Saturday: October 11, 2025
8:00 AM; CLINSTONE, THE AUSTEN-TAYLOR HOUSEHOLD, KITCHEN
“Thank you. We’ll see you then,” Bo said. “Thank you,” he repeated. “Bye.” He ended the call, holding his phone to his chest as he closed his eyes.
“Well?” Jensen questioned.
“We have to go in on Monday to see how many of the eggs are viable,” Bo said. He opened his eyes, lifting them to Jensen’s face. “Or if any are, really.”
“Okay, let’s be hopeful, you pessimistic little shithead,” Jensen said. Bo snorted. “And then what?”
“Then we decide how many embryos to transfer. Two or three, probably. It depends on the quality of the ones that are viable. We have the best doctor I could bribe into Clinstone. He’ll help advise us on the actual transfer. And then… they’ll freeze the ones we don’t use. Just in case.”
“You should call Cecilia, let her know she’ll need to be out of work Monday,” Jensen said.
Bo nodded. “I will. Just…” He trailed off, wrapping his arms around Jensen. “I’m scared, Jens.”
Jensen hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Honestly? So am I,” he murmured. “The constant wondering of if it’s even going to work or not. Wondering if we’re gonna get the boys we want at all or if something’s going to go wrong and we do all of this for nothing. It’s terrifying.”
“I know,” Bo whispered. He squeezed Jensen tightly before stepping away. “I’ll call Celia. Could you start breakfast?” he asked.
“Mmhmm. Are you inviting her over?”
Bo stared down at his phone, offering a shrug. “I suppose that depends on which swing of her mood she’s in. She wouldn’t talk to me when I called yesterday, and the day before that, we were on the phone for an hour because she was crying. So… it depends.”
“Fair point.” Jensen sighed quietly, stepping away from the counter. “I hate that she has to be so miserable for our benefit.”
“Me, too. I keep offering to let her stop, but she says she’s happy to do it.” Bo cleared his throat, smacking his phone against the palm of his hand. “And I guess as long as she’s happy doing it, I’m not going to try and put a stop to us having children.” Jensen nodded. Bo unlocked his phone and selected Cecilia’s name from his contact list. He pressed his phone to his ear, leaning back against the counter.
“What?” Cecilia asked after the fifth ring.
“Bad day?” Bo questioned, his voice soft.
“It hasn’t exactly been pleasant.”
“My apologies. Would you like to come over for breakfast?”
She scoffed. “No.” A pause. “Maybe.”
“Nice, healthy breakfast, Celia.”
“Will you pick me up?”
“I could. Bad enough day that you don’t want to drive?”
“I don’t think this headache would let me behind the wheel if I tried,” she said. Gradually, her voice was getting softer, her general hormonal anger slowly fading.
“Sure thing, Celia. I need to get changed, but then I’ll be there.”
“Mmhmm.” She cleared her throat before letting out a heavy sigh. “Did the doctor call you yet?”
“Yes. We will need to go in on Monday morning for the results,” Bo said.
“And to impregnate me.”
“Well… yes, assuming that there are viable embryos.”
“Mm, thrilling,” Cecilia muttered dryly.
Bo crossed an arm over his chest, his eyes flickering over the scars on Jensen’s back. Most weekends, Jensen rarely put a shirt on before noon—not that Bo minded. “You don’t have to do this, Celia.”
“Hey, I’ve already suffered the biggest road to hell, here. There’s no way I’m stopping now,” Cecilia said. “I may be a bitch sometimes or a crying mess other times, but I’m in this for the long haul. Like I said, you guys deserve this,” she reminded.
“Thank you, Celia. It means the world to us.”
“I know it does.”
“I’ll come get you, then, okay?”
“Mmhmm. See you in a few, Bo.”
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