We were curled together on the med bay couch, tucked under a wool blanket. Shade had one hand on my stomach, the other tangled with mine. Every few minutes, she'd kick against his palm. He smiled. Really smiled. The kind I only ever saw when no one was watching.
I looked over at the chart clipped at the edge of Brooke's bed. "If these readings are right... he's around seven months."
Shade didn't move. "That would make it impossible for the baby to be mine."
I turned to him. "You're sure?"
He nodded, then slid his hand gently off my belly and over to Brooke's. He laid it flat against the curve of her stomach.
"I'm sure. But I still feel him. I don't think I'm imagining it."
"And I don't think she is either." He rested his other hand on my stomach again. Our baby kicked against it almo
