Epilogue
SHANNON
Nine months later
I woke up alone.
I was exhausted, and needed a few more hours of sleep, but I hated lying there alone. And I had to pee. Again.
After heaving myself out of bed and hitting the bathroom, I changed into a sundress and headed down to the kitchen. Even though I had the air conditioner cranked as cool as it would go, this early autumn heat wave was hotter than Satan’s balls.
“That better not be my wife on the back stairs. I’ve repeatedly told her that she’s not allowed on those stairs alone, and if she’s out of bed and on those stairs, she’s not going to like the consequences.”
I stopped and pressed a hand to my lower back. This baby was rearranging my bones and organs, and his father’s voice only got him fired up.
We found out I was pregnant in March when I went to the doctor after a weeklong stomach virus wouldn’t quit. As it turned out, the virus was a tiny human and Will’s commando sperm was no match for my birth control pills. When the surprise of it all wore off, he was exceptionally pleased with himself and his apparent virility.
The ultimate commando tactic.
I, on the other hand, freaked the fuck out. I didn’t feel ready or qualified, and I didn’t know how I’d manage something so delicate and important. The nausea and exhaustion of the first trimester hit me hard, but once I turned the corner into the second trimester, it was slightly more manageable. Slightly.
I stopped worrying about whether we were prepared, and surrendered to the fact that there wasn’t one right time. My life wasn’t composed of scripted moments. There were many things I could control—and I did—but everything else was out of my hands.
“What are you doing on the fucking stairs?” Will asked from the landing. I still hated seeing fresh surgical scars on his shoulder, those sharp red lines marring his golden skin, but it was the price for alleviating the pain and regaining some feeling in his fingers.
“Froggie is kicking the shit out of my bladder,” I said. “Also, I’m starving.”
Will jogged toward me, climbing two steps at a time, and put both hands on my belly when he reached me. “Froggie, we talked about this,” he whispered. “You have to go easy on Mama.” Another kick landed beneath his hand, and his eyes widened. “My girl’s got some swimmer’s legs.”
“This is not a girl,” I said, gesturing to the planet under my dress. We decided to wait until Froggie made his or her arrival to discover the sex, although Will thought he saw a penis during the last sonogram. It was a leg. “This is an eight-year-old boy. I’m giving birth to a preteen.”
He smiled up at me while massaging my bump. The shiny glint of his wedding band still caught me off guard, like a star I didn’t expect to see in the sky. We took the ferry to Montauk in January, got married, and spent the weekend at Kaisall’s house. We shared the news before returning to the city, and it set off a small firestorm of congratulations and some very loud grumbling from the family and friends who weren’t invited. Which was all of them.
But a secret weekend was the only way for us.
“Let’s get you fed. Then we’ll talk about you hiking through a damn construction site while seven months pregnant.”
He took my hand, and placed his other on the small of my back. Part of the Galloupes Point house that we called home was still under construction, but the master bedroom, kitchen, and his-and-hers offices were finished. Froggie’s room was next, although…I still didn’t like the idea of him sleeping all the way down the hall. I wanted to reach over in the middle of the night and feel the rise and fall of his tiny—or not so tiny, such that I was enormous—chest.
“How’s the water?” I asked, gazing at Will’s bare back.
His hair was wet and he was wearing board shorts that hung from his narrow hips in a way that was nearly obscene. And I was good with obscene. Not long after we moved in, the ladies in our neighborhood discovered that Will hit the waves with the sunrise every morning. He accumulated a considerable audience, and they didn’t even pretend they weren’t lusting all over my husband.
They could look, but I was the only one to touch.
“Good temperature, easy surf. We’ll get out there and go for a walk after you eat,” he said. “Patrick called a little while ago. He wants to take a look at the progress in the dining room, and it’s hot as hell in the city, so he and Andy are coming up for the day.”
Somewhere between the college Bowl Championship Series and March Madness, Will and Patrick became best friends. They engaged in all manner of masculine activities together: surfing, sports viewing, distance running, ocean swimming, eating as if it was their last meal. They wouldn’t let me hire a tradesman to restore the patio because they were hell-bent on doing it themselves. It was fair to say Will wasn't bored with his post-SEAL life.
I kind of loved the bromance between my two favorite guys.
It made it easier to scale back at the office, too. Pregnancy didn’t agree with my seventy-hours-a-week schedule, and by July, I’d delegated more tasks than I thought possible. There were hiccups, and not everything ran smoothly, but Froggie didn’t give me many options in the matter. I still handled all the buying and selling, all the finance and contracts, but I transferred much of the external affairs to Tom.
Will pulled a chair out from the table and held my elbow as I sat. Even though I had two more months to go, I couldn’t see my feet and was known to knock things over with my belly. Everything about me was huge and uncomfortable, but I’d never been happier.
“What do you and Froggie want for breakfast?” He set a plate of pancakes in front of me and waited, knowing my meals included multiple courses.
“Scrambled eggs with spicy peppers. Bacon. Pineapple. And if there’s any spinach dip left, I’d be excited about that, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Much to my surprise, Will loved running command at Redtop. It was sexy as hell to watch him in his darkened office, studying the wall of computer screens, wearing his headset, and barking orders. His work was different now, and there were situations when he was locked in that office for several days at a time, but he adored it.
And I adored him.
I rubbed my belly again, reveling in the feel of Froggie’s sharp kicks. There were nights when I sat in bed, my hands glued to my skin while Froggie rolled and hiccupped and fluttered, and I thought about my mother. I missed her terribly, and I would have given anything for her to sit by my side and smooth my hair, and tell me that I could do this. That loving and protecting my family came naturally to me, and this would be no different. That everything, everything, everything happened for a reason. That it would be scary but I was strong. That I’d know what to do when that baby was placed in my arms.
I hadn’t seen any of this coming—the love of my life, the beachfront home far from my city, the baby growing inside me—and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.