Her Two Billionaires and a Baby(BBW Menage #4)

Chapter Six

Three months later

“I can't believe you still haven't told them!” Josie hissed from the corner of her mouth as she sat next to Laura in the waiting room of the nurse-midwife's office. Half the pregnant women seemed to be called to the midwife side, and half to the obstetrician side. Josie was so out of place there, like a toothpick in a sea of Teletubbies.

Laura compared her growing belly to those she saw. At nineteen weeks, she was almost halfway there. That first trip to the doctor three months ago had yielded a complete shocker: she was seven weeks along. One missed period and bam! She was nearly one-sixth through the pregnancy without knowing it. All the prenatal vitamins and pregnancy yoga and morning sickness remedies helped her to get here, but Josie was harping on the one, pesky little detail she couldn't deny her way out of for much longer.

The past twelve weeks had been a blur, and now she was about to meet her baby via ultrasound, go home with a picture of an alien baby that people would pretend was beautiful, and here she sat after drinking a liter of fluid, her panties moist from a bladder that gave up control right around the time her shoes stopped fitting. A light breeze could make her pee at this point. A sneeze would unleash a tsunami.

“Am I as big as her?” she whispered quietly, surreptitiously pointing to a woman who looked ready to drop any day. The shirt she wore looked like something a tent rental company made for her. She violated the laws of physics when she stood.

“Close,” Josie guessed. Her face reddened and she tsked. “Quit changing the subject! When are you telling Dylan and Mike?”

“Soon. After this,” she replied, pointing vaguely toward the midwife's office. Today she would have her first ultrasound and, she hoped, learn the baby's sex. She squirmed horribly, and not from Josie's nagging. Her bladder was rapidly in need of its own, separate bladder. A kegel would help, but damn if she could isolate and squeeze anything down there right now.

“You've been putting it off for three months, Laura! And you always say 'soon' but it's never 'soon.'”

“It's complicated.” Laura threw her a glare to stop a truck. If she said it...

“So we're inducing next week, when I hit thirty-eight weeks,” she heard the enormously pregnant woman say. A creeping dread seeped through her skin. Or was it a hot flash? She honestly couldn't tell the difference any more. Holy shit! That woman was twice as far along as Laura? How could they be close to –

“Laura Michaels?” A medical assistant appeared, chart in hand. The drill was simple for her normal appointments; go on in to the bathroom, pee, dip the sticks in, and if anything came back irregular, report it to the midwife. Then sit in the waiting area again until called.

For an ultrasound, though, she went back through the maze of medical equipment and desks to a tiny room with an exam table crammed in. The platform seemed unusually high. Climb? Dude, she could barely wipe herself these days, the stretch a, well...stretch. Climb?

“Climb on up,” the male technician directed, his voice pleasant and his demeanor kind.

“With this exploding bladder, I'll squirt like a firehose if I lift my leg.”

Josie laughed. The tech seemed amused. “Nothing I haven't seen before.” All these baby people kept saying that to her. If it was supposed to put her at ease it did, but also left an unsettled feeling, as if her birth experience weren't unique, as if everything she was going through and that seemed so special were just...ordinary. Being ordinary didn't trouble her, in general, but the sensations and blossoming of this new life within her were so special, so life-altering, that she wished everyone around her would give just a little more “wow!” when they interacted with her.

Or, maybe, what she really wished was that she had a partner to go through all of this with her. Resting her hand on her belly, she wondered when she'd feel the baby move. Hopelessly eager, every pocket of gas, tweaked muscle, you name it – she braced and held her breath, hoping...

And wasn't that something she should share with the baby's father?

Fathers, an evil voice whispered in her mind.

Somehow she managed, with Josie's help, to get up on that torture table. Reclining on her back pushed her womb against her bladder, making her instantly homicidal.

“Oh, man, can't I pee? Please?”

“Just a few minutes,” the tech said, then explained the procedure. She hiked up her maternity shirt, a cute print from the Gap. Shopping for maternity clothing had turned out to be liberating, because the designers expected you to have breasts and a belly! Her shirt was covered with hippie swirls of pinks and turquoises, with lots of white thrown in. The panel on her maternity jeans was a pale blue, stretchy jersey added where the zipper and button normally would be.

She wanted to wear these clothes forever.

Maybe you will, if you can't lose the baby fat, that same voice said. Gah.

The cold gel made her kegels clench, helping keep in her urine but adding a sensory overload to that general region. The ultrasound wand the tech used went on the gel and soon she could see her little peanut, all bones and beating heart, floating upside down in an an enormous sea of black.


“There's the baby,” the tech said in a neutral voice, taking measurements. From the start, Laura had decided to have a low-technology birth, so this was the first ultrasound. Meeting her baby visually brought tears to her eyes, her heart swelling, and even Josie was overcome with emotion.

“Oh, Laura,” she whispered, voice choked. She squeezed her shoulder.

Her child. That womb pressing hard against all that water, making her eyes cross and her ribs ache, contained a little growing human being that was going to come out in twenty-one weeks and be her little, precious baby.

“Boy or girl?” Leave it to Josie to get to the point.

The tech laughed, obviously accustomed to the question. “First off, do you want to know?”

“Yes!” the women answered in unison.

“Then give me a few minutes to do the required measurements, and then I'll try to see. No guarantees – it's all about whether the fetus is in the right position, and what we can see with the machine.” Laura nodded and Josie seemed already to know that. The room was so tiny that Josie had to jockey for space with the tech. And it was getting warmer in here. Plus, she felt like an overstretched balloon that would burst if anyone breathed hard.

Loving warmth coursed through her. Baby. Her body, which she'd despised most of her life for its inadequacies, for letting her down time and again with men, was now ripe with purpose and growing a human being. How could she hate it right now? It was building, layer by layer, system by system, a whole 'nother human who would be part of the next generation.

She was a goddess!

Finally done with measurements, the tech stopped, frowned, and said, “Excuse me. I'll be right back.” The click of the closing door felt like a death sentence, the air sucked out of the room as Laura's entire body switched into panic mode.

“That can't be good? Why would he leave? Do you see anything?” Oh, God, no. Just no. Nothing could be wrong, right? She hadn't planned for anything to be wrong.

Josie peered at the screen. She shrugged. Non-chalant and cool, she made a questioning face and replied, “I don't see anything obvious, but I'm not an ultrasound tech.” Her hand on Laura's felt reassuring. “I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe all your talk about peeing made him need to go.”

“Don't make me laugh or I'll give you a golden shower, Josie.”

“Now you're turning me on.” The laugh did make her nearly pee, giving her a few fleeting seconds of amusement, shifting away from worry. A knock, then her midwife came in, followed by the tech.

F*ck.

“Sheri? What are you doing here. They said this was just a routine screening and I wouldn't see you.” What she wanted to say was Go away! Nothing's wrong Nothing can be wrong so go away and let me not hear what you're about to say! but something in her knew that wasn't the case. She gripped Josie's hand like she was drowning.

Josie gripped back.

Sheri's eyes were kind but guarded, wrinkles forming everywhere as she smiled. Somewhere in her sixties, she had a relaxed, natural look to her, with dark brown eyes, tanned skin and long, grey hair braided in a thick rope that stretched over her ass. Today she wore a loose, flowing jacket over a tank top and a long skirt, an outfit not unlike many in Laura's closet.

“The tech just asked me to take a quick look at something.” Her voice was smooth and practiced. Josie nodded, eyes on Laura, her professional nurse face in overdrive. They were all hiding something from Laura, and she did not like this one bit. Sheri introduced herself to Josie and they shook hands in a perfunctory way.

The midwife and tech put their heads together and murmured medical terms Laura strained to hear. She really was about to explode, her vagina starting to pulsate – and not the good kind of pulsating.

“I need to pee!” she whispered to Josie. How banal, to have such an insignificant need in the middle of what could be the worst news she'd ever heard in her life. Yet nature called.

The tech and Sheri pulled back, the tech leaving the room. Sheri's hand was warm and gentle on Laura's shoulder. “First, the baby is healthy according to our basic measurements.”

A huge, loud sigh poured out of Laura, like a yoga breath. “Thank God.”

“But it's a bit complicated.”

No!

“Right now, you're on the high end of amniotic fluid. There's a condition called polyhydramnios – it literally means excessive amniotic fluid. Your measurements show you are at the low end of having this condition, which means the fetus is just floating in all that fluid, like an overstuffed balloon.”

“Are you sure that's not just my bladder?”

Sheri laughed and reached out to grip Laura's hand. “Why don't you go and empty that poor, overstretched balloon and we can talk more. All the images we need are done.”

Laura started to get up and stopped. “The sex?”

Sheri cocked her head and made a face of surprise. “Oh! James didn't get to that before he found me. You want to know?”

“Yes!” she and Josie practically shouted.

Chuckle. “Well, then, if you can bear it, lean back again and let's look.”

Groaning, Laura complied, the pressure to urinate overwhelming her mind and body. This was crucial, though. Boy or girl? She'd wanted to know since the day the test said PREGNANT.

More gel. Wand. Gouging (not really, but it felt like it). Jiggle. “Why are you jiggling?” And then she knew, as the baby moved and shifted, trying to get away.

“Well, this is not an exact science.” Josie snorted. Sheri made a self-deprecating gesture. “I am, though, ninety percent certain it's a girl.”

Girl.

“I don't see the telltale penis I'd expect to see. Just the umbilical cord. The only time we're certain is at the birth.”

Girl. Laura had imagined the baby was a girl since day one. She was right. It really was. Mother's instinct always knew, right?

“Are you OK, Laura?” Sheri asked.

She shook herself out of her own thoughts and grinned. “I assumed it was a girl. I was right.” She stuck her tongue out at Josie, who had teased her she was wrong.

“You and Josie are having a baby girl,” Sheri said, looking at them both with great joy.

Hold up. “Me and Josie?”

“Awkward,” Josie said out of one side of her mouth. She addressed Sheri. “Um, we're not – ” she said, pointing between her and Laura.

“Oh, no! No, we're not a couple!” Laura added.

“If I were into women, Laura's totally not my type,” Josie added helpfully.

Hey, now. “What does that mean?” Laura cried out, indignant.

Sheri cut them both off, her face red with embarrassment. “I certainly did not mean to start an argument, and I apologize for my assumption. And Laura, you did mention that the father isn't part of the picture – ”

“Fathers,” Josie muttered. Laura cut her a glare that would kill Medusa. Sheri clicked a few buttons on the machine and printed some pictures, handing them to Laura. On slick fax paper, they were the most beautiful photos she had ever seen in her entire life, even if her baby did resemble something from a government archive in an episode of The X Files.

“So I'll leave you with this: your chart looks strong; All the lab work is perfect, and while you are technically overweight, and could technically reach obesity during this pregnancy, depending on total weight gain, you don't have gestational diabetes, your cholesterol and other lab values are well within range, and frankly, Laura, you're healthier than many average-weight women I see.” Picking Sheri had been smart.


“Does this mean I can still birth in the hospital with a midwife?”

“For now, yes. We can't predict what will come next, but given the information we have now, you're not risked out of a midwife birth.”

Pleased as punch, Laura simply said, “Thank you!” Josie appeared suitably impressed. The feel of the paper in her hands gave her a happiness she hadn't felt in months. Not since her last night with the guys.

“This does, though, explain some of your added weight gain, some of it excess fluid. At this point, we'll have you come back in three to four weeks and do another measurement to check fluid. You may find that as you expand, your mobility is a bit limited; if the polyhydramnios continues, it makes you look and feel as if you are further along than you are.”

“Is that why I look seven months pregnant but I'm barely at five?”

Sheri nodded. “It explains some of it. So call if you feel like anything is off, or if you have any fluid leakage or spotting. Right now, in the second trimester, measurements can change, so for this month we wait and see. If it persists, we'll do some tests to see if we can find an underlying cause.”

Each word made sense. Understanding the basics of this polywhatever wasn't hard. But the screaming voice in her head that kept shouting wrong wrong wrong wrong made it hard to fully digest what Sheri was saying.

“I don't feel well,” Laura blurted. Josie and Sheri closed in.

“Go empty your bladder. We'll help you.”

“The day I need help peeing is the day I – ”

“Give birth,” Josie interrupted.

Nasty glare. “Go find another woman. I'm so done with you. And you're not my type, either.” Sheri seemed more amused now by their banter as she and Josie followed Laura down the hall to the single-stall toilet.

“I don't need help,” Laura announced, opening the door and stepping into the same room she'd peed in for months now. Tears filled her eyes in the silent little tile-filled space. Something was wrong. Too much fluid? Sheri's explanation made sense, and the baby was otherwise healthy. She. She was otherwise healthy.

A little girl.

Daddy's little girl.

Which daddy? Her bladder groaned in ecstasy as she released its contents, the entire process taking about four times longer than usual. Ah, what pregnancy did to the body. Never before had she considered how nearly-orgasmic going pee could feel.

Thoughts of Mike and Dylan flooded her as she allowed that tiny little sexual thought to creep in. The pregnancy books talked about the magic second trimester, morning sickness gone and hormones aplenty making the mother horny. Laura got too much amniotic fluid and – bonus! – too much libido. Overdrive libido.

The kind that can only be satisfied by two men.

Leaving the bathroom, she was greeted by Josie. “Sheri had another patient. Said to schedule a follow-up in three weeks and not to worry.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Easier said than done, I know. Let's check out and get some lunch. How about Jeddy's?” Josie asked as Laura approached the desk.

“Pfft.”

“What? It's good food?”

“First I'm not your type, and now you want to drag me back there?”

The receptionist interrupted them, quickly scheduling Laura's next appointment. Josie held the door open as Laura exited. “Good food! Peanut butter cake...”

Any other day and Laura would have been all over it, memories of Mike and Dylan there be damned. The weight of the appointment's news felt like a lead burden spread through her body. Sleep was what she needed now, much more than good food.

“I'm really tired,” she said, handing her car keys to Josie. “Can you drive?” Josie grabbed the keys, climbed in the front seat, and moved the seat forward a good foot. Laura carefully twisted to settle into the passenger seat, moving it back a foot or so.

Deep breath. As Josie maneuvered the car from Wellesley to Somerville, she perked up, Energy came back. Suddenly, Jeddy's sounded really good. Besides, if she went home it would be her and the cats, and they just hid and wanted food. Josie was a marginally better conversationalist than Miss Daisy, anyhow.

“How about Jeddy's?”

“You bit my head off when I suggested it.”

“I changed my mind. Blame the hormones.”

“You never had pregnancy hormones before when you couldn't make a decision.”

“I'm milking this pregnancy for as many excuses as I can.”

“So does that include excusing why you're depriving this baby's father of the right to know about it – excuse me, her – and be part of her life?”

Ouch. Josie hopped on the turnpike and flew through the EZPass tollbooth. The little green light mocked Laura. Green for go. Go tell them. Tell them now.

They have a daughter.

Daughter.

Uh, no. One of them has a daughter. One.

“I don't know what to do, Josie. How am I supposed to tell them I'm pregnant?”

“You say 'I'm pregnant.'” They had been fighting about this for the past three months, ever since that day in her apartment when the test was positive. Josie insisted the men had the right to know; Laura insisted she needed more time.

“You don't understand.” Tall wooden retainer walls lined one side of the pike, while the commuter train moved in the opposite direction on the left, making Laura a bit disoriented.

“Understand what it's like to be pregnant? No. Understand that you are lying to them? Yes.”

“It's not...” Laura couldn't even cry about this anymore. Waiting had made it harder, each day, to consider telling them. She wasn't heartless. At some point she'd let them know. Then they could face the question of which man was the father. Cringing at the thought, she turned away from Josie and pressed her forehead against the cool window glass.

Silence. Laura tried to explain, her forehead flattening and the pain of pressing it, hard, somehow helpful. “After what Ryan did, I just figured I was damaged goods. That I send out vibes that draw demented jerks. And then here come Dylan – and Mike! – and it seemed too good to be true.”

Traffic slowed suddenly as they drove under the hotel that stretched, literally, across the pike. “So when the guys double-teamed me at Mike's place, and then seemed to laugh about it, it felt like I was being suckered. So I ran away, then I let them back in. God, they were so convincing.”

“Laura.” Josie's voice was so mature and wise it made Laura close her eyes. She knew what came next. Josie moved over into the left lane to get off the pike at the split. “You are Ryan right now.”

OK, not what she expected. “What?” she shrieked, outraged.

“Ryan kept critical information from you about a life-altering fact that made moving forward impossible.” Josie stayed left and kept her eyes on the road, though she sighed. “And you are doing the same thing to Dylan and Mike. They have no idea that one of them is going to be a father in four months. And you are making it impossible for the father of your daughter to go forward, to step up and do the right thing, to have a role in raising her.”

“I'm not Ryan!”

“You are totally Ryan.” Laura knew they were close to Jeddy's; she started drooling at the thought of their asiago cheese foccacia with chipotle maple sausage.

“Ryan,” Laura practically screamed, “lied about having a wife for nearly a year. He talked about marrying me. He created an entire relationship with me that was permanently hopeless and never, ever possible.” How dare Josie compare the two? In fact, she was the one who had been lied to again by Mike and Dylan!


“Look,” Josie said flatly, pulling into a parking space and rummaging for quarters. Laura opened the glove box and pulled out a roll, the paper unraveling from earlier parking jobs.

Josie interrupted herself. “Jesus, you're organized!”

“How hard is it to go to the bank and get a roll of quarters?”

Josie got out of the car and shouted, “How hard is it to tell the two men you were sleeping with that one of them might be the dad?”

“Uh, not even close?” Laura sputtered, grabbing the edge of the car door and hauling herself up and out. Two women walking a gold retriever stood, staring at her belly, mouths forming perfect little “O”s, one with short salt-n-pepper hair, the other with a shaved head and the wilted look of recent chemo treatments.

Laura wanted to crawl into a hole. Josie looked over, saw the scene, and came to her rescue. As well she should, since she'd dumped her into this fiasco. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at the women, throwing an arm around Laura, guiding her to the Jeddy's entrance. “Haven't you ever seen lesbians go to desperate measures to conceive?”

“Isn't that what sperm banks are for?” one of them muttered.

“Hater,” Josie threw over her shoulder, spiriting Laura in.

“Lame-o,” Laura said, shaking her head. “You're losing your touch.” Josie growled at her, baring her teeth. Madge appeared, looking older and shrunken, as if she possessed no fluid whatsoever under her skin.

From Laura's face to Josie's face to Laura's stomach, Madge took them in. Pointing to Laura's belly, she said, “Fat or pregnant?”

“Alien baby.”

Madge hacked out a laugh. “Which one?”

“Which alien?” Now Laura was confused.

“No – which guy? The Italian Stallion or the viking?” She led them to the only clean table in the place. It was slammed.

“Actually, the baby is mine,” Josie interjected. “New technology.”

“Yeah?” Madge rasped. “If any woman's got balls, it'd be you.”

“Can't be yours,” Laura protested. “I'm not your type, remember?” she said with a bit more snap than she'd intended.

Madge spun her hand in a circular gesture. “I ain't got all day. Same thing you ordered last time?”

“I want that foccacia. And everything we ordered last time.”

“Eating for two,” Madge mumbled as she poked her handheld device and sped away. Josie looked around and seemed to take in the crowded place.

“Nothing like it was in the early morning.”

“You can see how they stay in business,” Laura marveled.

“How does that old woman work midnight shift and lunch?”

“Not human.” Laura's stomach jumped as some odd muscle spasm took hold of her abdomen.

“You OK?” Josie asked, leaping to her feet. “You look like something ripped inside.”

“No, no, I'm fine,” Laura gasped. As she looked down to examine her belly she felt it again, a little spasm and then it was as if something in her moved. Kicked.

“Oh, my God! Josie! The baby. She's moving!” Laura pressed her hand to her belly and felt it, a little kick or a somersault that made the uterus feel slick and weird inside, as if a pocket of gas spirited itself from one side of her hips to the other.

Fluttering. Nothing. A flimmer, like tiny swimming flippers inside her, moving slowly.

Josie sat down next to her and planted her hands on either side of Laura's belly, frozen in place and staring at nothing, just anticipating. Then she shrieked, “I felt it!”, eyes wide and amazed. From a proud grin to tears, her face morphed into a mask of emotion, gasping and overcome.

“It's real.” Her eyes met Laura's and she flung her arms around Laura's neck, the two separated by the baby.

“It's been real for a while,” Laura cracked, her voice filled with emotion.

“Not for me. I'm not living it. This?” she said, touching Laura's belly, palm flat against it, waiting. “This makes it real.” Grinning like a fool, Josie wouldn't let up, her hands pressing to catch another movement.

Madge appeared with their coconut shrimp. She stared at their position. “Get a room, you two.” And off she went, speed walking.

Josie shouted, “That's what got her in this condition in the first place!” and abandoned Laura's belly. Coconut shrimp vs. feeling baby move? No contest, apparently.

And Laura had to agree. The shrimp was about as mouth orgasmic as you could get, and lately this was as orgasmic as she got. First trimester nausea had depressed her sex drive, but by week seventeen she'd emerged, scathed and emotionally battered by morning sickness, so grateful it retreated that she didn't care complain about anything else. Within weeks, though, the second trimester horndog impulse kicked in.

She needed to buy stock in Duracell. The baby's college fund would go to batteries at this rate. There were moments she weakened and wanted to call Dylan and Mike just to f*ck them and then send them home, needing the satiety of having these urges and constant arousal expunged, even for a few brief hours.

None of the pregnancy books warned her that she would be engorged twenty-four/seven, that she would want to be touched and manhandled and f*cked and to come and come and come until drained, then bounce right back up and be ready for more, face flushed and tissues eager. Even in her late teens she'd never had a drive like this; if pregnancy turned her into the female equivalent of a sex-crazed eighteen-year-old boy by week nineteen, she was going to have a crater where her * should be by the thirtieth week.

Or it would secede and go join one of the cat's bodies, claiming sovereignty and a new p-ssy. F*cking anything that walked wasn't what she wanted; most nights she spent an hour after masturbating thinking about Dylan and Mike, wondering how it had all gone so very wrong, and brooding over what she knew she needed to do.

And now? It really was time to tell them. Her fingers sought out the photos of the ultrasound, stuck carefully in the outer pocket of her purse. Josie was right – this was real. Reality meant being the stronger, better woman she had deep within and doing what was best for her daughter.

Her daughter deserved a dad who knew her.

Knowing this time to wait a few minutes before biting into the piping hot shrimp, Laura just sat and took a few deep breaths. The scene outside was a lovely November New England day, sunnier than usual and unseasonably warm. Thanksgiving was two weeks away and Christmas decorations were already in some shop windows. Her lightweight shirt had lasted since August, when she'd bought it. Soon it wouldn't fit, and the weather would turn to snow, perfect ski weather.

Ah, Mike. She sighed. Half hoping last summer that come winter he'd teach her how to ski, her eyes filled with tears yet again for what was lost. Stupid to think of that when she was holding back the most important news the guys had ever had in their lives. She assumed. Maybe Jill's death has been more important.

Both seemed pretty significant. What was she doing comparing them, anyhow? Ridiculous. Bottom line, though, was that after this meal she would go home, take a nap, and prepare to call them both tomorrow and face what she'd been putting off for three months.

“Mmmm,” Josie groaned as she munched on her coconut shrimp. Laura plucked one off the plate and took a bite, sinking her teeth in. Instant pleasure. The next ten minutes were a feeding frenzy as Madge brought out their sausage, foccacia, and the grand peanut butter cake.

“You eat more than a high school football team these days,” Josie said, incredulous, as Laura asked Madge for another plate of shrimp.


“I have the sex drive of a high school boy, so that's not inappropriate.” Munch, munch.

“TMI. I sooo did not need to know that.”

“My batteries need batteries.”

Josie shoved her fingers in her ears. “Lalalalalalalalalalala.” Laura laughed maniacally and started to feel full. One more shrimp on the plate, she speared it and dipped it in the aioli. Heaven. Pure heaven.

“So you're going to talk to them now, right?” Josie asked quietly, prodding without being negative. Pushing her plate of friend green tomatoes away, she smiled at Laura, an encouragingly sympathetic look.

Laura pulled her unfinished plate into her zone of consumption. Mine now. Stabbing a tomato, she tried the tiger sauce. Horseradish. Was it worth the reflux?

Yes! Mmmmm.

“You're right. I'll talk to them. The baby is one of theirs and it's time.”

Cupping one hand over her ear, Josie leaned across the table. “Say that again.”

“I'm telling them.”

“No – the part before that.”

Laura made a sour face. “You're right.” Time for dessert! She dumped all the caramel and hot fudge all over the peanut butter hulk smash cake and sneered at Josie. “And no cake for you!”

“You think I'm going to try to take a bite of that from a horny pregnant woman? I'm not suicidal.”

Laura's laugh carried through the diner, turning a few heads and yielding bemused smiles. Ah, it felt good to laugh, deep belly chuckles that came from relief and calm and goodness and light. The baby kicked again.

“She likes the cake,” Laura said, shoveling in another piece, following it up with ice cream.

“She's a gourmand. What are you going to name her?”

A long look at her plate. “Hulk Smash. Hulk Smash Michaels.”

“Oh, that's totally a porn name.” Laura threw a wadded napkin at Josie, who ducked.

Finally full, Laura pushed her clean plate away. If she overate, she'd regret it later. Pregnancy was no different from non-pregnant life, with the exception of evil reflux. “I don't know. Whatever we name her it needs to be a collaborative effort.”

“Like the conception.”

Laura snorted. They were shifting into uncomfortable territory. “Yeah. Except no matter what, it's only one of them who is the father.”

“Happy paternity testing.” Josie shot her a sardonic grin.

“Go ahead,” Laura sighed. “I know you're itching to say it.”

“What?” Josie batted her eyes innocently.

“Just do it in a whisper.” Laura reached for her purse and fished around. Her bladder announced its presence and she stood, hips clicking and left leg screaming in pain.

“Maury, Maury, Maury,” Josie obliged, looking particularly pleased with herself.

“I'm suffering from sciatica and you're chanting baby daddy cultural references.”

“And you still love me.”

Laura flashed her a middle finger as she waddled off to the bathroom. “You're totally not my type!” she called back.

Madge happened to walk past. “Not my type either,” she said, frowning at Josie.

Josie sighed. “I get that a lot.”

“I'll bet you do.”

He wasn't a stalker. Really. No – really.

Mike kept finding creative – and not so creative – reasons for driving past Laura's apartment building and Jeddy's. If he had to meet with the resort's tax accountant on some issue that went beyond what his onsite CPA could handle, he just routed himself through Somerville, because – why not? And sometimes he found himself really craving those fried green tomatoes and a toffee caramel peppermint sundae from Jeddy's, so no harm, no foul if he stopped by – right?

Right?

The past three months had nearly killed him. So finding himself on the road right in front of Jeddy's stuck at a traffic light, neck craned to the left to stare in the restaurant's main window wasn't out of the norm. He made this drive once a week or so.

What was out of the norm was the sight of Laura and Josie in a booth, eating and laughing. All the air in his lungs froze in place, the red light now the only entity keeping him here so he could gaze upon Laura's face. Glowing. She literally glowed. The restaurant's facade was a split set-up, the bottom half of the outer wall wood, the top half glass, so he could only see her and Josie through the window, her chest and arms and face animated as she threw a balled-up napkin at her friend, her mouth open and head tipped back in giggles and fun.

Relaxing, his entire body went liquid, the first time in months he felt grounded, the incongruity of keeping the Jeep running, foot on the brake, and counting out the seconds before the light changed somehow ignored by his nervous system.

All he wanted to do was to stare at her from afar. She looked so, so happy. Being apart from him and Dylan seemed to have done wonders for her, red cheeks and dimpled smile deeper and fuller. His own face stretched into a loopy grin, the first in far too long.

Beep! Shaken out of his moment of joy, he realized the light had turned green. With great reluctance he took the left turn, watching for as long as was safe, her face a beacon of hope.

Then gone.

That day at home four months ago, after leaving Josie's apartment, after Laura had screamed – screamed – that they should buy the building if they wanted in had been the coldest, hardest day of his life, like watching his own death in slow motion, his heart torn out and thrown to the wolves. What had they done to her? How had he and Dylan taken such an open, gentle soul and turned her into a screaming banshee? What evil lurked in them that this could happen?

His run home had been fruitless, his need to escape Dylan at all costs greater than the desire to pound it out. All he could think of when he'd arrived home was a great red wall of anger within, and destruction made more sense than trying to be good. Everything he had worked for went to shit that day – everything – so shattering the glass in the room was like shattering his bond with Dylan.

It made sense through the pure hatred he felt for himself at hurting Laura so deeply.

Now? Not so much. For four months he'd lived apart from Dylan, his cabin a refuge that slowly had turned into a prison. An entire adulthood spent living with Dylan could not be undone so easily; in his rage, he'd missed that point. He felt as if he were missing a limb, the phantom remains of a leg or an arm feeling real and visceral, yet truly gone. Mike had banished himself from Dylan's life, ignoring the text messages and voice mails that had been plentiful that first week, then tapered off in the second, finally ending with a plaintive, “When you're ready, I'll be here.”

Mike hadn't been ready. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Seeing Laura like that, thought – a gut punch. Flooding memories of her, of Dylan, of the three of them – and most of all, of the great promise they'd represented, of a lifetime together. Double gut punch. He maneuvered the car into a parking spot at the skyscraper where the tax adviser's office resided and put his forehead on the steering wheel, taking time.

Breaths.

Awareness.

So full of life! Laura had never been so radiant with them. Perhaps she'd really moved on, finding a new person – persons? – to be happy with. The way the pink and white and green of her shirt had highlighted her hair, her eyes shining and bright, and how Josie had even seemed happier than her normal self all made Mike wonder if he and Dylan were just poison for poor Laura.

Maybe not telling her the truth, though vicious and unfair, had somehow been the right thing in the end. Beating the steering wheel with one fist, he let himself feel. Not react. Not withdraw.


Feel. F*ck f*ck f*ck. How had his life come to this? Alone in his enormous cabin, designed to be filled with friends and laughter, it was now inhabited by Mike the Monk. Mike the Idiot.

Mike the Lonely. And he was, for the first time in his adult life. Not alone – alone he understood. Alone he could handle, could even enjoy.

Lonely? Lonely was a form of self-abuse he couldn't escape.

Not that he hadn't tried. Running ninety miles a week, though, didn't get him any further from his messed-up self. How had he turned into such an animal that last day at the apartment? What was buried deep within and unleashed at that moment, so all-powerful he'd gone into a near fugue state and been so violent? It had scared him. Badly.

Maybe he should stay away from Laura. Even Dylan.

Perhaps being lonely was his new normal. What he deserved. Because whatever was going on in Laura's life, from the looks of her countenance in the window glimpse, she was swelling with glee and enjoying life.

Without him.

Screech. A BMW took a corner too close in the cement-floor garage, tires filling the cavern with too much sound. The clock told him he was late for the meeting with the tax attorney. Climbing out of the car and grabbing his briefcase, he smiled at the memory of her. Once his, once Dylan's, once theirs, she had morphed into just Laura.

Which was, all along, what she'd really needed.

Tears choked his throat. He ground a fist into his thigh, willing the unexpected rush of very unprofessional emotion away. Tax attorneys weren't therapists. He was here to talk numbers. As he cantered to the elevators, though, one number rang mournfully in his head, buzzing.

Three.

“You see that? Mr. Money strikes again.” Dylan flinched but didn't say anything. The guys working the night shift were all crowded around the television, the same local morning news show that had featured his doom...er, his billionaire status four months ago.

“Some guy with more money than he can burn,” Murphy added. The morning anchors were babbling on about some unnamed philanthropist who had come to the aid of burn victims from a local warehouse fire, then mentioned another incident last month where the same donor may have contributed $100,000 to help victims of an unexpected October ice storm.

Every head in the fire station turned to stare at him. “What?” he hollered, trying to get the attention off him. He was just here as a lowly volunteer, looking for something to do.

Murphy laughed, the first good belly chuckle anyone had heard from him in months. Dylan had recently, quietly, funneled a substantial five-figure sum to him to pay for a caretaker for his wife and father. With good care, she was expected to have a strong chance of survival. His father, though, was fading fast. The money bought some peace and space for the family, and isn't that all anyone could ask for?

“A torn AC/DC shirt and jeans? You are the strangest f*cking billionaire I ever met, Dylan,” he said.

“Only f*cking billionaire you ever met, Murphy. You probably don't even know any thousandaires,” Joe cracked. Everyone chuckled, Murphy included. The chief shooed them off to do work.

“You slumming?” he asked Dylan.

“Nah. Just covering a volunteer shift.” Truth be told, he was bored and lonely with Mike gone. But he couldn't say that at work. The guys might be good at heart, but a few were as enlightened as a lamp post.

“You can do that from home, you know. Scanner.”

“Mine's broken.”

Joe's eyebrows flew up. “And you can't afford a new one?”

“So sue me. I just want to hang out here.”

“Poor little rich firefighter?” Joe's voice wasn't mean. Just inquiring. It put Dylan on edge, made him ball his hands into fists, temper rising.

“Something like that.”

“Grab one of the scanners from here on your way out, then. There's a big training going on in New York and a bunch of guys are there, so we can use all the volunteers we can get tonight. You OK with being on call through the night?”

A warmth spread through him, making him stand taller. He remembered this feeling. Happiness. Purpose. Power.

Action.

“Hell, yeah! Thanks, Chief.”

“Let's just hope it's a quiet one.” He always said that. Superstition. If he didn't, one of the guys would jump in and say it. You don't f*ck around with bad luck in a station crowded with firefighters. They need every drop of help from whatever forces in the universe help out, from God to Jesus to the Flying Spaghetti Monster to Mother Nature. Even Mayor Menino, who wasn't divine – yet. One more election win and he'd be damn close.

“As quiet as a church mouse,” Dylan answered. Secretly, though, he wanted to do some good. Help someone. While he'd never actually hoped for a fire or a medical emergency, the thrill of the run was always in his blood. Helping people was exactly why he'd gone into this business, and it gave him purpose.

If someone needed him tonight, he'd be there.

Stuffed like the turkeys that had popped up in grocery stores everywhere, Laura lurched into her living room and plopped down. In a few months, she wouldn't able to get up on her own. Time to start training Snuggles to offer her a hand getting out of deep, overstuffed chairs.

No one else would.

“Oh, stop,” she muttered to herself. After dropping Josie off, she'd thought long and hard on the drive home. Picking up her phone and texting Mike and Dylan would be the hard part. Four months. Four long months. This wasn't a reunion       outreach, though.

It was business. The business of, well, this. Her hands cupped her belly with pleasure, willing love through her palms to the baby. So much love. Only nineteen weeks along and now little Naomi – no, Claire – no, Elizabeth – no, Caitlyn – ah, whatever! – was part of her heart.

This child was a Michaels-Stanwyck, or Michaels-Pine, creation. Time they knew about the baby. Guilt settled in just as her sciatica flared up, the painful nerve running from hip to toe making her rub her muscles to no relief. Walking helped, so she grudgingly lifted herself up and hobbled to the kitchen.

No need for food, but a glass of water and her prenatal vitamin would do for an excuse to move. Sheri said hot showers sometimes helped. Waddling down the hall, she turned on the spray to warm and grabbed a towel. On second thought, she also grabbed a new toy, a sleek little vibrator that couldn't go too deep, but that had turned out to be just enough to take the edge off her horny second trimester.

Too bad vibrators couldn't slap your ass and tug your hair. If someone made one, they'd be filthy, smutty rich.

Undressing wasn't too hard, though she was rapidly losing the ability to bend down and slide pants off; plucking each leg out was becoming the norm, like tying shoes by bringing her feet up and crossing one leg at a time, leaving the laces tied on the insides. Lifting one leg carefully, balancing herself, then lifting the other over the small bathtub lip, though, would be a struggle in a month or too. Shit. This single-mama-pregnancy crap was bad enough in terms of a libido the size of Montana, but if basic self care was going to be a problem, she might have to resort to taking Josie's offer and letting her move in.

Hot jets instantly relaxed her neck, the warm wetness a relief. Closing her eyes, she soaked quickly and sank into her well-grooved fantasy about Dylan and Mike. For as much as she barricaded herself against them in real life, in her dreams they were very much present.

Overwhelmingly so.

Mike's strong hands were eating up every inch of her skin, his mouth on her ear. “Your belly is so amazing,” he crooned in her ear. “My daughter. You're growing my daughter.” His fingers slid down over her navel, delicately stroking her swollen front, then diving down to tease a much-abandoned, very-needy * that begged for release. He turned her around, hands creating a trail of caressing love on her back, her hips, her breasts, all leading the way, a map to her mouth, his palms clasping her jaw and bringing his lips to hers, the first kiss a communion      , the second a ravaging.


Every part of her that could swell, did, from breasts to lush nipples, swollen folds and rosebuds that screamed out Mike's name. As their tongues danced and he used his to convey a secret message, hands raking her hair, lips bruising hers, her hip pressed hard against his thick rod, wanting it in her, now. Four long months of new hormones and bursting, flush desire made this, made her –

Her own hands turned the vibrator on; no more shower head, in case it pushed water or an air bubble up inside her. The tingling was enough, along with her Mike, his tight hands, his wet chest hair scraping against her sensitive breasts...

More hands. Dylan. Ah, there you are, she thought. The vibrator tip made quick work with her, getting her so close, so fast, that Dylan had little time to make his case, his body pressed hard against her back, lifting up, riding friction in the cleft of her ass as she thrust backward, Mike's fingers going straight to her intense heat, the –

“Oh, oh, oh!” she screamed, tipped over so fast as Dylan lunged for her, tongue lapping fast, Mike's fingers in her, the vibrator plunging at her entrance, only in a few inches, though, the clamping and contractions of her p-ssy walls nearly torpedoing it into the shower wall. Huge spasms made her hips ache and howl, her body squirting now, the effort enormous compared to non-pregnant orgasms, the release four times harder than she was accustomed to experiencing.

Climaxing was anti-climatic, though – what she wanted now were strong arms to slump into, and preferably four of them. Someone to rub her feet. Another someone to get her favorite ice cream.

Instead, she got to finish her shower, towel off, somehow twist her way into her jammies and climb into bed, her cats curling up against her. They didn't quite count as those four arms, but as the day faded into sunset and she patted her growing belly, she whispered, “Good night, sweet baby girl,” resolved to tell the guys in the morning.

It was time to be a grown up about this. To act like someone's mom.

To stop being Ryan.