I bury my head in my hands, full-on sobbing, while Jazz hugs me, rubbing a soothing hand up and down my back. “It’s going to be okay, Lo.”
“I wish I could believe that,” I rasp, looking at her through blurry eyes.
“You have had three healthy babies. You’re still young, and you have plenty of time to get pregnant. Even if there are any issues, there are so many options nowadays. You will have another baby. I feel it in my bones.” She bites on the corner of her lip. “Do you want to know what I think?”
“Always.” I nod, sniffling, accepting the tissue she hands to me.
“I think all this stress is stopping you from getting pregnant. I’m no doctor, but this can’t be helping.”
“I think you’re right, but how do I handle this? I’m afraid to say any of this to Saint because I don’t want to hurt his feelings. And I can’t talk to the others because it’s not fair to put them in the middle of this.”
She wipes moisture off my cheeks. “I’m surprised you haven’t spoken to them because communication has always been key in your relationship. I’ve envied you that. You can ask Ken. He’ll tell you I’ve told him our marriage needs to be built on open communication like yours.”
“This is different.”
“It is.” She returns to her seat, handing me another tissue. “This is when communication is even more important. You love Saint and he loves you. He wants a baby with you, and you want a baby with him. You both want the same thing. It’s the way you are going about it that’s all wrong, and if you don’t speak up now, irreparable damage may be caused to your relationship.”
She is not telling me anything I don’t know, but hearing Jazz say it gives me the confidence boost I’ve been lacking.
I’m Harlow fucking Westbrook, and I don’t run from anything.
Especially not from difficult conversations with one of the men I love.
And I never lie down and accept defeat.
Determination zips through my veins, and I blot the last of my tears from my eyes, the first hint of a genuine smile appearing on my lips. “You’re right, and I needed you to tell me that.” I get up, and Jazz stands. I pull her into a hug. “Thank you.”
“It’s going to be okay, Harlow. I just know it is. Get your relationship with Saint back on track. Remove the pressure, and everything will happen naturally, I bet.”
“Can you handle things if I take off?” There is no time like the present. None of the guys are working today, and I know they will either be in the pool or at our private beach with the kids, so it’s the perfect time to pull Saint aside for a heart to heart.
“Go. I’ve got things here.”
I hug her again. “I owe you.”
“Any time. You did the same for me when Ken and I hit that rough patch.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Truth, sister.” She releases me with a smile. “Call me later, and let me know how it goes.”
“I will,” I say, grabbing my purse as I exit my office, feeling less burdened than I did when I arrived at work today.
Chapter 5
Saint
“WHERE ARE THE kids?” I ask when I return from the gym, finding the house eerily quiet. Lo is working, but the guys aren’t, so the place should be messy and noisy, and it’s not. I step out onto the patio where Galen, Theo, and Caz are currently lounging by the pool.
“Freya took them out for ice cream.” Freya is one of the neighbor’s kids. She’s sixteen and she recently began babysitting for us, but we generally only hire her at night, when we’re taking Lo out to dinner, so this is unusual.
I dump my gym bag on the ground, running a hand through my freshly-washed hair. “Is there a reason we needed to offload the rugrats?”
The guys trade looks, and I’m instantly on guard.
“Yeah.” Galen stands. “We need to talk to you, and we didn’t want the kids around.”
My hackles are instantly raised, and I fold my arms across my chest, leveling them with a dark look. “You know how I feel about being ambushed,” I snarl.
“And you know how we feel about Lo,” Theo coolly replies, rising to stand beside Galen.
“Let’s talk inside,” Caz says. “We don’t want anything carrying on the wind.”
I follow them inside, my heart heavy with the knowledge of what’s about to be said.
For the first time in a long time, I find myself in isolation, and it’s not a good place to be.
Theo and Caz drop down on one of the couches in the living room while Galen flops onto the other one. I stand, crossing my arms over my chest again, bracing myself for it.
“Sit down, man,” Galen says.
“I’d rather stand.”
“We just want to talk this out like civilized adults,” Theo says. “There’s no need to raise proverbial fists. We’re family, and we need to discuss this. Just sit down and relax.”
“That’s not how we roll,” Caz adds. “It seems we’ve all forgotten that.”
Reluctantly, I sit down, still eyeing them warily. “I know what you’re going to say, and you shouldn’t get involved. This is between Lo and me.”
Galen sits up straighter. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. This affects all of us, and it’s gone on too long. You’re being a dick, and if you don’t stop hurting her, we have a big problem.”
I clench my fists into balls. “I know things are a little strained, but you can’t accuse me of hurting her. I would never hurt her. You all know that.”
“We know it’s not intentional,” Theo says, always the peacemaker. “But you are hurting her, Saint. We all see it.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “You don’t understand because it wasn’t like this for any of you. She got pregnant like that all the previous times”—I click my fingers—“and we weren’t concerned with who the father was, because it didn’t matter back then.”
“Does it really matter now?” Caz asks, softening his tone as he leans his elbows on his knees. “The kids adore you, man. Who cares which blood flows through their veins? They are ours in all the ways that count. We are all Westbrooks.”
“It matters to me. I fucking care.” I thump a hand over my heart, swallowing thickly over the painful lump in my throat. “I love Bishop, Luna, and Rora with my whole heart, but I want my own kid with Lo. Are you telling me you wouldn’t feel the same way in my shoes?”
The silence is deafening.
“Exactly.” I slump back on the couch.
“We don’t know how we would feel,” Galen says, his face radiating compassion. “Perhaps we would feel how you feel, but I’d like to think you’d intervene if you saw me obsessing and hurting our wife in the process.”
“What the actual fuck?” I roar, throwing my hands in the air. I know I might have gone a tad bit overboard, but throwing that shit at me isn’t cool. “I’m not obsessing. I’ve been educating myself so I’m well informed. So we have every chance to conceive. I don’t want Lo to feel like it’s all on her, so I’m sharing the responsibility.”