Page 115 of Oathbreaker

I contemplate that weirdness for a moment. Then my eyes go back to the counter. I’ll worry about my changeable and grumpy-far-too-often boss later.

Right now, I have to get home.

And tell Colt.

I snag the positive pregnancy tests—yup, that’s tests plural, and yes that’s pregnant as in pregnant because apparently Colt has super sperm or I have super eggs or together our bodies just get super freaking pregnant because we made Frankie that weekend and?—

I settle my hand on my belly.

We made this baby.

And he’s going to be here every step of the way.

I grin, shove the tests into my purse, and hurry down to my car.

Colt dropped Frankie off at school this morning then had some errands to run afterward. Ever since he bought a car, he’s been slowly filling out his days without me. I miss all the one-on-one time but know he needs to get on with rebuilding his life, especially since my days are filled with work and our family. Which means it’s not unlikely that he’ll be hanging with Dash or Banks, but even if he’s not home when I get there, I know he won’t be far behind me because he promised Frankie he’d pick her up from school.

So, if he’s there, we’ll celebrate without a four-and-three-quarters-year-old.

If he’s not there, I’ll cook something special and we’ll celebrate tonight with good food.

Like peanut butter and pickles.

Oy.

Pregnancy cravings.

Good food will be something that’s not peanut butter and pickles.

Maybe a salad and chicken breasts?—

My stomach churns.

Right, enough about food.

If Colt’s not home, I’ve got my next steps.

SoCal traffic isn’t all that kind but since it’s not rush hour, it doesn’t take too long to get back to the house.

And my heart leaps when I see Colt’s SUV in the garage.

He’s home.

Eek!

I park, snag my purse, and bustle into the house. “Colt!” I call as I rush through the kitchen. “I need to talk…”

But my words trail off when I see he’s wearing his camouflage pants and a tight beige long-sleeved shirt—the same uniform I’ve seen him wear dozens of times, if not more. The same clothes he wore when…he shipped off last time.

And holding his beat up duffle bag in one hand.

He sets it on the ground as I skid to a halt. “Baby,” he murmurs.

I know what he’s going to say.

I see it on his face.

I feel it pierce my heart.