesn’t seem interested in my line of conversation, but still doesn’t take his eyes off me. “You drew the short straw?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just sick of being here but trying to act like I’m having fun for my friends’ sake.”
“You’re not a very good actress.”
“Ouch,” I feign before correcting him. “The PC term these days is actor—equal opportunity and all that.”
He gives me a lazy shrug. “I don’t give a shit about political correctness.”
For some reason this makes me smile. I’ll take someone real over a bullshitter any day of the week. “I should be offended but since I’m not an actor, I find that strangely refreshing.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone,” he adds.
“Oh, I can tell.” I smile bigger and extend my hand. “Jen.”
He pauses and looks me up and down for a split second, warring with himself. After giving his head a minute shake, he puts his large hand in mine with a very firm grip. “Eli.”
“Eli, the politically incorrect, straight-talking, new guy in town. Welcome to the Big D.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand, hesitating, but I’ll never know what he was going to say because we’re interrupted and his hand is ripped from mine.
Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2 Page 30