1. Peyton

1

The four of us enter the fertility clinic. Noah holds the door open for Elle and me, and Ben brings up the rear. Everyone in the waiting room stares, and I can only imagine what they're thinking—here come the swingers. It would be laughable if I hadn't read a book about swingers and how one ended up pregnant, which was a major no-no according to the pact or contract each person signed. As much as I hate to admit it, the story was a page turner. Mostly in the sense I had to know what the hell was going to happen, and the sex scenes were hot. I made Noah try a few of them out. He was game at first until shit turned a bit freaky and he asked if I wasn't happy in our relationship. Talk about hurting his feelings and embarrassing myself in one fell swoop. Noah apologized and offered to read it with me, but I declined and deleted the book. I didn't need to know how it ended.

Still, I can't help but wonder what the people in this room are thinking when they see the four of us walk in. The guys take a seat while Elle and I go to check in. What we're doing is unconventional, but on par with how our lives are.

"Hello," I say when we get to the counter. "I'm Peyton Westbury and this is my sister, Elle Miller. We have a consultation today."

The receptionist smiles, types, and then hands us each a clipboard to fill out. "Are Noah and Ben here as well?"

We nod.

"Great. We'll call them back shortly."

"For what?" Elle asks.

"A sample," she says.

"Ben shoots blanks," Elle says. I have to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. What Ben went through isn't funny, and I don't mean to laugh, except he and Elle crack jokes about it all the time. They're comfortable with the comedic relief and they need to see we're laughing with them. "His spunk is already on reserve."

"Elle . . ." I grit my teeth as I say her name. She looks at me and shrugs. She doesn't like the "words" as she calls them. They're clinical and too scientific for her.

The receptionist probably wishes she stayed home instead of dealing with the likes of us. She goes back to her computer and presses a few more keys and then nods. "Yes, I see that now. Okay, we'll call Noah back shortly."

I thank her and drag my sister away.

Elle sits down next to Ben. It's nice to see them on the same page, finally. They've both struggled with acceptance—Elle having a famous father and Ben being an outsider, their careers, and finding their footing when one has felt unequal in their relationship. Their break—as Elle calls it—thankfully was short-lived, and now we're planning their wedding. Actually, it's a vow renewal since these two got hitched in a hospital room and then paid the nurse off to allow them some "alone time" in the room. I don't even want to know how many health code violations my sister and her husband broke that day.

"The receptionist said they're going to call you back for a sample," I tell Noah.

"You're going to jack off to porn and dump your seed into a cup," Ben says, as if the room isn't filled with other people.

"Jesus Christ," Noah mutters, while I try to hide behind my clipboard. "A little tact."

Ben laughs and man slaps Noah on his shoulder. Maybe this wasn't the best idea I've ever had, but I thought in some odd way, it would be fun for us to do this together. Well, mostly Elle and me. I know the last thing Noah wants is to have to make another deposit into a cup, among other things. He's already gone for testing once to see where the issue of infertility is. He's definitely not the issue. It's all me and all a result of the car accident. The eggs are there, but the scarring I have is too much work for the egg and sperm to meet.

And then there's the question of whether I can even carry a baby.

Sigh.

We've done all the research on IVF, the side effects, the pain and agony, the hope and despair. I've gone back to counseling to help with what I'm feeling—the hopelessness and failures as a woman and a wife—the burden I've put on my shoulders and on Noah. He doesn't like to see me hurt or in pain, and yet that's what I'm going to be in, no matter what.

I want to carry our baby in my womb. I know it may not be possible, but I have to try. If this fails . . . if my body betrays me, we'll look for a surrogate. It's not what I want though, especially since it won't be my sister, and I'm having a hard time accepting it may be my only option.

A nurse comes out, stares at the clipboard in her hand, and calls Noah's name without even looking up. It's easy to see she's done this a time or two and could be tired of the redundancy. Or maybe I'm looking too deeply. For all I know, she's having a bad day and wants to go back to the comfort of her home. Like me.

Noah groans. I squeeze his hand in a silent thank you. Men look at us. At him. They recognize Noah and my heart sinks. Someone will undoubtedly Tweet or X this and everyone will know we're struggling. Except it's me; Noah isn't. His swimmers are strong and ready for the job. Today, we'll find out if my eggs are willing to party with his sperm. It's the best way I can describe it because like Elle, the scientific words annoy me.

If it wasn't for the crash . . .

"Peyton?"

My sister's voice pulls me from a memory I don't want to look back on. I glance at her. "Yeah?"

"You good?"

I nod and offer her a kind smile. She was there when I had the surgery to repair some of the damage to my pelvic area. My sister held my hand throughout my recovery and never left my side. At times, I felt bad for Noah because he wanted to be my constant presence, but Elle was steadfast in her support. I see a side of Elle no one else does. Many think she's selfish and only cares about herself. Those people are wrong. My sister will walk through fire for those she loves. She just has a hard time showing it to outsiders.

For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of us having babies at the same time, but it won't happen. Sure, they'll be close in age. Maybe weeks apart if we're lucky.

If I'm lucky.

Elle's process is going to be the same, yet we both suspect she won't have an issue getting pregnant. Ben had his sperm harvested prior to his surgery and chemotherapy, which was smart of him to do. The doctors will extract her eggs much like they will with mine. We'll both have implantation and then wait.

Still, aside from Noah, this isn't how I pictured becoming a mother. Not sitting in a waiting room with strangers who casually look up from their phones and then at us. I don't need to be a genius to know they're searching the web to confirm their suspicions. Our dad is famous. It's not like we stayed out of the spotlight. My husband is famous in the sports world.

It dawns on me as I look at Elle and Ben, that we could very well have a mix-up. My heart races as imaginary scenes play out in my mind. What if the clinic gives me her eggs or puts Ben's sperm with my eggs?

Lord help me.

I look at the people across from us, and then the others along the walls. I take in the posters of pregnant mothers, with the expectant fathers, and partners, trying to get all the wrong thoughts out of my mind. The people here are professionals. It's their job to pay attention to detail. Unfortunately, I catch the gazes of a few people and while everyone in here has the same goal, I feel like I'm being scrutinized.

Elle stands and goes to the counter. I push off the arms of the chair to follow, but Ben puts his hand on my arm and shakes his head slightly. I don't question him. Elle's protective of me and, by default, Ben is as well.

When my sister returns, she reaches for my hand. "Come on," she says. I stand and allow her to tug me behind her, with Ben following. We're shown into a room . . . the room!

"Um—" The walls are painted a muted pink or what could've been mauve when it was the fad of the late eighties and early nineties. The paint desperately needs to be refreshed. On the coffee table, stacks of magazines, some are open showing naked women, while the television displays a pornographic movie.

"It's private," Elle says. "We don't have to watch porn."

I can't believe she's cracking another joke.

"You were feeling a bit uneasy out there," she says. I nod. "So, we're going to wait here until our appointment."

"I'm not sure I want to sit down," I tell her. Ben steps around me and picks up a magazine off the table. I expect Elle to smack him, but she doesn't. My eyes widen at her in a gesture that's meant to ask her what the hell is he doing, yet she ignores me. I'm about to say something, even though he's not my husband. Except when I open my mouth, words fail me. Ben's not looking through the photos. He's turning the magazines over so we don't have to see the covers.

"You're the best," Elle says as she gives him a kiss.

I grab a handful of paper towels and set them on the seat. Elle and Ben do the same. "My mind is going places it shouldn't. Is this the type of room Noah's in? I didn't ask him last time because deep down I don't think I wanted to know about him touching . . ." Nope, not going there. Honestly, they should let wives in with the men, then the process can be enjoyable for both.

Ben nods. "Yep. If I turn the TV on, you're going to see things you wish you hadn't."

"Yeah, let's not. Peyton's having enough of a crisis right now."

She's not wrong. Although is it much different from reading about it in books? Maybe Noah should read something with me and then we can talk about it, maybe even experiment.

"It's the people," I say. "The stares and then their faces when they realize who we are."

"I'm surprised it bothers you," Elle says.

I shrug. "It normally doesn't, but this is private. I suppose we should've made better arrangements."

"That's on me," Elle says. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. This is the doctor Ben used before his surgery and it made sense for us to come here. I should've asked for something after hours."

"It's fine," I tell her.

The door opens and Noah walks in. His cheeks are red. It's his . . . face though, the expression on it, and I immediately regret having my sister and her husband at this meeting. "Hey, did everything—" I cut myself off, unable to ask him if everything went okay. This isn't the first time he's had to leave a sample. This is just the important one.

Noah comes to me and leans down. "Everything went fine." He kisses the spot where my ear and cheek meet, then stands and clears his throat. "Uh, why are you in this room?"

"It's very peopley out there," Elle says.

I'm surprised Ben didn't shout that we wanted to watch porn or something.

"Ah," Noah says. He reaches for my hand and holds it while standing next to me. "The nurse said she'd be in to get us shortly."

"Do you want to sit?" I stand and offer him my seat. He takes it and then pulls me down onto his lap. I nestle into his chest and breathe him in. His familiar scent is a natural aphrodisiac for me. From the time I knew what it was like to feel something for someone, it's always been Noah. Anytime he was near me, his cedarwood after-shave has caused my lady bits to sing, dance, and beg for his attention. I've been attracted to one other person, but it was nothing like this. Noah gives me butterflies. He always has, and I suspect he always will. It's in his eyes and the way he looks at me. It's in his touch, even the subtle ones like when he reaches for my hand at night or grips my hips mid-thrust. Even his voice, when he says my name or calls me babe, can turn me into a wanton woman, willing to stop what I'm doing just to be in his embrace.

Noah rests his hand on my stomach, protecting what's there and not there, yet. There isn't a doubt in my mind he's going to be the most amazing father. It's me who I worry about. The irrational fear I have about the world, life, and society. My therapist assures me I'll be a good mother, but words and actions are different. I already feel like a letdown.

The door opens, and the nurse comes in. She sits down without reservation, making me question her sanity. She knows what goes on in this room and if she thinks for one second men are cleaning up after themselves, she's sorely mistaken.

"I'm Dakota, as I understand it you want to have your consultation together?"

"Yes," Elle says. "We figured we'd save time. Obviously, my sister and I don't need to be on the table at the same time."

"Right, your sister?" The nurse looks at her file. Noah and Ben stifle a hard laugh while I look at Elle, knowing my eyes are bugging out.

"Yeah, she's my twin. Don't you think we look alike?" Elle asks.

Noah can't contain his laughter.

Dakota looks up from her file. She eyes Elle, then me. "I can tell you apart," she says with so much enthusiasm I want to believe her. Teachers we had for years had trouble telling us a part, which Elle used to her advantage. A lot.

"No, you can't," Ben chimes in. "You don't even know them."

Dakota's cheeks redden and briefly I feel sorry for her, but it's obvious—Elle and I are identical twins. Over the years, we've tried to change our looks and have failed. She cut six inches off her hair once and called me while I was at the salon, sitting in the chair, getting six inches cut off mine. We figured, what's the point? The important people in our lives know the difference, and with us living in different states, it's really not an issue.

Until now.

"Well, let's go meet the doctor."