Blue Ribbon

Epilogue

Three years later...

Lilly's POV

This is all his fault.

The thought echoed in my mind as I glared down at Chase, who was peacefully knocked out beside me, probably dreaming about airplanes and sex, totally unaware. Meanwhile, I was wide awake, staring at the ceiling, with a tiny human somersaulting on my bladder and stretching my insides like they were a personal trampoline.

This is all his damn fault.

The temptation to either slap him awake or shove him off the bed was getting more appealing by the second. I sighed dramatically, loud enough to possibly stir him, but no—he was still blissfully unaware. Of course, he was. While I was over here, in my third trimester, swollen and sleep-deprived, Chase was lost in la-la-land, completely oblivious.

I groaned, feeling my throat parched and dry. I reached over to grab my water bottle from the nightstand only to discover it was empty. Of course, it was. Just my luck. Now I had to waddle all the way downstairs to refill it. Fantastic.

I glanced back at Chase, narrowing my eyes as I watched him sleep like a baby. He should be the one doing the waddling. After all, he's the reason I'm carrying around a bowling ball-sized baby. Yet here he is, snoring softly, dead to the world. You'd think he was the one lugging around a few extra kilos in his stomach.

Men really do have it easy, don't they?

I contemplated how thirsty I was, but considering I'd been to the bathroom ten times in the last hour, my body was practically dehydrated.

Muttering curses under my breath, I attempted to roll out of bed. It was less of a graceful exit and more like watching a turtle flip itself off its back, but eventually, I made it to my feet. Barely. My back protested with every movement as I grabbed the empty bottle and shuffled toward the door, the ache creeping down my spine.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, which was softly lit by the nightlights my mom insisted on, as if I were a toddler who might trip over my own feet. Which, at this point, wasn't entirely inaccurate.

Since I was due any day now, my parents had practically demanded that we stay with them for the final week, just in case Chase had to hop on a last-minute flight. Heaven forbid I go into labor alone and end up giving birth on the kitchen floor or something.

I made my way down the stairs, one slow, achy step at a time, grumbling about my pregnant predicament. By the time I reached the kitchen, I felt like I'd run a marathon. I paused in front of the fridge, hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath. Who knew making life could be so damn exhausting?

I filled my water bottle, chugging half of it in one go like I'd just crossed the Sahara Desert. There was no way I was going back upstairs just yet—too much effort. So, I plopped down on one of the kitchen stools, sighing heavily as I took another long sip, savoring the cold water.

After a couple of minutes, I heard footsteps get near. My eyes flickered to the entrance, watching as Dad paused, he rubbed at his eye, clearing his vision before his eyebrows pulled closer. He edged closer to me, "What's wrong?" He asked, ready to fuss over me, "Are you okay?"

I nodded and lifted my water bottle, "Just thirsty," I mumbled.

His gaze flickered around before it found me again, "And why isn't your dear husband doing his one and only job which is attending to your every need?" He asked, eyebrow raising in annoyance and he seemed ready to go up and drag Chase out of bed himself.

I smiled and shook my head, "He has been working really hard lately, I didn't want to wake him up," I said, true I was bitching about him peacefully sleeping but yeah, he needed that rest too, "Also, I can get myself water, it's not that hard," It was fucking exhausting but I am not willing to admit that out loud, it makes me feel old.