Page 33 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

Collins: The doctor’s office just called. They want to do the ultrasound an hour earlier.

Collins: You don’t have to come.

Kit: What happened to no outs once I was in?

Collins: That kicks in after the baby is born.

Kit: It kicked in a long time ago. I will be there.

Kit: At 9.

Collins: Okay.

S tanding outside an obstetrician’s office solo is a unique experience.

In the ten minutes I’ve been leaning against the brick exterior of Collins’s doctor’s office, I’ve received quite the array of looks.

Some amused, others concerned. Five minutes ago, I pulled out my phone to answer emails as a temporary distraction.

“Sorry, sorry!”

I glance up to see Collins jogging toward me. She has a green scarf draped around her neck that’s flying behind her like a kite. It’s cold and gray and windy today.

“Train was late,” she adds between rapid breaths, coming to a halt in front of me.

“Another reason you should have let me drive you,” I tell her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Collins grumbles. “Good morning to you too.”

I smile, watching her glance at the building and then fiddle with the zipper of her jacket. “You ready?”

“Nope.” She laughs, but it’s thin. One for show, lacking any true substance. “Let’s go. ”

“Okay.” I slip my phone into my pocket and start toward the entrance. Only to get stopped by a quick tug on my sleeve.

Collins’s eyes are wide and worried. “What if something’s wrong , Kit? What if there’s no heartbeat or it’s an ectopic pregnancy or the baby has a disease that?—”

“ Breathe , Monty.” I wrap her wayward scarf more securely around her neck, then use it to pull her a little closer. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“How do you know that? You can’t know that! There could be something wrong, and I’m just trying to … prepare.”

“You don’t need to prepare for anything. On the very slim, extremely unlikely chance that there’s anything out of the ordinary, we will handle it. And worrying won’t help. Okay?”

Collins is gnawing on her bottom lip as she nods.

“Not good enough. Say it. Everything is going to be fine .”

“Okay, you’re right—and enjoy hearing that because I might not ever have a reason to say it again.”

I bite back a smile. “I know I am. So, say it. Tell me what I’m right about.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” she whispers.

“That’s my girl.” I kiss her forehead, then open the door and gesture for her to walk in. “Ladies first.”

Her laugh is more solid this time. “Since when are you a gentleman?”

“I’ve always been a gentleman. Except”—I lower my voice and wink—“when you asked me not to be.”

“A consequential request, it turned out.” She gestures toward her midsection.

“I’m still glad you asked.”

She tilts her head. “You are? ”

“Yep.” I nod toward the steps. “We’re holding up traffic, Monty.”

Collins glances over her shoulder at the woman waiting to enter the medical practice. “Oh. Sorry.”

As she passes me, very quietly, I hear, “I’m glad you came.”

And fuck if that isn’t my second-favorite thing she’s ever said to me.

Right after, “More.”

My knee won’t stop bouncing.

Not only with nerves—although there are plenty of those. Despite what I assured Collins, there are a terrifying number of pregnancy complications according to the research I’ve done. And this pregnancy might have been unplanned at the start, but now it’s very, very much planned.

Yesterday, when Andy Sanborn mentioned the trip to Italy he’s planning next summer to celebrate his daughter’s high school graduation, my first thought was, I’ll be a dad then .

And the main reason my knee won’t stop bouncing is the enormity of that.

Up until now, this pregnancy has felt manageable. It’s often been overshadowed, honestly, by my dynamic with Collins. When I’m around her, I spend a lot more time memorizing her outfit or trying to make her smile than I do focusing on the fact that she’s growing a kid that’s half me.

In a sterile white exam room, that’s all I can suddenly think about.

I’m about to see my kid. Hear its heartbeat.

“You’re making me nervous,” Collins states, glancing at my jumpy leg.

“Sorry,” I say, focusing on forcing my knee to stay still.

“It’s fine.” She sighs. “I’d be nervous anyway. ”

“Wanna hold hands?” I suggest.

“Mine’s all sweaty.”

I grab it anyway, squeezing once. “I don’t care.”

The door opens, and the ultrasound tech returns. She’s roughly my mom’s age, I’d estimate, which is reassuring. It seems like she must have successfully done this many times before. Her attention is mostly on Collins, only sparing me a brief smile before she warns her about the cool gel.

Collins’s fingers tighten around mine when it gets spread on her stomach, and I hide a wince.

She’s strong. In every sense of the word.

I know she’s worried because she told me, but she’s calm and poised as she talks to the tech. Prioritizing the baby, like a mom.

The tech finishes setting everything up, then points to the screen and announces, “And … there it is. That’s your baby.”

“Holy shit,” Collins whispers, and I couldn’t have said it more succinctly myself.

It’s surreal, staring at the shape on the screen. My eyes only leave it to check on Collins.

Silent tears are sliding down her cheeks. The tech notices, too, handing her a box of tissues.

“Sorry.” Collins sniffles.

“Don’t be,” the tech replies. “It’s a big moment. I’ve been doing this for thirty years, and I still get choked up sometimes. Here’s the heartbeat.”

A steady whooshing sound fills the room a second later.

Collins glances at me then, her eyes full of wonder. And she doesn’t look away when she realizes I’m already staring at her.

“Wow,” she says .

I’d agree, but my throat feels too thick to talk.

I thought I was prepared for this, that I was equipped for parenthood because I had good role models and can afford the best car seat and stroller and crib.

But I suddenly feel totally inadequate. The anxiety I had about starting at Kensington Consolidated was nothing in comparison to the magnitude of this responsibility.

“You decided not to find out the sex, correct?” the tech asks.

Collins glances at me. “I said I wanted to wait and have it be a surprise. Is that okay with you?”

I wouldn’t mind knowing. If nothing else, it’ll make decorating the nursery much easier. But this is Collins’s call. If she wants to wait, we’ll wait.

“Good with me,” I confirm, refocusing on the screen. Watching the blob shift feels like a rare event—a lightning strike or a meteor shower or a solar eclipse—that deserves to be fully appreciated for the limited time it lasts.

“Everything looks great, Collins. We’ll print some photos for you and Dad”—the tech glances at me, and I startle at the unfamiliar title—“to take home. Dr. Bailey will review the images and give you a call later today or tomorrow.”

“Why not now?” I ask.

“Kit,” Collins chides softly.

“It’s standard procedure, sir. If there was cause for concern, you’d be seeing a doctor now.”

“Okay,” I acquiesce. “Thank you,” I add more politely.

“No problem.” The tech wipes the gel off Collins’s stomach, then leaves the room.

“Told you nothing would be wrong,” I state.

She laughs. This time, the sound is suffused with relief .

“Yeah. Your knee didn’t seem stressed at all .”

Speaking of stress …

“You hungry?” I ask.

I was too anxious to eat this morning, and I’m guessing Collins felt similarly.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can I buy you breakfast?”

I hold my breath, waiting for her reply. Because she’s been historically opposed to me spending any money on her and because this falls outside of co-parenting and work responsibilities.

She doesn’t have to say yes.

She probably won’t.

“Yes.”

“What about whales?” I suggest.

“Whales?” Collins’s nose crinkles.

“Yeah. Like an underwater theme. There could be fish and turtles too.”

“I don’t like the ocean.”

“At all?” I ask, aghast.

Sailing’s how I spent most of my summers growing up. I still go out every chance I get.

“I guess.” She sips some water.

We finished our food over an hour ago, but we’re still sitting in the back booth of the diner around the corner from her doctor’s office.

I shake my head. “Why?”

“I …” She plays with the edge of one of the napkins on the table, curling the corner. “I almost drowned when I was nine. Jane and I swam out too far at Seabluff Beach, and there was a riptide, and … I have n’t been in the ocean since. I’ll swim in lakes and pools, but the sea? Pass.”

“I’ll pick a different nursery theme,” I say hastily.

Collins smiles. “Thanks. I actually saw this cute mural online when I was looking at cribs.” She pulls her phone out of her bag and thumbs at the screen. “What do you think?”

I take the phone and peer at the screen. “Mushrooms, Monty? You want to paint fungi on our kid’s wall?”

“They’re cute,” she says defensively. “Look at the little spots.”

“The mold spots, you mean?”

“They’re not mold spots.” She squints, considering. “Are they?”

“We’re going to have to keep brainstorming,” I say. “Maybe a forest or?—”

A new message appears at the top of the screen.

Perry: I’ll come to Brooklyn. Do you have a favorite spot?

It feels like a balloon just popped, all the excitement and anticipation and relief following the appointment evaporating into the grease-saturated air surrounding us. A bitter, unwelcome dose of reality.

“Or else what?” Collins prompts.

I pass her phone back. “You got a text.”

Collins takes the phone, glances at the screen, then sighs. “I was going to tell you.”

Her voice lacks any real conviction, and she twirls a piece of hair around her finger right afterward.

Bullshit, she was going to tell me. Worst part, she didn’t need to.

It’s not technically any of my damn business.

Selfishly, I assumed—hoped—the fact that she hadn’t mentioned Perry since their date meant it had gone poorly and she wasn’t still seeing him.

“Tell me what?” I ask flatly .

“That I’m getting coffee with Perry this weekend.”

Coffee is better than dinner. But way worse than nothing.

“You can’t drink coffee,” I point out.

Her lips flatten to a thin, irritated line. “I’ll order decaf. Or a tea.”

“Does Perry know why you can’t drink coffee?”

“Of course not.”

“Worried he won’t be interested anymore?” I snark.

“And … we’re done here.” Collins stands, pulling her coat off the back of her chair and slipping it on. “Thanks for breakfast.” She strides out the door without another word, the bell chiming cheerily in her wake.

Damn it .

I stand too. I grab my coat, toss some bills on the table, and hustle out of the diner.

Collins is halfway down the block already, meaning she’s really pissed. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? I knew, even as the words were coming out, that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Monty!” I call out, jogging after her. “Monty, wait!”

She doesn’t stop. Not until I grab her elbow and spin her toward me. “I’m sorry,” I state. “I shouldn’t have said that. Perry’s probably—Perry’s probably prime stepfather material.”

That last sentence burns like swallowing acid. The thought of another guy touching Collins makes me see red. But the idea of that guy also being around the perfect heartbeat I just heard? That’s a direct stab to the heart.

Perry’s a respectable lawyer. He’s always polite to Flynn, despite Flynn mostly treating him like a fly that needs swatting away.

I doubt he’s ever been busted for underage drinking or talked his way out of a speeding ticket or had a misunderstanding with the Monaco police. He is prime stepfather material.

“It’s coffee , Kit,” Collins tells me. “I’m not marrying the guy.”

She still sounds annoyed, but she’s no longer actively glaring at me. More looking at me like I’m absurd. And overreacting.

It’d be different if I was free to pursue her myself. Her dating another guy would still suck, but at least I’d have a metaphorical hat in the ring. I’d have a chance .

That’s all I’ve really wanted with Collins. A chance.

I stare at her, not really trusting myself to say anything.

“I’ll see you at work,” she states.

I don’t think she means it as a reminder of our respective roles—that I’m her boss—but it serves as one anyway. We have to return to the office, and I’ll have to pretend she’s simply another employee. No special treatment.

We’re not back at the office yet though.

“At least let me drive you,” I plead.

Collins shakes her head. “I’ll see you at work,” she repeats more firmly, then walks away from me.

And it hurts a hell of a lot more than it has any of the other times.