I rolled over, my stomach clenching. I wanted to go back to sleep and wait until the pain dissipated, but with every cramp it became more and more obvious that I was going to be worshipping the porcelain throne within the hour.

At least I was in my own bed and not disturbing anyone else’s sleep. When I had gone to bed, I’d thought the exact opposite, wanting to snuggle the night away with my alphas. We still hadn’t talked to Sam about it, though, and that meant we kept separate bedrooms. Though that might not change when she did know.

The entire thing was so complicated. In the two weeks since my heat, things had been a cross between nothing has changed and all things have changed. That was why I wasn’t ready to talk to Sam about it yet; I had no clue what to tell her. Sure, the three of us had talked ground rules on sex and jealousy and communication, but we never put a name to it.

Friends? No, we were so much more than that. Lovers? Absolutely, but not just that. They were still married, so in a way, I was a third wheel. But it never felt like that when we were together. Shit, it didn’t feel like it even when I did overthink the situation. No, we were a complicated cluster of… of awesome.

My stomach clenched again, and this time I bounded out of bed and into the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time. As my stomach emptied, I found immediate relief and was able to get up and splash cool water on my face. Beautiful.

After rinsing my mouth, I padded back to bed. I felt so much better, though drained. The sick part of it was, I was glad I threw up and hoped to do it again and again. I was still a couple days away from being able to test for pregnancy, and if throwing up wasn’t as good as a test, I didn’t know what was.

I pulled out my phone, the fancy one Richard had insisted I replace my old throwaway with. He’d claimed it was to make sure I always had a good connection, something about my provider being limited. He wasn’t fooling anyone with his pragmatic explanation. He’d given it to me because his love language was gifts. He loved to give them, and Samantha was his favorite recipient.

Anytime he flew anywhere, he came home with a little bear for her wearing a shirt from the city, state, or country he’d been to. The first one had been a Winnie the Pooh and she squeed so enthusiastically, I knew her room was going to be filled with them. Since that first one, the bears had varied, but her enthusiasm never waned. It was adorable.

I plugged the date when we first did the deed in a pregnancy calculator. I knew that given my use of suppressants and then the use of the “get ready for baby hormones,” followed by the miscarriage, the chance it was going to be accurate was nil, but that didn’t stop me.

According to my calculations, I could get an accurate test result in two days, which was more or less what I’d assumed. I wanted to go into the bathroom right then and there and pee on that stick. Not that I had one. Purchasing one was going on my list for the day’s activities, although I’d bet dimes to dollars that Richard already owned a stack of them. I didn’t want to get his hopes up by asking, especially since he was out of town for work.

My stomach began to roil again, and I decided that sleep was not going to happen. I got up and showered, then once again found myself using the toilet in one of the least fun ways possible.

It was still an hour before I needed to wake Sam up for school when I exited my room dressed in sweats, hoping that it would help lessen the pain if another bout came. When I’d had morning sickness last time, for I’d pretty much convinced myself I currently was again, it was less painful and more just wondering when it was gonna happen. They said healthy pregnancies started with pukies.

The kitchen was empty when I arrived. I didn’t love the days that Richard was away, not even before we’d all come together. There was something calming about getting up early and just having a quiet cup of good coffee together. I knew it was interfering with his routines to have me there, his trip to the gym often skipped for that time together. He said that he didn’t mind. I knew in a way it was true, no one could push Richard into doing something he didn’t want to do. But I caught him looking at home gym equipment more than once online, so his time with me had been sacrifice. The little selfish part of me relished that—that I was worth sacrificing for, even if it was only in a small way.

Grabbing the ginger syrup I had grown to love during my last pregnancy, I poured an extra large serving into my favorite mug, the one that always waited for me by the French press and then began to boil the water. But instead of coffee, I found myself in the pantry, checking out the tea selection. My stomach was just not ready for coffee.

I went back into the kitchen and finished making my tea before sitting down at the table and watching the birds at the feeder just outside the large picture window. That was one of the many nice things about being not in the heart of the city any longer. I could actually see non-pigeons, which, let’s be honest, were just rats with wings.

“You’re up early.” Dusty’s sleep-filled voice startled me.

“Says the man who I usually have to drag out of bed.” It was one of my favorite things, too. Going into his room, seeing him all sleepy and relaxed then his lazy smile blooming as I came into view.

“That’s all part of my nefarious plan.” He popped one of those nasty pods into his machine and slid his cup underneath. For someone who liked nice things, his ability to settle for wannabe coffee perplexed me. It didn’t even save that much time. He could easily have a nice pour-over by adding maybe a minute to his process.

“Nefarious plan?” It sounded yummy, and my dick was already responding to the thoughts of what his plan could entail. That was one thing there was no disagreeing on in this arrangement, we were all feeling the lustful pull, and it was fabulous.

“Yes. Nefarious. If we can’t have you in our bed each night, at least I can have you be one of the first things I see in the morning.” I walked up behind him just as his cup of crap was almost done and wrapped my arms around him, loving that he loved me going in there as much as I loved doing so.

“I’m okay with that plan.” I kissed a path down his neck, something that was different from the way we’d initially been. I’d been too nervous that I wasn’t good enough, or would ruin things, to ever initiate anything outside of our first time together when heat ruled my body. Now I was feeling both more confident and comfortable. “It isn’t as if I enjoy not being there at night.” I confessed. It got worse and worse with each night, and since we promised complete honesty over our feels, I knew that holding it in any longer was setting us up for trouble later on.

“It is something the three of us need to discuss. No one is jumping for joy over having you in the next room.” He turned around, kissing my cheek and whispering in my ear, “If I had my way we’d all be together pretty much all the time.”

“This I know.” I sighed before pointing to his coffee-ish stuff and heading back to my seat, the nausea simmering in my belly.

“You like my need for you. Both of our needs.” He took the seat across from me, grabbing my syrup before looking at it, making a disgusting face and getting up for his creamer in a bottle he’d just started using. The stuff didn’t even have any dairy in it and I only could read about half the ingredients.

“That is a true story,” I conceded. “But Samantha.”

She came first. It was something we all agreed on. It was also something none of us had a solution for. It wasn’t as if we could get a book titled How to Talk to Children About Triads and Other Nontraditional Relationships. Although to be fair, if someone did, I would be all over buying it and reading it cover to cover.

““Which is why we need to discuss it. Richard and I were planning on bringing it up when he got home. He is very much not liking his time away right now. Not that he ever loved it, but it is worse now. He even mumbled something about commuter flights.”

“Gasp.” Richard was a bit of a snob when it came to his flights. Not understanding the nuances of how airlines worked, I didn’t quite get it, but more than once he mumbled about commuter pilots, so I knew to him they were less than ideal. “Never.” I put my hand on my cheek, channeling my inner southern belle.

“Ha, right?” He took a long sip of his swill. I really should’ve hidden his Keurig and forced him to drink real coffee for a week. No one can do that and go back to the yuckiness that was in his cup. “But I think if you are pregnant, he may just bid on them next go-around. It will mean less clusters of days off together but more time off. Speaking of pregnancy, any guesses?”

“I puked this morning,” I said far too cheerfully. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t say anything on my own, and if either asked, I would be honest. Thank freaking goodness he asked, because holding it in even through this short conversation had been killing me.

“Congratulations.” His eyes sparkled, and I remembered why I didn’t want to say anything. The disappointment of the test being negative would hit us hard, especially after our loss.

“It doesn’t have to mean that.” I was lying. Not technically, of course, but I didn’t believe it. I knew I was pregnant. With each passing minute I became more convinced. But what if I was wrong?

“But it can.” His hand settled on mine, his optimism and excitement reassuring.

“Yeah it can. I was going to go out and buy tests today.” Screw it, even if they might not be completely accurate yet, I was going to take one as soon as it came in because just being there, with Dusty, like that, had me needing to know for sure or as sure as an early test could be.

“You know Richard probably already has a stack stashed away,” Dusty teased, parroting my previous thoughts.

“I thought the same thing, but I don’t want to call and ask him because he might not want to know while he is far away. Besides, I probably should wait a day or two for accuracy.” But I wouldn’t. I just wasn’t patience enough for that.

“Siah?” Sam’s voice reached the kitchen before she did and it wasn’t sounding good. She sounded miserable. “I don’t feel good.”

She walked to me and straight into my waiting arms. Her forehead felt cool to my touch, but her coloring was all wrong. Poor thing.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” I asked, not sure if hugging her was helping or not. Sometimes when you felt sick, you needed a cuddle. Sometimes you needed not a single thing touching you.

“My tummy hurts.” She clenched over, tears flowing from her eyes.

Dusty gave me the look, the one that told him her being sick meant I was sick. Sick, not pregnant. As I wiped her tears from her eyes, I forced myself to hold back mine. It wasn’t like before. There was no loss, except that truth didn’t make my feelings any less strong.

“Like you need to poop?” Dusty saved me from needing to speak, probably referring to the story I told him about Sam’s matter-of-fact list of questions she used to bombard me with when I was sick my first pregnancy. I needed to stop thinking about that. Wallowing wasn’t going to help, although lately it was getting less painful when my thoughts did run that way so there was that.

“Like I am going to hurl. When you said too much candy makes you sick on Halloween, I thought you were lying. But I ate three cotton candies at the circus and now I want to puke. I will never not believe you again,” she vowed.

True, she’d had three cotton candies, but Dusty and I had shared all three, so technically she hadn’t had too much candy. We probably just caught a bug, which sucked. I hated to see her sick.

Richard had called the circus “germ-infested entertainment” when we’d told him about our plans to take Sam to see the small family-run show as it passed through town. He was so not going to let it go that we managed to get sick while watching the clowns run away from a guy in a gorilla costume.

“Oh, sweetie, let’s get you set up with a movie and a bucket.” I pushed myself up, willing the cramping to subside long enough to get her settled in. Maybe she would luck out and hers would pass quickly.

“I’m big; I don’t need a bucket.” Her little fists formed in defiance. More often than not she talked like a little adult, so hearing her channel her inner four-year-old told me just how awful she was feeling.

“And I’m bigger and don’t need to scrub a floor.” Dusty took her hand, having enough of her sass.

Either he was starting to feel yucky, too, or he was one of those who got sick thinking about vomit. I hoped it was the latter.

“Fine. But I wanna pick the movie.” She was always gunning for the power. Little alpha in training.

Normally, I’d have shut that shit down. Kids don’t tell grown-ups what to do. But she was sick, so I let it go. “If you insist, I was thinking Winnie the Pooh, but we can go with your choice.”

“You’re taking care of me.” She called back as Dusty led her out of the room, trying to contain his laughter. “It’s only fair you pick the movie.”

I grabbed a small trash can as he set her up with a Winnie the Pooh marathon.

“I’m sorry.” Dusty pulled me into a hug as she fell asleep halfway through the first movie. “I know you had your hopes up. We both did. All three of us did.”

“Yeah, it sucks. I knew better than to let myself believe we’d been that lucky. It wasn’t like the doctor hadn’t warned me.”

“One good thing came out of it.” He smiled, leading us to the love seat where Sam was still in sight, but we could be comfortable which I very much appreciated since round two was coming at a quick clip.

“That being?” I asked as I settled into his side, needing his warmth, his scent.

“Now we know without a single doubt that this is what is right for us. That building a family is what we all want. If we had second guesses nagging in the back of our minds we would feel some relief right now, and the very last thing I feel is relief.”

He was right. I’d not once felt relieved that I wasn’t pregnant. To the contrary, it hurt. I wasn’t on the fence or mostly sure that this was my family, Sam, Dusty, Richard, and whomever was still to come.

“I wish Richard was here.” This felt big, huge, like something we should all be a part in. I knew Richard’s job was important and not just for money, for we hadn’t discussed it, but I had a feeling one or both of the alphas that claimed me as their own had money in addition to their paychecks. But knowing it was important to him and wanting to support that and loving it were two very different things.

Sure, he was only called Daddy in the bedroom, and I had a feeling that was more Dusty’s kink than Richard’s, but in a way, he embraced that role everywhere, the role of caretaker, not sex god. I selfishly longed for that caretaking, which wasn’t like me. Except with him, it kind of was.

“Oh, Richard doesn’t do puke,” Dusty was teasing. It probably held some truth, I mean who does do puke. But there was not a shred of doubt in my mind that if puke needed handling he would do it and do it well.

“He does know babies spit up like, all the time, right? My mom always had spit up on her shirts when Sam was a newborn. It was almost an accessory for a while.” She’d worn it with a smile, too. She was a good mom and never a day went by when I wished that Sam had been able to experience that for herself instead of only having half memories, many formed by stories I told her about pictures from we had. Pictures I’d probably never see again, thanks to the flood.

The flood that was caused by negligence of the building owner who knew the apartment above me had a water pipe snap and yet never thought to mention it to us, or better yet, check the apartment out for himself. The apartment below us had been vacant and it, too, had been destroyed.

“Hey.” Dusty snapped me from my pity party over things lost. “He’ll figure it out soon enough. I’m pretty sure kids are like cats.”

“How so?”

“Cats find the one person in the room who hates cats and gives them their fealty.” He wasn’t wrong. Cats were assholes. “Babies, I conjecture, do the same thing with people who can’t deal with bodily fluid. Richard will get spit up on, pissed on, and pooped on the first week. Mark my words.”

His logic might not be sound, but his theory sounded about right.

“You think—you think it will happen.” I dropped my head, not able to say what I needed to say with his sympathetic eyes meeting mine. “I already lost one of your children and then—what kind of an omega doesn’t get pregnant during their heat? How many knots? That had to be a record, and nothing. What if there never is anything?”

“First of all...” He tipped my chin up with his finger. “You cannot blame yourself for before. It is a common occurrence given how you got pregnant, and it sucked, but at least we didn’t lose you, too, which might have been the case had you not been at work.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Shit, had I been home or in the car, Sam would’ve been left alone. Maybe Mrs. Jones would’ve taken her in, but social services were weird about what places they thought suitable for a child. With only one bedroom, they probably wouldn’t certify the apartment. Yeah, I had been lucky. Very.

“Second of all, your heat was a hot mess of hormonal imbalance. You getting pregnant the first time out would have been the miracle, not some sort of sign you were faulty.”

He took my hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “And most importantly—look at me—”

I opened my eyes after a far-too-long blink, trying to take in all that he’d been saying. “That’s my omega—” His praise, even in that tiny little morsel, sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “You. Are. Ours. We may have come together over our desire for a baby, but you—you and Sam, you are enough for us even if there never is a baby.”

Before I could respond to his heartfelt and emotionally charged words, he jumped up and ran from me, straight into the bathroom as his retching echoed down the halls.

Two days later, I was the only one still left puking.