Page 35

Aslan

I made it home before Quaid and tossed the ingredients for a chicken salad into a bowl, knowing he would likely balk at the idea of takeout two nights in a row. I made sandwiches with the remaining chicken and plated everything, storing Quaid’s in the fridge and bringing mine into the living room.

With the late-night news channel broadcasting in the background, I ate under the scrutiny of a feline audience, who thought himself all-deserving of human food even though he’d devoured an entire scoop of kibble without coming up for air less than ten minutes ago.

“I fed you, you mooch. Take a hike. This is mine.”

Oscar didn’t move or blink, his gaze intensifying with every bite I took.

“You’re staring. It’s unnerving. Stop it.”

He’d claimed the cushion beside me and sat prim and proper, watching my fork as the grilled chicken traveled from my bowl to my mouth. Back and forth .

“I’m not allowed to share, and you know it. Go play. Or sleep. Or climb a cat tree.”

He placed a gentle paw on my thigh, and I laughed.

“No way, mister. I will not be swayed by cuteness. Remove your paw.”

He did not remove his paw. Instead, he gently patted my leg.

“Goddammit, Oscar, it would mean my balls if I fed you table food. Maybe you’ve adjusted fine without yours, but I’m partial to mine staying exactly where they’re at, thank you very much.”

He purred like a finely tuned car, tracking another bite as it traveled from the bowl to my mouth. The damn cat knew how to dig under my skin. Quaid had said numerous times I was a sucker when it came to Oscar, and he was right.

“You’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

Knowing he had the upper hand, Oscar flopped onto his side, rolled to his back, and peered upside down with such forlornness you’d think I’d starved him for a week.

“Fuck’s sake.” I glanced at the front window, listening for a car. “Fine. But you better eat it fast.”

I picked a morsel of chicken from my sandwich and licked it clean of mayo, knowing Quaid would have a coronary if I gave the cat dressing of any kind, and placed it on the floor. Oscar immediately pounced on the offering.

“Glutton.”

I picked another piece, shredded it the same, and added it to the mix.

The front door opened at that exact moment, startling me. “Shit. Eat faster,” I hissed at the furball who was taking his sweet-ass time, licking and savoring the offering as though he wanted to make it last.

“Az? ”

I glared at the cat as he licked the final piece off the floor. “In the living room.”

Quaid popped his head in a moment later, and Oscar, although finished his tiny nip of chicken, went into excessive cleaning mode like he was in the military and preparing for inspection.

He got that way after eating something especially delicious, but was it necessary after having less than a spec of chicken? Apparently so. The bastard.

Quaid noticed—of course, Quaid noticed—and scowled. “Did you feed the cat?”

“No. I mean… yes. In the kitchen. Earlier. When I got home. Cat food. He ate cat food.”

Quaid watched the pesky feline groom himself for another long minute before shifting his gaze to my meal. “You gave him chicken.”

I gasped and clutched my chest. “I would never…” Quaid narrowed his eyes. “I would never lie to you. Fine, it was a teeny-tiny piece, and I regret it. He’s a mooch. He knows how to get under my skin.”

“He’s a cat.”

“Quaid, he’s manipulative and cunning. You should have seen the act he pulled. He’s a sociopath. He ticks all the boxes.”

My husband laughed as he loosened his tie. “You’re digging your own grave.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“He’s got you wrapped around his paw.”

“Believe me, we discussed it.”

“Are you going to be this way with our child?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Figures. Is there any food for me, or did you two eat it all?”

“In the fridge.”

Quaid joined me with his dinner, and the furry bastard put on a great show for Quaid as well, only my husband was far more resistant to the cat’s charm. Oscar eventually gave up, climbed his tree, and fell asleep.

After we ate, we stretched out on the couch. I spooned Quaid in my arms and weaved our legs together as we watched the news. It was our favorite nightly ritual whenever we were home together. Mostly, we chatted about our day as the program played in the background.

“First thing in the morning, we go see Benedict and Bess Davis,” he mumbled after explaining what Ruiz had found in his search.

“I’ll pick up the warrants beforehand, and we can get a cheek swab while we’re there.”

“I want to talk to Diane at some point. Imogen’s mother. I think she knows about the money, and since she seems to hate Benedict, maybe she’ll tell us what it’s all about.”

“Unless the money’s entire purpose is to shut her up.”

Quaid hummed. “Oh. Remind me to call Dad in the morning. I haven’t talked to him all weekend. I want to check in. The doctor was supposed to call him Friday with a surgery date.”

After years of pain and stubborn refusal, Abraham Valor had finally decided to go through with a knee replacement. It would likely be the end of the year before it happened, but it was finally happening, and Quaid’s relief was palpable. He hated seeing his father in so much pain.

“And Bryn,” Quaid mumbled. “We have to call Bryn again.”

“We will.”

“Shit. I have to do laundry.” He made to get up.

I locked my arms around him tighter. “Not now.”

“Az.”

“Not now. It’s late, and you barely slept last night.”

His fight waned. “Tomorrow morning.”

“If there’s time. ”

Quaid’s warm body grew progressively slacker.

His sentences extended and slurred with oncoming sleep.

I should have suggested we get ready for bed, but I was comfortable and enjoying the cuddle.

Our days could be busy, so I savored those times when the world existed on the periphery, and it was simply Quaid and me and nothing else.

He mumbled something about Ruiz and boy’s names, mentioned the laundry again, and babbled incoherently about something I didn’t catch.

His breathing slowed and deepened. The conversation drifted away.

Before the news program ended, my exhausted husband was fast asleep.

I was hard-pressed to encourage him to move to the bedroom.

I’d rather he slept on the couch in his clothes than risk disturbing his slumber.

Knowing Quaid, he might lie awake for hours stewing over the case.

I couldn’t reach the lamp on the side table without jostling him, nor could I access the remote for the TV. Instead, I savored the weight of Quaid against me. Indulged in his scent. Absorbed his peace.

I kissed his nape and whispered, “I love you.”

He didn’t respond.

Not long after I lost him to dreamland, I drifted as well, the TV droning nonsense in the background.

I was almost under when my phone vibrated on the coffee table, and I jerked awake with a gasped breath.

It took a second to figure out what I’d heard, and I checked to be sure Quaid was still asleep as I carefully reached for the device, but it was too far away.

“Dammit.” I cautiously shuffled, trying to dislodge my husband and extend my fingers as far as I could, but I barely managed to scrape their tips against the edge of the phone case.

Quaid’s phone was closer, and it rang with an incoming call before I could get mine in hand and check the message. His was set to top volume and pierced the quiet room. Lately, he ensured the sound was always high, so he didn’t miss a call or text.

I reached for his phone instead of mine, lowering the volume so it didn’t disturb him as I checked the screen to see who was calling.

Bryn.

I jolted. “Oh shit.”

It was after midnight, and the only reason our surrogate would be calling at this time was because she was going to have a baby.

“Oh shit,” I said again.

The call would switch to voicemail in a second if I didn’t answer it, so I swiped to accept and glanced at Quaid, keeping my voice at a whisper. “Hey, Bryn. It’s Aslan.”

“I… Oh. I thought I called Quaid’s phone. I texted you. Did you get my text?”

“I got it.” I hadn’t, not yet. “Quaid’s asleep. Is it time?”

“Yep. Delivery is imminent. Labor has begun.” She laughed her Bryn laugh, so full of happiness and life.

In my mind’s eye, I saw her freckled face full of joy.

“My contractions are coming regularly now. Iggy confirmed. We aren’t going to the hospital yet.

They’re still about nine minutes apart, and he said we should wait until they’re under five, or else I’ll get sent home.

It might be a while yet. My last birth was thirty-six hours.

I knew Quaid would want to know right away, so that’s why I called. ”

My heart warmed and pattered anxiously against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my veins.

Blood whomped so loudly in my ears it was a wonder Quaid didn’t hear it.

I wanted to shake him awake and tell him the news, but I also knew he would make himself a wreck since his case was still open and he’d barely slept in forty-eight hours as it was.

The last thing he needed was to pace and worry for the following who knew how long .

I’d experienced labor and delivery with my sister’s two kids, so I knew the drill and the possible lengthy stretch of waiting ahead of us.

“Do you need anything, Bryn?”

“No. I’m okay. I’m not even uncomfortable yet. I have Iggy and Arden here. Iggy says I should rest as much as I can right now. If Quaid’s sleeping—”

“I’m going to let him sleep, but you call me the minute you decide to go to the hospital.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Or if you need anything at all.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

An unexpected flood of tears filled my eyes and clogged my throat. I was going to have a baby. We were going to have a baby. It was time. Our little munchkin was preparing to come into the world.

“Keep me posted, Bryn. Text my phone. I don’t want Quaid losing his shit until he has to.”

She giggled the same Bryn laugh and promised.