Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (49 page)

I stop him with my hand. “Okay, that’s not my point. Do you want my gift or not?”

He nods excitedly. “I sure the hell do, baby. Lay it on me.” He holds his hands out expectantly, and I smile because he has no clue what’s coming.

I take his hand and place it on my lower belly. He smiles and looks at me, still anticipating his gift. Suddenly, realization dawns on his face.

“No way…” he says softly.

Tears start to prick my eyes, and one escapes, sliding down my cheek.

“No fucking way!” he shouts, this time with tears in his eyes as well.

I nod imperceptibly. “Owen, we’re going to have another baby.”

I hear a sob, and while I expected it to be from me, I realize that it’s coming from my husband. He leans down and scoops me into his arms, squeezing me and spinning me around. When I was pregnant with Drew, he never would have done this, but he’s an old pro now.

He finally puts me down. “Our family is growing,” he says with reverence and an exaggerated sniffle.

“Yes, we are,” I murmur as I lean in to kiss him.

Owen grabs my wrist and drags me into the main room. “Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell are having a baby!”

The crowd cheers, and the love in the room is palpable. In this moment, I think we both realize that true love and happy endings can exist.

THE END

A VERY SPECIAL THANK you to some important people that have helped to make this book a reality.

Thank you to Robin Harper of Wicked by Design. Your ability to see our vision and willingness to listen to our concerns and tweaks make you an easy to choice for us to work with. You go above and beyond for us and we cannot thank you enough.

Mickey Reed, our editor from Mickey Reed Editing, thank you for your positive encouragement and direction. We continue to learn from you and you help us to be better writers.

Anna Gorman Coy and Jacquelyn Ayres, our proof-readers, thank you for being our extra set of eyes and for calling our attention to things were overlooked.

Stacey Ryan Blake, our formatter from Champagne Formats, thank you for helping to make our dream a beautiful reality.

To our beta readers, Kimberly, Stefanie, Jamie, Heather and Mara, thank you for pointing out areas that worked, things that needed some attention and gushing about parts that you loved. You helped to boost our confidence and made us feel like we were on to something great.

Thank you to the bloggers and fans who have helped to promote Zoe Norman and our books. We would not be able to continue pursuing our dream without your encouragement. A special thanks to Wendy and Claire at Bare Naked Words. You both have promoted us and supported us with such enthusiasm and class.

To the VIPs in Room 73, thank you for being our cheerleaders and your continual help in promoting us on social media…and for the man-candy too. Please know that we appreciate all of you.

We would be remiss if we didn’t acknowledge our fellow indie writers who have been a source of information, inspiration and support. There are many of you and each of you hold a special place in our hearts. We heart you big time.

Craig, thank you for your help with firefighter procedure. You’ve been a great help on the last two books. Thank you.

But perhaps most of all, we want to thank our families. Jason and the girls, our parents, siblings and friends—you give us encouragement and indulge us with time and love and support. We’re just two women with an obsession for books and you allow us to embark on this amazing adventure. We love you.

ZOE NORMAN IS THE pen name for Heidi Haveman and Stephanie Krulewitz, two women with one very important thing in common—their love of good erotic romance novels. After a year of writing fanfiction and developing a swoon worthy friendship from across the country, the decision was made to write their own novel. During that time, they developed a habit of texting each other daily and being marveled that one brain could span from one coast to the other. Stephanie lives with her husband, two daughters and two dogs, Sophie and Zoe. Heidi lives with her spoiled dog, Norman.

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Other Books by
Zoe Norman

Rescue Breathing

The Breathe Series – Book One

Amazon US:
http://amzn.to/1s3s9D6

Amazon UK:
http://amzn.to/1pBMSQe

Amazon CA:
http://amzn.to/1qlsByw

Amazon AU:
http://bit.ly/UGcBKC

Bonus Excerpt

Pulling a compact out of my small clutch purse, I finally bring my eyes up for one last look in the mirror. I told myself—convinced myself, really—that I was just popping into the bathroom to check my appearance a final time. As I stare into my green eyes (my first qualification for this job), I realize I’m in here to have a conference call with my sanity. Clearly it went bankrupt and closed up shop, like most of the country, because there’s no answer. My sanity is gone . . . replaced by desperation and a mother’s instinctive need to provide for her children.

I lay my palms on the cool marble countertop and take in a few cleansing yoga breaths like my friend Ava always recommends. Apparently, I freak out too much—so she says.

“Okay, Charley . . . put your big-girl pants on. You can do this.” Sometimes you need to just act bravely so you convince yourself you are. Of course, I have to push away the thought of my big-girl pants being pulled off later. I sweep a few wisps of hair off my temple. Thank God Ava was able to do my hair.
Must look sophisticated, yet approachable.
One of many qualifications needed for this job. Ava had parted my long brown hair to the left, then crowned the sides with tight French braids ‘til every strand was pulled to the back. There, she created a mass production of neat pin curls at the top of my neck. It looks great for the office or a night out on the town. “Sophisticated, yet approachable.”
Good job, Ava!

I step back for one more glance to make sure everything is in place. I’m wearing a black silk draped dress by alice + olivia. I never would’ve randomly spent this much on a designer dress, but luckily my Aunt Clara has more money than sense. She loves her some Saks Fifth Avenue! However, Aunt Clara shops blindly for people. I don’t know about my cousins, but my sisters and I always end up with a store credit of anywhere from three hundred to fifteen hundred dollars, depending on the occasion for the gift.

The last big “occasion” was my husband leaving me six months ago with three kids and no pot to piss in. Said he was “tired of society and government.” He didn’t want this—any of it. He was going to live off the land. I’ve since learned that in Europe, they call this “going on a walkabout.” To this day, I have no idea about where he’s been walking.
Asshole!

Aunt Clara, out of the goodness of her heart, sent me an Armani silk jumpsuit for my hardship; only cost her $1,700. Problem solved! I finally had something special to wear to all my “special” appointments—you know, WIC, fuel assistance, food stamps, and other programs that assist the needy. What would I possibly do with $1,700 in my pocket? Pay the mortgage? More money than sense, that one!

Punctuality is a must!
Shit! I look at my phone—phew! Two minutes to spare. One more deep breath before I walk out of the bathroom and head to the bar in the Ames Hotel. Funny—until a few days ago, I never even knew this hotel existed. Then again, I don’t usually have a reason to stay overnight in Boston’s financial district. “Please don’t be old and bald . . . or creepy . . . or . . . eck . . .” I chant to myself. “Please have kind eyes and a kind heart.” I lower the bar. Small steps.

As instructed, I head over to the table in the far left corner and take a seat. So much for “punctuality”—where the hell is he?

“Scotch on the rocks and a glass of your best Merlot,” I say, looking up from my phone. The bartender nods and goes about my order. I slide my phone into the inside pocket of my jacket and glance impatiently at my watch. She’d better be punctual! Biggest pet peeve—one minute late and I’m out of here! I grab my scotch before the bartender can place it down, swirl it around, and take a good swig.

“Waiting on a girl?” he asks.

“Aren’t we all?” I smirk.

“Pretty much.” He laughs. “Well this one must be special . . . you seem nervous.”

“It’s complicated.”

“When isn’t it, dude?” He shakes his head, wiping the bar down.

“True.” I smile, partly because he has no idea about my type of complicated.

“Damn,” he says as he glances over my shoulder. I look up at him. His mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and wild-looking, seeping with desire that only another guy would catch. I follow his eyes and my breath hitches.
Holy shit . . . please be Charlotte
, I think as I watch her make her way through the lounge. I feel the corners of my lips curve up with satisfaction when she seats herself exactly where I was hoping she would.