Breathe With Me By Becka Mack - 25

I MET MY SOULMATE WHEN I was three months shy of eighteen.

Five foot one, dark chocolate curls piled on her head, lugging a box nearly bigger than her, yet still managed to donkey-kick the man behind her right in the balls when he asked her if she could move her short legs any faster.

It was her brother.

I watched her drop the box to the ground, look around our dorm room with a mixture of fear and excitement, only for all that excitement to disappear when those dark eyes landed on me, nothing but fear remaining as she took in the length of me once, twice, and gulped.

“Look at the size difference,” her brother had snickered, and without missing a beat, she nailed him right in the balls again, without even glancing over her shoulder, like her foot had built-in dick detection.

I knew I loved her then, but when I picked up the bottle of tequila on my nightstand and filled two shot glasses? When I held one out to her, grinning, and her eyes dipped to it before she said, “At ten a.m.?” When I repeated those three words back to her, and her eyes met mine again in a challenge, a spark that lit her from the inside out, stealing every ounce of that fear as she blew a curl off her face, shrugged, and threw that shot back without wincing? That’s when I knew I’d found my soulmate.

It’s wild how you can be surrounded by people your entire life, only to meet a single person and suddenly realize you’ve gone all those years never knowing what true friendship feels like. As different as Olivia and I are, she understood me on a level nobody else ever had. She reminded me daily how capable I was, pushed me when she knew I could take it, and was soft with me when she knew I couldn’t.

I have spent my life being so sure of myself, speaking my truth without fear, and convincing myself I’m capable of all the hard things. But when I look back on the ten-plus years of my life with Olivia, I am almost certain that those qualities wouldn’t have survived the perils of adulthood without her. I was able to build my dream life because I had someone by my side every step of the way who never, not even for a second, let me stew in self-doubt.

And when I stroll through her front door, find Ireland wrapping Dublin, their dog, in toilet paper, and Olivia sprawled over the couch, looking like she hasn’t showered or slept in days, I fear that I’ve failed her.

“Sweet fuck,” I mutter, looking around the open space, cushions on the floor, dishes piled in the sink, an explosion of toys covering… well, everything.

Olivia’s huge brown eyes come to mine, filling rapidly. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

“What? No. No, it’s not, um… it’s not that—”

“ I’m a failure! ” she wails, slapping her hands across her face as her sobs break free. “I can’t do anything anymore!”

“Ollie, no. No, no, no. Come here.” I scoot beneath her legs, sitting on the couch and grabbing her wrists. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”

“Careful,” she sobs. “I’m so big, you might-might-might… you might throw your back out !”

“You know,” I say, grunting as I start hauling her up to me, “everyone says Carter’s the dramatic one. But there’s nobody alive as skilled at extravagant exaggerations as you are.”

She collapses against me when I right her, flinging her arms around my neck. “Carter calls me his dramatic wittle baby,” she cries. “The worst part is I secretly love it!”

Laughing, I smooth her curls off her damp face, tracing the puffy dark circles beneath her eyes. “You look exhausted, pretty mama.”

“I’m so tired, Cara. I’ve never, ever felt this type of exhaustion in my life, not even when Ireland went through her four-month sleep regression and was up twenty-seven thousand times a night.”

What was I saying about extravagant exaggerations?

“Ireland has Carter’s energy, and I love that, but when I’m thirty-six weeks pregnant with twins who are, somehow, measuring on track as if they were single babies?” Eyes wide, she shakes her head. “I can’t keep up. Literally, she’s faster than me. She beats me up the stairs, she’s ten steps ahead of me when we’re walking Dublin… Yesterday she got so tired of watching me try to roll off the couch, she hauled a stool over to the fridge, climbed up, got her string cheese, and put the stool back, all before I’d made it out of the living room, and you know what she said when she sat down beside me? ‘Dada fast. Dublin fast. Ireland fast. Mama slooow.’ ”

Pressing my lips together, I swallow my snort as Ireland comes racing into the living room, Dublin trailing behind her, looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost, tail wagging. My brow rises as I take in Ireland’s outfit.

Clear plastic heels. Purple snowpants. Pink tulle princess dress. Rainbow cardigan, top button secured in the bottom hole. Bright yellow sunhat, elastic cord pulled right up to her chin.

“Did you dress yourself today, Ireland?”

“Uh…” She looks down at herself, then grins, patting her chest. “ Yes! ”

“Beautiful. And how many necklaces you got on there?”

“Two necklace,” she tells me, holding up five fingers, while I count a total of seven beaded necklaces decorating her neck. “I hungwy, Mama.”

“Yeah, it’s dinnertime. How about I—”

“I hab cookie.” Ireland sticks her hand into the pocket of her snowpants, pulling out a rough-looking Oreo.

“Dear God,” I mutter as she shoves the entire cookie into her mouth.

“It’s uncanny,” Olivia whispers back.

I gesture to her belly. “What if these two—”

“Don’t.” Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. “Just… don’t.”

Prying her fingers from my grin, I stand. “Ireland, I brought you some Play-Doh. Wanna play while I get dinner set up?”

“Oh, yes!” She bounces up and down before dashing across the space, plastic heels clacking along the way. “I lub pay dough! Tank you, Auntie Cawa! Tank you!”

You’re a lifesaver , Olivia mouths as Ireland busies herself with the Play-Doh. She stands from the couch, two hands on her belly and a wince on her face as she groans. “What’s that?” she asks as I start unpacking everything else.

I hold up the rosemary-butter mushroom-and-cheese ravioli I made less than an hour ago, still hot in the warming tray. “Dinner.” Opening the fridge, I unload a large cooler bag. “Meals for you and Ireland tomorrow, and extra for when Carter gets home. Annnd…” I wink at her, dropping a greasy paper bag on the countertop. “Crunchwrap Supremes for our favorite dramatic wittle baby.”

“Crunchwrap Supremes?” she whispers, inching closer. “Cara…”

“Oops, one more thing.” I hold out the blue cup to her. “Oreo Blizzard. The fancy one, with hot fudge in the middle.”

Brown eyes bounce from the Taco Bell bag to the Dairy Queen treat, settling on me, red-rimmed and wobbly.

“Oh, Christ.” I scrub a hand over my eyes. “Don’t start. For the love of God, Ollie, don’t start. Not over this. Not over Taco Bell and ice cream.”

Her chin quivers, hands balling at her sides. “I’m not gonna cry.”

“If you cry, I’ll cry, because composure? Doesn’t exist for me anymore.” I slap my hands down on the table for dramatic effect. “Do you hear me? I. Have. None. ”

Her chest heaves. A strangled sound pierces the air.

“Olivia,” I warn, pointing at her. “Don’t.”

She shakes her head. “I won’t. I will not. I will not cry.” A choked and manic laugh as she slaps away the two silent tears that escape. “I will not cry over Taco Bell and ice cream.”

“Good.” I heave a sigh. “Thank you.”

“It’s just, you’re so, so, so thoughtful, and you l-l-love me so much, and I—I—I…” She flaps frantically at her face for all of two seconds before she hauls fucking ass over to me, slamming me back against the counter as she claws at my shoulders, bursting into tears as she tries to get closer. “ I can’t even hug you properly! My belly’s too big! ”

I shift my body around hers as surreptitiously as I can manage, until I’m halfway behind her, hugging her as close as possible. “Shhh. It’s okay. Your belly is perfectly sized and beautiful.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so emotional lately.”

“Oh, Ollie.” I smooth my hand over her curls. “You’re always emotional.”

“You shut your filthy mouth.”

I smile, enjoying this quiet moment between us. We rarely get these anymore. Once upon a time, Olivia was my only family here. She was all I had, and I never felt like I was going without. But as I look around her house, at how much she’s struggling to solo parent a toddler through the Vipers road trips while growing two babies, the guilt consumes me. “I’m sorry I haven’t been more present during your pregnancy. You deserve better from me.”

She pulls back, utter disgust twisting her face. “I beg your finest fucking pardon?”

“I—”

“Have been going through the most difficult time of your life, and trying to keep your head above water?” Really, it’s the cocked brow, loaded with attitude while she rips open a Crunchwrap and takes one giant bite, staring me dead in the eyes.

I cross my arms over my chest, shifting my narrowed gaze away from her. “Not what I was gonna say, but whatever.”

“Exactly what you should’ve said, though.”

“It’s still not an excuse.”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s an explanation, and while I appreciate that you want to give me one, it’s not necessary.”

“But—”

She presses her fingers to my lips, silencing me, holding them there and making me watch as she chews another bite. “So fucking good,” she mumbles, eyes rolling. When she’s done, she takes my hands, shuffles forward, and lays her head over my chest. “Cara, I need you to let it go. There’s so much going on in your head right now; don’t let this have any of that precious, brilliant space. You’re used to giving a hundred and fifty percent, I get that. But all I’ve ever needed is for you to show up in whatever capacity you’re able to, and you do that over and over.”

“I’m always going to show up for you,” I murmur, resting my chin on her hair. “Just like you show up for me.”

“We’re good at that, huh? Showing up for each other?”

“It’s second nature.”

“Because that’s what true friends do. That’s what healthy, safe relationships look like. Showing up in whatever capacity you can without fear that you’ll be punished for it, because at the end of the day, your relationship is rooted in empathy, respect, and love.”

My eyes fall shut as I sink into Olivia. “I knew you were my soul sister the moment I saw you.”

“When you shoved a tequila shot in my hand at ten a.m. and said I was the perfect size for you to boss around?”

I smile at the memory for the second time today. “Yes.”

Olivia squeezes my hands. “I knew then too.”

“Mama! Auntie Cawa! Wook!” Ireland skids to a stop before us, pointing at the pink glitter Play-Doh hanging from both nostrils. “I gots boogies!”

“S TOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.”

Olivia blinks at me from her bed, where she’s propped up against a mountain of pillows, watching me finish my nighttime skincare routine. “Like what?”

“Like you wanna marry me.”

She cracks a wide smile. “We would’ve been okay, you and me.”

“Okay? Just okay?” I smooth my overnight lip mask on before tossing it in my makeup bag, gathering up the essentials, and taking a seat beside Olivia. Twisting her away from me, I start running my fingers through her brushed-out curls, weaving them into a thick French braid. “We would’ve been a dynamic power couple. People would have trembled whenever they saw us coming.”

She sighs as I tie off her braid. “There’s still time for us.”

I move in front of her, dabbing brightening and de-puffer serum beneath her eyes, spreading my favorite softening and firming serum over her face, topping it off with my holy grail soothing sleeping mask moisturizer. “I still think one day women are going to realize that most men are too emotionally immature to satisfy them, the ones that aren’t are unicorns who are already taken, that life is just generally more fulfilling with women who are largely capable of fulfilling the emotional needs of other women. That we don’t actually need men, just their sperm, and queer women everywhere will take over the world.” I whoop a fist through the air to really drive the point home. “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“I think that would solve, like, ninety percent of the world’s issues.”

“At least.” I throw my stuff back in my bag, collapsing next to Olivia with a sigh. “But we’d miss our unicorns.” I turn onto my side, trying to get comfortable. “Do you really need all these pillows?”

“I really need all these pillows, otherwise my organs will be crushed by the babies stealing all of my nutrients, energy, and willpower. That or I’ll vomit up fire.”

“Valid.” My gaze coasts to her belly like a magnet, my chest tightening as I watch those babies moving around in their cozy home. “Can I?” I ask quietly, and Olivia nods, taking my hand and guiding it to her belly.

“This is Twin A. A little bit bigger than B, and a lot more aggressive. Twin A will be born first, I just know it.” She moves my hand until it slides over something firm, and when it wiggles beneath me, I gasp and giggle. “Twin B. Docile. Gentle. But a Beckett nonetheless.”

She releases my hand, and I spend the next couple of minutes sliding it over her tummy, feeling the tiny souls below, nearly ready to come out. I marvel at the gift, the insanity of how something so miraculous is created out of something so little, and I hope that one day… that one day I get to feel it too.

When I look up at Olivia, blinking back my tears, I see hers sliding freely down her face.

“Tell me something,” she whispers. “Something you’re scared to say out loud.”

I open my mouth, but choke on the hesitation, shaking my head.

“Please, Care.”

“I would never wish what I’ve been through on anybody. Not my worst enemy and certainly not you. And yet sometimes… sometimes I wish I could give you my pain for just a minute. A single minute, not so that you hurt too, but to help you understand how much this has damaged me. I think that would make me feel less alone, and sometimes I wonder… if I felt less alone, would it make getting out of bed a little bit easier?” Shame forces my gaze down. “I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I always have been and always will be. I’m just… sad for me.”

Olivia catches my hand, squeezing it firmly until I look at her. “Every day I wish I could take your pain, help you hold it, just so that you’d feel like you had someone who understood. So you didn’t feel alone. I would do it in a heartbeat, Cara. I’d do anything for you.”

I sniffle, nodding, because truly, I know. Wanting to lighten the mood, I roll my eyes and say, “Good, because I might need your uterus.” I snicker, but Olivia doesn’t.

Olivia sits there, holding my hand and my gaze, all the love in the world loaded in those warm eyes.

“Oh, God, Liv. No! I was just… I was just joking!”

“I would,” she tells me softly. “If you decide to go that route… I would.”

A fist closes around my heart, squeezing. “Ollie…”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now. I just… I want you to know, that’s all. Wherever this road takes you and Emmett, Carter and I are here.”

I watch her carefully for a moment. “You two talked about this already.”

Pink dots her cheeks, and she nods.

I don’t know what to say. Truthfully, I’m not sure the words exist to tell her how much it means that they think about our journey on such a level that they’ve had this conversation and come to this conclusion together. That they would do something so life-changing and selfless… for us.

So instead, as we turn on the TV above the fireplace in time to catch the last two periods of the game, I snuggle next to her, her head on my shoulder, and mine on her head. When she complains about a headache that comes on so strong the lights burns her eyes, I get up to turn the lights off and rub her temples until she passes out. I know the boys will call when they get back to their hotel room, same as they always do, so I ask Emmett for a five-minute warning and start slipping out of bed when he delivers it.

Olivia stirs, groggy and yawning. “Where you going?” She lifts herself off the pillows, wincing and clutching her head. “Ah, fuck. My fucking head.”

“Here.” I hand her my glass of water. “Still bad, huh?”

“Worse, somehow.” She keeps her eyes squeezed shut as she chugs the water, one hand moving over her stomach. “Fuck, I feel nauseous.”

“Can I get you something? Tums?”

She waves me off, shifting herself higher on the pillows. “Probably just sleeping too low.” She stifles a yawn, but snaps awake when my phone rings. “Is that the boys?”

I nod. “I was going to take the call downstairs. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Olivia pats the spot next to her, so I slip back into the warmth, accepting the call as she lays her cheek on my shoulder.

“Ollie, if you guys have another baby, I need you to fucking find out the sex before it’s born,” Emmett bites out as the video connects, my man freshly showered, making me wish I was freshly fucked. He drags a hand down his tired face. “I cannot listen to your husband go on and on for months about what ‘limbs’ he may or may not see on the ultrasound pictures.” Tired blue eyes shift to me, and a grin so wide, so beautiful, splits Emmett’s face. “Hi, baby.”

“Carter, why do you not believe the ultrasound technicians when they assure you, over and over again, that the only pictures they give us are ones where you can’t see the sex?”

“Why, Ollie? Oh, I dunno. Maybe because they might be trying to pull a fast one on us. They think we don’t know enough to distinguish penis from vagina, but I know.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, head flopping so she can look at me. “Carter’s been doing a lot of research online. He thinks he’s a professional.”

“I’m just saying, I know what I saw.”

“And what did you see?” I ask, brows raised.

“Penis,” Emmett answers for him.

Carter nods. “Or penii, if you will.”

I’m afraid to ask, but: “Penii?”

“Penis, but plural. Penii.”

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Olivia claps a hand to her face, grumbling out something incoherent before glaring at him. “Carter, multiple penises are called penises , not penii !”

He crosses his arms over his chest and points his nose to the ceiling. “Some of us are more cultured than others, and it shows.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “It certainly does.”

I make a show of looking around the room. “Is the cultured person in the room with us?”

Emmett and Olivia bark out a laugh, and Carter narrows his gaze as he twists an Oreo apart, licking the icing. “That’s it. Laugh it up. I’ll be the one laughing when I’m rocking my two boys in my arms.”

I’m not sure how long we stay on the phone. One minute Carter’s pitching us Oreo flavor ideas, and next thing I know I’m waking up at the ass crack of dawn to Ireland singing a butchered version of “Livin’ on a Prayer” at the absolute top of her lungs.

I hoot and holler when she finishes, clapping as I yell out, “Again!” and Ireland happily obliges from down the hall as I slip out of the empty bed.

“Liv? Where are you?” My arms go above my head as I yawn, and when I hit the light in the bathroom, I find her hugging the toilet. “Oh shit.”

“I think I have a migraine,” she moans. “My head hurts so bad, I can’t stop vomiting. Everything is blurry.”

“Blurry?” I frown, kneeling at her side, my hand on her back as I look her over. “Hey,” I murmur as her breath turns staggered and frantic. “Breathe. Nice and slow, Ol. Breathe with me.”

“I—I… I can’t,” she cries, chest heaving. Her eyes come to mine, wide with fear. “I feel like I can’t… like I can’t… breathe. Cara, I—I—I… I can’t breathe.”

“Okay. It’s going to be okay, all right? I promise.” I shoot off a text to Jennie and her mom, asking if either of them can come watch Ireland, and then I soak a cloth in cool water, laying it over the back of Olivia’s neck. “Is your bag packed?”

She nods. “Closet.”

I find it sitting on a chair, opened and with a note from Olivia to herself, reminding her what last-minute things need to be added when it’s time to go. I busy myself finding each one of those things, tossing them inside.

“Where are we going?” Olivia croaks as I dial Carter, sticking my phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can hoist her to her feet.

“To the hospital.”

I ’VE NEVER BEEN A CATASTROPHIZER. I’ve always been exceptionally skilled at keeping my cool while everyone spirals around me. A God-given talent I’ve never had to think about.

I’m calm as I explain to Carter what’s happening, and I manage to reel him back in when he starts panicking by promising him that we’re getting an early flight home sorted for him.

I’m calm as I explain the situation to Jennie and Holly when they arrive to watch Ireland, and calm as I load Olivia in the car.

I’m calm as I relay the same details to her midwife when we meet her at the hospital, and again to the nurses and OBs who are eager to help.

I’m calm as Olivia clutches my hand while the doctors explain that she’s developed sudden and severe preeclampsia and they need to perform an emergency C-section as soon as possible.

I’m calm as I deliver the news to Carter, even as he cries over the phone, his anguish palpable when he finds out that there isn’t a flight that’s going to get him here in time to be next to Olivia, holding her hand through all of this.

I’m calm as I promise Olivia, over and over, that as scary as it is, it’s going to be okay. That we caught it in time, and she’s in the most capable hands. Her babies are going to be fine. She’s going to be fine.

But on the inside, I’m falling the fuck apart.

I’m terrified, exhausted, and barely hanging on. I’m pouring all of myself into Olivia, because she needs it so much more than I do.

And when she asks for Rosie, begs me to call her, to get her here, a strange sensation starts in my chest and flows outward. A heavy weight that sinks my heart. A voice in my head that reminds me I’m not enough. That I haven’t done enough. Give it up , it whispers, and when Rosie arrives at the hospital, a day past her own due date, and the two of them embrace, the voice grows louder.

Sure, Olivia said all she’d needed through her pregnancy was for me to show up in whatever capacity I was able to. But while I was obsessed with vitamins and cycle tracking and overhauling my entire life in an effort to magically fix my uterus, Rosie was there for her. Rosie saw it all, related to every minute of it.

I guess the one thing to come out of this is that I have no jealousy left. There’s no bitterness as I watch the two of them, how much closer they’ve gotten through their pregnancies. Just a deep-seated disappointment in myself for not being a better friend.

“Where are you going?”

I stop in the doorway, glancing over my shoulder. “I was just going to give you some space.”

Rosie tosses on her jacket before squeezing Olivia once more, stopping to hug me too. “She’s so lucky to have you,” she whispers in my ear, and then she’s gone.

“Where’s she going?”

Olivia points to the bag Rosie brought with her, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. “Rosie’s had a C-section before. She knows all the tips and tricks. She brought me some recovery essentials, and a few words of wisdom.” Olivia looks me over, a crease between her brows as she takes in my emotional state, which may or may not be physical too. She points to a bottle of water. “Chug that.”

“What?”

“Now.” With a charming grin, “Please.”

I do as I’m told, something I am 100 percent not used to.

“Thank you. I need you well hydrated. Can’t have you passing out on me.”

“Passing out on you?”

Olivia’s midwife joins us, hand on my shoulder as she steps around me, smiling at Olivia as she checks her vitals. “Five minutes to showtime, Mama. You’re going to do so great.” She disappears into a closet, producing a set of blue scrubs, passing them to me. “Cara, let’s get you scrubbed in.”

“Scrubbed what?” My head whips back and forth between the midwife and Olivia. “What am I scrubbing?”

“Scrubbing in,” Olivia replies simply. “For surgery. If my husband can’t be here, there’s only one other person in this entire world I want holding my hand through this.”

I point at myself, my nose stinging as I shift on my feet. The two-letter word is barely a breath. “Me?”

“ You . Feel like delivering a couple of babies today?”

I don’t think I ever answered the question, truthfully. I did what I seem to do best these days: burst into tears.

N OW I’ M STANDING UNDER LIGHTS that are far too bright, in a sterile room that is far too white, watching Olivia throw up in a tiny pan while she’s lying on her back, except she’s missing most of the pan and throwing up all over her midwife’s hand.

“I had Taco Bell last night,” she cries, then vomits again. “ I’m so sorry! ” Another round. “I don’t understand how there’s even anything left!”

This feels like an inopportune moment to tell the midwife that I’m actually responsible for the Taco Bell, so I just keep squeezing Olivia’s hand, wiping her face with a wet cloth every time she vomits. My phone is set up in the corner of the room, recording everything so Carter can watch later. I turn to it, giving it a big thumbs-up and a wide grin. “She’s doing so great!”

I say that loosely, of course. Olivia was not, in fact, calm for her spinal, and as someone who’s terrified of normal-sized needles, I was no help when they pulled out that bad boy. It took less than two minutes for Olivia to no longer be able to feel her legs, and approximately thirty seconds after they laid her down—explaining that a spinal tap can sometimes cause upset stomachs—for her to vomit.

When the vomiting subsides and she’s cleaned up, the OB standing behind the curtain that blocks her torso from view looks up. “How you feeling, Olivia? Ready to welcome two more to your crew?”

“Two more,” she murmurs, as if it’s only sinking in now. Her gaze swings to me, fearful and red-rimmed as her chest heaves. “What if I’m not ready? Care, oh my God, am I ready? Two. Two. That’s… two plus one is…”

“Three,” I whisper, smoothing her hair back. “Three babies. And two adults. Well, one adult, and one adult-child.” She chokes out a laugh, and I smile. “Your family of three is growing by two today, and you? You. Are. Ready.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you have a whole community surrounding you. And nobody does things alone here, right?”

“Never alone.” Her grip tightens around mine when the OB announces that she’s making the first cut into Olivia’s abdomen. “Tell me something,” she demands for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“The entire labor and delivery team in this room right now is women. I’m having a very proud feminist moment. Remember what I said about women taking over the world? I think this is it. This is where it begins.”

She rolls her eyes. “Something you’re scared to say out loud, Cara.”

And this time, as she lies there on the OR table, scared out of her mind and desperate for a distraction, I comply without hesitation, blurting out exactly what she’s asked for.

“There’s this little boy from Second Chance Home that Emmett and I can’t stop thinking about, and I don’t know what I’m even thinking, but-but-but… do you think we’d be horrible foster parents?”

“Foster parents?” Olivia’s gaze warms. “Horrible? Care, are you kidding me? Can you even imagine how lucky the kid who got saddled with you two for any amount of time would be? There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’d be incredible. That you’d change lives for the better.”

“My heart hurts so much,” I admit on a whisper. “What if it’s too broken to love them the way they need?”

Olivia shakes her head, her breathing slow as the delivery team works, gently explaining each step. “We think of heartbreak like it’s the end, and I know it feels like that in the moment. But the older I get, the more I look back at all my old heartbreaks and realize they were just the beginning. Another door opening, a chance for us to know ourselves better than we ever did before. That part of you will always hurt, but maybe it’s also the foundation you build on. Maybe it’s where you honor the person you were, and where you fall in love with who you are now. So don’t you dare undermine what that heart of yours is capable of. It can bend, it can break, and still, it will do all of those things in the name of love.”

Sniffling, I look away in an attempt not to cry. At two inches shy of six feet, that means my eyes clear the curtain and accidentally land on my best friend’s open torso. “Oh, Jesus fuck.” Turning to the camera, I tell future Carter, “Your wife is in the middle of birthing two babies via major surgery, and she’s out here delivering sage wisdom. What the fuck have you been putting in her coffee?”

Olivia snorts a tired laugh. “I think you’d make an amazing foster mom.”

The doctor looks up, nodding at the midwife and me, indicating that it’s time.

I squeeze Olivia’s hand. “And I think you’re ready to welcome two more to your crew.”

Glancing over the curtain, I watch as hands reach inside Olivia’s incision, emerging slowly with a head, and I can’t help but giggle. “Carter’s going to be surrounded by all these dark curls,” I tell her softly as I brush a stray one back beneath her surgical cap.

Her chest heaves, wide eyes moving back and forth while she waits.

And when she hears that cry? The first one that pierces the air, breathes new life into the entire room? Her eyes fall shut, her chest deflates, and her body shakes as she sobs with relief.

“Auntie,” one of the nurses calls, and when I look up, she’s holding a perfect, tiny, wrinkly baby out to me.

My head whips back and forth between the nurse and Olivia. “M-me?”

Olivia smiles. “You.”

“Are you—”

“Sure. I’m sure, Cara.”

I step closer, fingers curling into my palms as my heart thuds a wild beat. Tears gather in my eyes as I take the newest Beckett carefully into my arms, and I swear my entire world spins to a stop. Never in my life have I been trusted with something so tiny, so fresh and new, so fucking precious, and that knowledge… it pushes me over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” I weep, sweeping the edge of my finger over soft, plump cheeks, brushing back thick, dark curls. “You are your mama’s twin.”

The youngest Beckett enters the world a moment later with a single cry of protest, like this whole “early birth” thing has been entirely inconvenient.

“Oh man,” I chuckle, grinning down as the second is slid into my full arms. “We are never, ever gonna hear the end of this from your daddy, are we? No, we’re most definitely not. But let’s go meet your mama, huh? Let’s go meet the most special, beautiful person in your world.”

I inch up the side of the bed at the literal pace of a snail, tears streaming down my cheeks with no sign of stopping. I can’t stop grinning, but neither can Olivia, staring up at us with so much love it’s truly staggering.

“Congratulations, Mama,” I whisper. “Two perfect boys.”

C ARTER ARRIVES AN HOUR LATER, skidding into the room, eyes bloodshot and wild. He deflates the moment he finds Olivia, passed out in bed, one hand on the bassinet that houses their sleeping twins. His gaze lingers on them so long, jaw flexing, shoulders rolling, like he’s releasing years of tension.

That stare coasts to me next, and the utter appreciation that shines in it brings warmth to my cheeks.

“Congratulations, Dada,” I murmur, smiling up at him from where my chin rests on the other side of the bassinet, the older of the Beckett twins gripping my finger as he sleeps. “They’re perfect.”

Carter’s bag thuds to the floor, and he rounds the bed, hauling me to my feet and into his suffocating hold. He pulls back, hands on either side of my face, emerald eyes shining with tears. “Thank you, Cara. Thank you.”

Then, he releases me. Kneels at his wife’s bed. Takes her hand between both of his, presses it to his chest as she stirs, and he cries.

Grabbing my things, I give them their privacy as I wander the hospital, grab a bite to eat, and eventually pass out in one of the waiting rooms. I’m not sure what time it is when I’m woken by footsteps, a soft voice whispering a quiet greeting, but when a deep, all-too-familiar voice returns that greeting, I rocket up in my seat, nearly hammering the owner of that voice in the nose with my head.

“Emmett.” I scramble to my knees, launching myself into his arms. “Emmett, you should’ve… you should’ve… I—I—I… it was incredible !”

He chuckles, a soft, low sound that warms my insides, and grabs my shaking hands in his. “You were amazing, according to Carter and Ollie.” He tucks my messy hair behind my ears, inclining his head toward the door, where the midwife waits with a smile. “They want us to be the first to officially meet them.”

I’m off the chair before he finishes the sentence, yanking him to his feet.

Their room is dark and quiet, the soft lights on either side of the bed giving the space a peaceful glow. I go to Olivia first, crushing her face against mine as we cling to each other.

“You saw my insides,” she whispers.

“I saw your insides,” I confirm.

“Was it gross?”

“Beautiful. Also, gross.”

Olivia snickers, tangling her fingers with mine as she looks at me. Tears build between us as years of memories swirl, and Olivia rests her forehead against mine. “There are so many things I’m grateful for, but at the end of the day, what I wish everybody had in life is their own Cara. I am who I am because you are who you are, and because you love the way you love. Thank you, Cara.”

When I’m emotionally stable enough to hold a baby—just kidding, I’ll never be emotionally stable again after that—I make my way to the chairs below the dark window, Emmett’s hand low on my back as he follows, and we sit together.

Carter looks every bit as exhausted as you’d expect, but there’s a spark in his eyes and that smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth that tells me how alive he feels. That, and he’s decked out in his DILF gear.

“Oh! That reminds me.” Emmett reaches into his bag, producing a small gift bag. “Just something small the guys and I put together for you.”

Carter opens the bag, pulling out the clothes inside. A T-shirt each for Carter and Olivia, TROUBLEMAKER scrawled across them, a mini T-shirt perfectly sized for an almost-two-year-old princess, and two teensy onesies, the three of them with the same word: TROUBLE .

Carter drops the shirts across his hips, eyes watering. “Thanks, man. This… this means a lot. You have no idea.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, and I swallow my snort.

“Hey, don’t you guys have that family photoshoot planned in March?” Emmett waggles his brows, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Carter gasps. “Ollie! You said you wanted matching outfits. This is perfect!”

“Yes,” she mutters. “So perfect. I’ll have to give you a proper thank-you once I’m back on my feet, Emmett.”

Emmett’s smile drops. He leans closer to me. “Baby… Ollie just threatened me.”

“You knew what you were doing.” I shake my fists excitedly as Carter effortlessly scoops up the twins, one cradled in each arm.

“Been practicing this little move with sacks of flour for three months. Pretty sweet, huh? I’ve got another trick up my sleeve, but Ollie says—”

“Ollie says the babies are almost four weeks premature and barely five pounds,” Olivia says sternly. “And that Daddy needs to wait much, much longer before he starts showing off all his tricks.”

“Yeah, that.” Carter sighs, stopping in front of us. “You guys remember how to hold a baby? Ireland’s indestructible now, so she doesn’t count.”

My eyes narrow. “Carter, I held both of them, at the same time, when they were a minute old and covered in slime.”

“Okay, well, now they’re slime-free, so be sure to adjust for that.”

I roll my eyes, but grip Emmett’s bicep as Carter slides one of his sons into his arms. There is something about big, strong men holding teensy babies that I will simply never, ever get over.

“Hey, little buddy,” Emmett whispers, stroking his face, and I know without a doubt that it’s the younger twin, because in addition to their daddy’s dimples, which both of them have in their cheeks, this one also has his daddy’s dimple in his tiny chin. “I’m your uncle Emmett. I love you so much already.”

Carter smiles. “This is Brodie.”

Emmett stills. He looks up at Carter, Olivia. Tears well in his eyes. “Brodie?”

“Uh-huh. Named after someone special.”

“Oh, fuck.” I flap at my eyes. “How dare you guys? How dare you? I am not emotionally stable enough for you to name a baby after Emmett.”

Carter grins. “Oh, then this is really gonna wreck you.” He slips the older twin into my arms, and every noise in my head quiets as I stare down at the sweet face I held hours ago. As those teensy tiny fingers wrap around one of mine, I swear everyone can hear the way my heart thunders in my chest.

But then Carter says, “You already know her, buddy, but officially, we want you to meet your auntie Cara. Auntie Cara, meet Hunter.”

And I don’t know what it is about those words, about the fact that my best friends named one of their children after me . I can’t explain what that does to me, the pride it sends surging through me, the way it silences every damn voice in my head that wants me to second-guess everything about myself, and replaces it with two words. Two words on repeat. A gentle reminder, a firm truth.

You’re enough.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT is, but when we’re lying in bed two hours later, the rest of the world fast asleep, my mind at peace for the first time in so long, my heart beats a steady, powerful beat, reminding me that my strength isn’t a measure of how badly I’ve been hurt, or whether I keep trying, but rather how I keep on loving in spite of those things. That this heart can be bruised and broken and still be as beautiful as it was before this. That it still has a world to offer.

And for the first time in too long, I believe it.

“Emmett?” I whisper into the dark, his heart humming quietly below my ear.

“Firefly.”

“I’d like to talk about fostering Abel.”