Page 33 of Hampton Holiday Collective

“Charlie horse… in my… calf,” she grits out, trying but failing to stretch out her leg.

I jump off the mattress to help her up, only to be swatted away as she insists she can sit up herself. So I watch her struggle, helpless, her face screwed up in pain.

The muscle spasm lasts almost as long as her last orgasm, which would be ironically funny if it wasn’t so cruel.

She’s miserable. And there’s little I can do to make it better.

Eventually, the pain subsides. She sits on the edge of the bed and catches her breath, massaging her tender calf. I’d offer to do it for her—but I’ve already been swatted away once. She hates when I hover.

Maddie’s always been wildly independent, but there’s a lot about this experience that stifles her autonomy.

I’m thrilled she’s pregnant. And I can’t wait to be a dad. But there’s a constant undercurrent of worry—and a twinge of guilt—harbored deep inside me that flares to the surface at times like this.

“Why don’t you take a bath? Or a nap?” I suggest, circling the bed and smoothing back the blond hair clinging to her forehead. “I’ll go downstairs and make you a snack.”

Sex and food. They’re the only guaranteed cure-alls I can offer. I can’t help with much, but keeping my wife satisfied and full are things Icando.

She hums appreciatively, nodding, then yawing as she crawls under the covers. As soon as I open the bedroom door, Hudson comes flying into the room, tail wagging. Except he doesn’t stop to give me a second glance. He beelines for the bed, then lithely hops to the foot and curls up at Maddie’s feet.

She murmurs something to him. Then I watch, admittedly jealous, as he lets out an exaggerated yawn and settles in to snooze, too.

I would be put out by our dog’s shifting affections if it wasn’t so damn sweet. He knows our lives are about to change in huge ways. I just don’t think any of us are truly prepared for what comes next.

Chapter 26

Maddie

Ishiftintoasitting position, groaning when my low back audibly cracks and a searing shot of pain radiates through my hips.

Fuckity fuck. Pregnancy sucks.

How the hell has Daphne done this three freaking times? Once is proving to be more than enough for me. Although she never had to fit a pair of gigantic Haas twins in her pelvis. The OBs and ultrasound techsloveto marvel at how big the boys are measuring—nearly two weeks ahead of schedule, which is way too fast for my body to handle, as proven by the angry purple tiger stripes clawed across my stomach.

My right hips spasms as I trek to the bathroom once again. I relieve myself, almost falling asleep on the toilet because I’m so exhausted. Which is ridiculous. I didn’t actuallydoanything today.

I helped Winnie with a perler bead kit she got for Christmas and watched Wesley and Dempsey play endless rounds of air hockey. Then I ate dinner and tried to read a chapter of my new e-book, but fell asleep a few pages in, only to be startled awake when my Kindle tilted forward and smacked me in the face.

As someone who used to pull fourteen-hour days at the office on the reg, I’m disgusted by how little I actually accomplish while pregnant.

A swift kick to the bladder jolts me out of my semi-conscious thoughts—and makes me grateful I’m still sitting on the toilet. I pee—again—then I wash my hands and waddle back to bed.

I groan as I hoist myself onto the mattress and roll to my left side, hoping this isn’t one of the nights where one or both of the boys throw a dance party the second I get comfortable.

Dempsey runs his hand up my leg a moment later.

“You okay, princess?” he asks, his voice deep from sleep.

It’s a loaded question.

Physically, I’m miserable. Mentally, I’m exhausted. Emotionally, I’m anxious and floundering, existing in this weird state of limbo where I know my life’s about to change, but nothing has happened yet.

But there’s next to nothing Dempsey can do to change any of that. Before I can offer a reassuring response, though, he shifts closer, covering my back with his torso and spooning me the best he can.

My body reacts to his on instinct. I push back into his crotch and grind my ass against the solid muscles of his thighs.

“What do you need, baby girl?”

Hmm. I like this line of questioning a helluva lot more.