Page 88 of Dissonance

“That was…” she whispers, voice wrecked.

I press my lips to the top of her head and hold her there, her weight against my chest, breaths gradually evening out, her hand loose at my side.

“Aye,” I say quietly. “It was.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Thea

It’s been eight weeks since the cabin, since I stood in that kitchen, watching him cook, or sat on the run-down porch steps in the quiet, listening to nothing or woke up to the sound of the birds through the window and felt, for the first time in longer than I can remember, like I wasn’t needed anywhere.

Eight weeks of reduced hours and earlier nights and Lockie confiscating my laptop at ten p.m. Of my blood pressure coming down incrementally at each check-in, Dr. Bryan’s look of concern easing each time, and me learning—begrudgingly—that the world does not, in fact, collapse when I delegate something to Mae.

Eight weeks of him being so relentlessly, insufferably considerate that I’m starting to lose my mind. He touches me like he needs to be careful with me—which, while kind, and I genuinely understand why—there’s only so long a person with heightened hormones coursing through their blood can watch Lachlan James in a tight t-shirt before something has to give.

And it’s not like I haven’t dropped hints, but he’s either not getting them or choosing to be a gentleman, and I honestly don’t know what’s more infuriating.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones a little out of our depth,” I murmur, nodding toward a woman near the door, shoulders stiff, glancing around like she’s waiting for someone to tell her where to go.

Lockie stays close enough that I feel the warmth of him behind me, his hand finding its place at my lower back as he does a quick sweep of the room. “We’ll blend right in.”

He steers us toward two empty seats, and a bottle of water appears in front of me before I’ve properly sat down.

“Thanks.”

Lowering into the chair beside me, his knee brushes mine as he leans back and slides his hand into mine. My fingers curl around his, no pause, no question, just natural. A few weeks ago, this would have been something I turned over in my head, over-thought, picked apart for meaning until there was nothing left. Now, it barely registers.

It’s the same with how I know that when we get back, he’ll kick off his boots in my hallway, move around the kitchen like it’s his home too, and I’ll sit at the counter as he asks about my day while being very vague about his, without once talking about what any of this means. The same way I know that at some point the night will get late and somewhere between the cabin and now, him staying became easier than watching him leave.

His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, and I glance down at our linked fingers. But now there’s a new fear; I don’t want it to stop.

There was a time when being seen with Lockie would’ve been a risk I wouldn’t allow myself to take. Cooper’s bodyguard with his manager; it would raise too many questions. Only, I don’t know when exactly I stopped caring about that. Maybe it happened the way most things do with him—gradual, then all at once—so natural that I almost missed it.

My reputation has always been strong enough to weather anything. I just never let myself believe that until now.

I look back up, trying to ignore it as I watch people start to take their seats.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” a woman at the front says, bright and calm and maybe a little too cheery. “Welcome to your first parenting class. My name is Harriet, and I’m so excited to be a part of this journey with you.”

There’s a small round of applause, some nervous laughter around the group, a couple of hands going up in question before she’s even finished. I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable and failing, wanting to find a position that doesn’t pull quite so much at my back. Lockie notices, his grip slipping from mine as his hand rests over the top of my bump, his palm spanning it easily, grounding, protective.

“You okay?” he murmurs, leaning in so his voice stays between us.

“Yeah.”

It’s not that sitting here now in a room full of people preparing to give birth has suddenly made all of this feel real in a way it hadn’t before, and now I’m starting to freak the hell out.

Even if I have spent the last couple of weeks with seventeen different browser tabs open, a color-coded spreadsheet of furniture for the nursery, and my hospital bag that’s been packed and repacked twice already.

Mom and Jess have been sending things for weeks too. Little outfits, links to strollers, a bag of Izzy’s old things that arrived a few days ago with a note that said she barely wore any of it. No pressure, no hounding me for answers I wasn’t ready to give yet. Just deliveries of baby gifts as their way of saying they’re here.

“We’ve got this,” he says, kissing my temple like he can hear exactly what’s going on in my head. His hand lingers before dropping back into mine, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze.

“Now, don’t worry if this is your first time here. We’re not throwing anyone into the deep end tonight.” Harriet smiles. “We’ll start with some simple breathing and relaxation techniques, things to help you get comfortable using your partner as support during labor.”

Lockie shifts forward, elbow on his thigh, attention locked in.

“Partners, your job is to keep Mom relaxed. Shoulders down, jaw unclenched, breathing steady. You’re the calm in the room, okay?”