Page 71 of Desperate Games

By the time I’m doubled over at the kitchen counter, sweat beading at my temples, the front door opens.

“Andy?”

His voice carries like a shot through the silence. One second it’s just me and my shallow breathing, the next he’s there.

Filling the doorway, broad shoulders, emerald eyes narrowed on me like I’m the only thing that matters.

“Remy—” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does.

That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t waste a second. His hands are on me, strong but gentle, steadying me when I think my knees might buckle.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

I gesture helplessly to my belly, another wave twisting through me. His jaw tightens, but his touch stays calm.

“Hospital. Now,” he says, and before I can argue, I’m scooped into his arms like I weigh nothing.

My protest dies in my throat. His heartbeat thunders under my cheek, steady, unrelenting, like a war drum.

The drive is a blur. Callie’s booster seat sits empty behind us, her favorite pink blanket folded neatly on it, and that’s enough to make my chest tighten even more.

Remy drives like the road is his enemy—controlled fury, every light and car in his way bending to his will.

At the hospital, I barely have to say my name before he’s got me wheeled into triage, barking orders like he owns the place.

Nurses try to soothe him, but he won’t calm down until I’m hooked up to monitors, until a doctor comes in to listen, until someone tells him?—

“False alarm,” the doctor says at last, smiling kindly. “Braxton Hicks. Common with multiples this early, but nothing to worry about.”

I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding me so fast it makes me dizzy. But it’s Remy I’m watching.

The man who’s been standing at my bedside like a sentinel finally lets his shoulders drop.

He drags both hands over his face, mutters something low, then sinks into the chair beside me. His hand finds mine automatically.

“You scared the shit out of me, Andy,” he whispers, his voice rough.

“I scared myself,” I admit, blinking fast. “Sorry.”

“Don’t.” He squeezes my hand, fierce. “Don’t ever apologize for this. For them.”

His other hand slides over my belly, and I swear my heart stutters. He bends down and presses a kiss to the curve of it, his stubble scraping soft against my skin.

“I’m here for you. For all of you. Daddy’s here,” he murmurs to our babies, and my eyes sting.

I can’t stop staring at him. At the man who rushed me here without a thought for anything else.

The man who makes Callie laugh like the sun itself lives in her chest.

The man who, even with all his darkness and scars, looks at me like I’m the miracle.

He glances up, catches me staring, and for once, I don’t look away.

“You’re gonna be an amazing father,” I say quietly.

He smirks, but it doesn’t hide the emotion in his eyes.