“Justin, look!” I tell him as we step around the high school. Justin is still in the Baby Bjorn, strapped to my chest and facing out. I’m holding Rachel’s hand. Which feels amazing. I’m slowly realizing I don’t think I’ve held anyone else’s hand before Rachel’s.

It’s so fucking nice.

“That’s a school bus, Jus. When you get bigger, you’ll go to school like the big kids, and that’s how you’ll get there,” Rachel tells him.

I’m sure he has no idea what she’s saying, but he bounces with excitement anyway. And maybe it’s just the little kid in me, but I don’t see how anyone couldn’t think this was awesome. Fire trucks, police cruisers, backhoes, school buses—plus loads and loads of other kids, running around and providing extra visual entertainment.

And apparently Justin is a huge fan, because he goes from bouncing to kicking and—

I double over, clutching my junk and groaning.

“Brody?”

Rachel is leaning over us, understandably concerned.

“Gah——d—daaang—it. He kicked me in the balls.”

She’s trying not to laugh, and I’m trying not to die.

“Fu—g. Fuh, gah.”

Now she’s definitely laughing. “Son of a biscuit always works for me in a pinch,” she offers.

I glare at her, and she makes a contrite face.

I turn my glare on Justin, who is all big-eyed innocence. “He got bigger since the last time I had him in this thing.” I slowly straighten up, still trying to tamp down that bone-deep sick feeling that comes with taking a shot to the jewels.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I will be. In a year or so.”

“Want me to take him?” She holds out her arms.

I unfasten one side of the Bjorn and pass Justin to Rachel.

“Do you want the carrier?”

Working the carrier requires some serious advanced skill, and it takes both Rachel and me using all the contents of our big noggins several minutes to get the carrier on her chest and Justin in the carrier.

“Did you do that on purpose?” she asks when I brush my fingers over her nipple, which is taut and peaked under her tight-fitting t-shirt.

“I may have.” I grin lazily at her, then lean down and kiss her over Justin’s head. He is still kicking madly, so I keep one hand loosely cupped near my crotch, just in case I want to give him fun cousins one day.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, her eyes roaming over the screen. She smiles, then bites her lip.

“What is it?”

“My mom got a clean bill of health at the doctor’s. She’s off crutches.”

“Oh, that’s great!” I say reflexively, before I realize: It’s not so great. It means Rachel can go back to Boston.