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“Are you alright? Is it the baby?” The stress in his voice was apparent, riddled with anxious nerves. Lines shot up across his forehead, his big brown eyes full of worry.

“I'm fine, it's just another false alarm, those damn Braxton Hicks.” Lifting back up, I arched my back to stretch it out. “But I am starving, can I get a rain check on your other offer?” Laughing, I elbowed Quinn in the gut.

“You're sure it's not the real thing? I mean you are due any day now.” His hands squeezed my ribs, eyes scanning my body as if he would notice something I wasn't telling him.

“I'm sure.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know, call it instinct, but it's not happening yet.”

Nodding his head, he said, “Alright, well let's feed the little guy, maybe then he'll be happy and leave us alone so we can play later.”

Walking wasn't something I wanted to do, but I needed food. That's all I want to say about that.

Stepping around the corner, Quinn and I headed towards the diner we had informally decided was our place. The sidewalk was crowded as always, people shuffling like schools of fish following an imaginary ocean current to their destination.

Quinn had become my moving wall, directing people around me so he didn't have to worry about my stomach getting hit in a way that could harm the baby. It was cute, and his protective nature made me smile.

Letting my eyes dance around the buildings, the people, the many sights this city had to offer, I let my master deflector open a path for me to stroll aimlessly through.

I knew baby brain had grabbed hold of my thoughts, my head was flickering between things we still needed to do, things that didn't really matter—like the ugly curtains I hated in our living room—And of course, the images of food.

Holding my stomach, I felt the grumble grow and spread across each muscle. “I'm so hungry.”

Thump.

I was stopped dead in my tracks, Quinn's arm pressing against me, halting us from moving any further. “What are you doing? Why did you stop?” I couldn't see around him, he was blocking my view, but I knew we weren't at the crossroads of another street.

Quinn's head just stayed forward, hand digging its grip into my arm. His back was firm, standing straight as an arrow, his free hand tensed and tightened, balling up.

“Quinn, what is it?”

No answer.

Not again.

Where's his head today?

“Talk to me Quinn, what's wrong?” I tried to look around him, but other people were stopping too, sandwiching me in.

Then he spoke, his voice low and dark. “Turn and walk the other way.”

Who is he talking to?

But there wasn't a separate response, no other voice came in our direction.

Is he talking to me? Am I supposed to turn and walk the other way?

His fingers dug into my jacket, fisting the fabric. “There's no point in this, just leave.”

My brain was turning, the wheel smoking trying to figure out what the hell was going on. But there was nothing to make sense of.

Standing on my toes, I looked over his shoulder, and had the air sucked right out of my lungs.

Nico.

Fucking Nico.