The birthing class across town is filled with women with round bellies, their respective coaches, and a lot of love and joy—two things my world will be devoid of once I hit Fenwick in my spiffy new orange suit. I won’t lie, a part of me is kicking myself for not taking the deal. But another part of me wants to believe that I’ll get my miracle, just the way Lemon demands to believe it.
Class has just begun, and I’m seated behind Lemon while she uses my body as a backrest and I give her a massage over the shoulders as Lainey and Serena instructed the class to do.
Noah speeds in late and lands next to us.
“Sorry, Lot.” He picks up her hand and gives it a kiss.
Funny. I don’t remember being so routinely physical with her when they were together, at least not in front of Noah.
“Don’t worry about it,” Lemon moans. “Everett has it all under control.”
“Don’t I always?” I tease. Because it might become very apparent that I have nothing under control. I nod over to Noah. “So what did you glean?”
I know for a fact he was in Ashford toying with that phone the sheriff’s department is holding as evidence. Evidence of what nobody is certain, least of all not the sheriff’s department themselves.
Lemon snaps her head in his direction. “Well?”
Noah gives an impish grin. “It worked. Teddy, along with the number nine, was her password. Chad was right. It was easy to hack.”
Lemon glances back at me. “I guess he could be the one texting Evie.”
“And he could very well be the killer.” I nod.
Noah blows out a breath. “I reached out to Insta Pictures and let them know the sheriff’s department needed the records of all the messages that were being sent this month. If we can get the phone number of whoever is behind this, things might come to a close a lot faster than we anticipate.”
“Noah.” Lottie gives his hand a rattle. “You are a genius.”
“I am, but it’s still nice to hear it from you.” He offers her a sly wink, and he’s very much flirting.
Noah never stops. Heck, Lemon has never stopped loving him. I know this. In fact, I know that if I’m not around for the next fifteen years, Noah Fox is the only man I’d approve of filling my shoes.
Of course, once I got out, I’d have to give him the boot again. But by then, there will be another person among us—one who will be very much used to having Noah around as his or her father. And he might just be that to them, their father.
No, I couldn’t give him the boot. I need to face it. Once they slam the cell door behind me, they’ll be slamming the door on my relationship with Lemon forever.
I’m not toying with her heart in fifteen years, destroying the family she would have built with Noah. I would never allow myself to cause that kind of pain to anyone. Not to Lemon. Heck, not even to Noah.
There might be other children involved by then. Lemon can’t wait for me. Her birthing years are here, in front of us. In fifteen years, that too might be in the rearview mirror. And I would never want to rob her of the joy of expanding her family. And if Lemon tries to remain loyal to me, holding the rest of her life at bay—that is exactly what’s going to happen—I’d be robbing her of everything.
“Okay, mamas and coaches.” Serena steps into the center of our circle with Lainey by her side. “First thing’s first. If you haven’t already shored up your birthing plan, this is your final opportunity. If you plan on having an epidural, now is the time to ask your doctor about the risks. If you’re determined to go at it naturally, then you might want to have your coach commit to keeping you on track.”
Lainey shakes her head over at Lemon.
When Lainey had her baby, she had done exactly that, and as fate and horrific birth pains would have it, she had to threaten every person in that room within an inch of their lives until she got something medicinal to take the edge off.
I should know, I was one of those people.
“Coaches”—Serena points over to Noah and me—“your mother-to-be is going to rely on you exclusively to cheer her on. Now is the time to think up clever little motivational sayings that go above and beyond you can do this. Get creative! You want to jar your partner emotionally with the wonderful things you can come up with to spur her on. You’re a team. If she’s unhappy, you’re unhappy. The entire emotional state of your partner rides on your shoulders.”
“Don’t worry, Lemon,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m going to be your biggest supporter. I already know you can get this done with ease. You’re the smartest woman I know, and you’re tough as nails.” I land a kiss to her earlobe, and she bubbles with a laugh.
“You keep that up, Baxter, and I might just start believing it.”
Serena and Lainey come around and teach us a few controlled breathing techniques. They let us know it’s best to focus on one object in the room while riding the wave of the contractions, and breathing slow, even breaths until the pain has subsided.
Something tells me I’ll be implementing these breathing techniques for the next fifteen years if things go south for me.
Serena and Lainey go around the room once again, teaching each set of partners the various birthing positions available.
“I draw the line on getting on all fours,” Lemon says as Lainey struggles to contort her into yet another uncomfortable position.
Noah chuckles as he leans my way. “She never said those words to me.” He flexes a short-lived grin at the thought.
“I’m not laughing.” And I’m certainly not telling him about my experiences with Lemon in that position. Some things aren’t meant
