Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

55

Heather

I regretted everything.

And to all those women out there who pretend like pregnancy is beautiful and natural and glorious: you suck. I’m blaming you for this.

The first few months of pregnancy weren’t bad. I had morning sickness once or twice a week. I became sensitive to certain smells, like licorice or lavender. If I caught a whiff of those, I immediately became nauseous. The toughest part of the first few months was not being allowed to have caffeine. I missed coffee more than I missed alcohol, honestly.

The guys had never been more attracted to me. I thought they had been affectionate during the first month I was nannying, but it paled in comparison to the way they treated me now that I was pregnant with one of their children. They told me I was beautiful. They claimed I was glowing. They couldn’t keep their hands off me, and insisted they wanted to make love to me every hour of every day. The three of them started taking turns visiting me while the children were napping so we could have some afternoon delight.

But they treated me like I was made of glass. It was like they were afraid to really give me some hardcore, toe-curling, sweaty sex. Brady was especially bad about this. After having missionary sex three times in a row, I finally broke down and told him to treat me like normal.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” I insisted. “I’m fine! The baby is fine!”

“I just really like going slow, and loving,” he replied, but I knew that was just his excuse.

Fortunately, Asher was willing to give me exactly what I wanted. After a little encouragement, he was bending me over the guest bed and pounding me like one of those carnival strength-measuring games, where you hit a target with a mallet and try to get it to ring the bell. And oh baby, Asher knew how to ring my bell. It was always the quieter ones who really knew how to do it.

Sometimes a girl just needed to be properly fucked.

So, yeah. The first four months weren’t too bad. But as I waddled toward the end of my second trimester, and into the third, the pregnancy stopped being all rainbows an kittens.

I was bloated all the time. Not just in my belly, either: I was bloated everywhere. I had to buy new shoes because my feet swelled three sizes. My toes looked like pudgy little Vienna sausages. My hands were only slightly better.

The rest of my wardrobe quickly became unwearable. Going shopping was a pain in my condition, so I bought five Empress-cut dresses online and rotated through those.

Then came the menopausal symptoms. Yeah, they don’t mention that part, do they? One minute I would have a blistering hot flash, and the next minute my entire body would feel like it had been dunked in ice. Rinse and repeat approximately seven thousand times per day. I had to change clothes about as often as I went to the bathroom, because I kept sweating through the dresses.

Speaking of bathrooms, I was peeing every two hours. It didn’t matter if I had drank anything that morning: my body still found pee to get rid of. Hell, if I so much as looked at a glass of water, I had to pee. The little rugrat occupying my belly was taking up all the room my bladder normally used to expand. Thanks a lot, future child.

I was very gassy. I will not elaborate further, and I will not be taking questions at this time.

Then there were the emotional swings. The smallest inconvenience would send me into a white-hot rage. Then I would see a puppy on a commercial and I would start to bawl my eyes out. Ten seconds later, I felt giddy and laughed at even the dumbest jokes on the cartoons the children were watching. I ran the full gamut of emotions.

Hormones were dumb. Want to make a billion dollars? Invent a pill that flattens all those emotional peaks and valleys out.

I was certain the baby was a member of the next generation US National Soccer Team, because he or she loved to kick. I reveled in the sensation at first: it was proof that my baby was healthy and alive! They were feisty, just like their momma!

Soon I grew to hate it. This baby must have been bored, because they did nothing but kick the walls of my uterus. They kicked in the morning, they kicked in the afternoon, and then, just to change things up, they kicked in the evening. Don’t forget kicking in the middle of the night, when I was trying to sleep. Babies don’t adhere to normal sleep hours, even when they’re still in utero.

“I’ll give you a million dollars to leave me alone,” I groaned one night.

“Deal,” Brady murmured next to me. He was half-asleep, because he didn’t have a soccer player practicing inside his scrotum. “No take-backs.”

Speaking of money, finances weren’t really an issue for me anymore. At least, not in the short-term. Six months of nannying had created a nest egg so big that I could coast for a few years, if I wanted to. After all, I didn’t have any real expenses: I didn’t renew my studio apartment lease with Maurice, I lived at the residence with the guys, and they paid for all food and smaller necessities. They even found a way to put me on the HLS Security payroll so I could have health insurance through their company. Which was great, because pregnancy is hella expensive. Seriously, if you don’t want to get pregnant, buy condoms. They’re a billion times cheaper than all the doctor visits and birthing classes I attended, and it was only going to get more expensive when the baby was born.

But for now, it was nice to know I had some money in the bank. I wasn’t used to that feeling. It was much nicer than being broke all the time, and surviving off uneaten Outback Steakhouse meals every night.

So yeah, the third trimester sucks. Write that down. It’s worth remembering for all you people out there who don’t take it seriously. Listen to your good friend Heather Hart.

The one saving grace was that Rogan, Brady, and Asher were absolutely perfect throughout the whole process. They took care of my every need, even when I made unreasonable demands for chocolate ice cream in the middle of the night. Brady gave me foot massages every night when he came home from work, despite being exhausted from his own day.

Their support was strong and unwavering. They truly loved me, through thick and thin.

It was a wonderful thing to experience. It made me feel safe.

The three of them even made love to me, despite me feeling grosser than I had ever felt in my life. “It must be like having sex with an enormous couch cushion,” I said one evening.

Rogan gently kissed my cheek. “Heather, I’ve never been more attracted to you.”

“You’re a liar,” I shot back. “But you’re a good liar, so it works for you.”

Once I got over how bloated I felt, the sex was great. Surprisingly so. There was something about the hormone release that helped ease my cramps. Whatever the reason, I was glad to have three different men to satisfy my every need.

Although Brady still made love to me like I was a glass slipper that would shatter if he pushed too hard.

Everything else about our lives during the pregnancy was great, too. In the wake of catching the Amirah Pratt stalkers, HLS Security was thriving. They signed a dozen other clients from The Weiman Agency. Soon they had so many clients in Southern California that they had to expand the number of security agents on staff.

Rogan even hired some upper-level managers to help run things, which allowed them to spend less time in the office and more time with their family. We took a day-trip to Disneyland, and despite the huge crowds and overpriced food, we had a great time together.

The triplets were wonderful. They took it in stride that they were going to have a new baby brother or sister. Dustin and Micah were especially sweet, and offered to bring me food or drinks. After a particularly messy incident with a jug of orange juice, I stopped taking them up on it. But the gesture was sweet, and endeared me to them even more.

The three of them started Kindergarten, by the way. Dustin and Micah thrived in that environment, and loved being around other children. Cora was the one who took the longest to adjust to the change. She was used to quietly reading her books all day, and suddenly she couldn’t do that in a class with a dedicated curriculum. Those first two months were hard: Cora came up with excuses and fake illnesses in order to avoid going to school. Every morning was a battle.

“Why can’t I stay here with you?” she begged me one day. “The boys can go to school, and us girls can stay home.”

I smoothed back her hair and tied it into a ponytail. “That’s not how it works, sweetie. I didn’t like school either when I was your age, but I’m glad I went. It will be good for you. I promise.”

Eventually, she accepted that school was part of her life, and she stopped dragging her feet in the mornings. I later found out it was because she had made friends with the school librarian, who had recruited her to help arrange the books in the library during lunch. Soon Cora was bragging to everyone that she was going to be a librarian when she grew up.

“Libraries are stupid,” Micah told her.

“You’re stupid!” Cora shouted back. “If you say it again I’ll beat you up!”

Micah bolted down the hall to his room. Did I mention Cora was the first of the three to have a growth spurt? She was head-and-shoulders taller than her brothers now, and she wasn’t afraid to use it to her advantage. Kindergarten was helping her come out of her shell.

Kindergarten ended at two o’clock each day. Since I was in my third trimester, Maurice and Jason helped watch the children almost every day. Maurice was good with them, but Jason was an absolute natural. And the triplets loved him to pieces. They called him Uncle Jay-Jay, and were always excited to see his face when they got home from school.

“He’s going to be such a good father,” Maurice told me one evening over cocktails. He was drinking a Jack and Coke, while I sipped on the non-alcoholic version (a plain old Diet Coke). “I want to have a whole house full of children with him. At least three.”

“It’s easy when you don’t have to carry them,” I said, resting my hand on my swollen belly. “You get to let someone else do all the work.”

“I know!” he said happily. “Isn’t it great?”

I threw my empty Diet Coke can at him.

“Hey! Watch the face! I’m filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “That college admissions video?”

“Damn right!” he replied. “You’re looking at black male student number three.”

Maurice and I were both represented by the William Morris Agency now. I didn’t want to do any filming while I was pregnant (even though there were pregnancy-related casting calls out there) but Maurice was slowly working his way up.

“Are you excited to get back to work?” he asked.

“Right now, the only thing I’m excited about is getting this child out of me.”

“You’re pregnant, it sucks, I know,” he said dryly. “Enough about that. Let’s talk about cakes. The wedding is four weeks out, and he needs a final design choice.”

No, we weren’t talking about my wedding. Maurice popped the question to Jason after two months of dating, and the big former SEAL immediately said yes. Helping Maurice do wedding planning was a welcome distraction from my exhausted, bloated state of being.

I was his maid of honor, but he let me off the hook for most of my duties. He said we could save the bachelor party for next year, after I gave birth, so I could have fun.

“I wish you had picked a wedding date after my pregnancy, too,” I murmured while looking through the cake catalog.

“Jason’s church had a cancellation,” Maurice said patiently. It wasn’t the first time we’d had this discussion. “It’s not my fault your due date is a week after the wedding.” He gestured at my belly. “Tell your little stomach-spawn to hurry up. Hit the accelerator, or something!”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said. “I have half a mind to call the doctor and get a C-section done tomorrow. I don’t care if it’s a month early!”

*

Complaints aside, I managed to survive the four weeks leading up to Maurice’s wedding. And even though I wanted to crawl into a cave and hibernate until the birth, I squeezed into an Empress-cut dress and walked down the aisle at the church. By that point I felt like a beach ball with legs, and my back ached within minutes of standing up. In fact, it ached pretty much around the clock, now.

Like I said: pregnancy sucks. This was definitely going to be my one and only child.

Even though I felt gross, everyone oohed and ahhed as I walked down the aisle while Canon in D played. Mr. Howard was sitting on the aisle and gave me a friendly little thumbs-up as I walked by.

Jason was the most handsome groom I had ever seen in my life, resplendent in his uniform. He was wearing his Navy Dress Whites, while his five groomsmen wore their Navy Dress Blues. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, Google it. Even the most plain-faced man looks sexy in these uniforms, and Jason was far from plain-faced.

But my eyes were immediately drawn to three of the groomsmen to his right. Asher smiled warmly at me, and Rogan gave me a little nod. Brady winked at me, then flicked his tongue against his upper lip! I gave him a look, which only made him grin harder in front of everyone. I tried not to laugh while taking my spot next to Maurice’s bridesmaids, his four sisters.

The ceremony itself was touching and beautiful. Maurice wore a white suit with a salmon-colored vest. The vows were sweet. I cried like a baby. Like I said, this pregnancy had turned me into a rollercoaster of hormone-driven emotions.

Afterward, at the reception, I spent a lot of time sitting. And eating. You had to sit to eat, and I liked doing both of those things in my state. But eventually I was pulled onto the dance floor by Brady.

“I know your feet hurt,” he said, “but I gotta get one dance with the woman of my dreams.”

How could I say no to that?

Brady and I slow-danced, which was difficult with my huge belly. Then Rogan cut-in for a faster song, which involved me awkwardly stepping back and forth in a semblance of dancing. Asher hopped in for the next slow dance, and this time he hugged me from behind while dancing so that my belly wouldn’t get in the way. I closed my eyes and savored the way I felt in his arms.

“Okay,” Asher said. “Now you can go sit down.”

I smiled. “I have one more name on my dance card, first.”

I found Maurice and Jason dancing in the crowd. Maurice was beaming up at his husband in a way I had never seen him smile before. I almost hated to cut in. Jason politely dipped his head and bowed out, and Maurice took my hands in his.

“This is such a beautiful wedding,” I said. “I’m so happy for you, Maurice.”

“I’m happy too,” he said. “I thought life was always going to be a struggle, constantly trying to get ahead, and constantly failing. I never thought I could feel this way.” He gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for everything, Heather.”

I snorted. “I didn’t help much with the planning. You did almost everything yourself.”

He shook his head. “I don’t mean about the wedding. I’m talking about how all of this started.”

“You mean you babysitting for the triplets while the dads and I were gone?”

“Before that. Stealing Mr. Howard’s prop diamond ring, and using it to sneak into the suite level at the Lakers game. If you hadn’t dragged me into that scheme, you wouldn’t have gotten the nannying job. Which means I wouldn’t have found Jason.”

“The moral of the story is that I’m always right, and you should always do whatever I tell you,” I said.

“This one good thing does negate all the times you’ve gotten me in trouble.” He looked over my shoulder. “Thank you.”

I turned and followed his gaze to Jason, who was sipping champagne with Rogan, Brady, and Asher. “He’s so handsome, Maurice. You’re a lucky man.”

“I am.” He sighed happily. “And so are you. Three times as lucky, if my math is right.”

Brady must have told a joke, because all of the men suddenly roared with laughter. Jason clapped Brady on the shoulder, and the two of them embraced.

“I am lucky,” I whispered. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Do you think the four of you can keep it going?” Maurice asked softly. “I thought it was just a sexy fling at first, but I see the way they look at you. What happens after you give birth?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “They’ve stayed with me throughout this pregnancy. I haven’t been easy to live with.”

“That was true before you were pregnant,” Maurice quipped.

I glared at him. “If we can survive the last nine months, then we can survive anything. I can’t wait to see where the next stage in my life takes me.”

“And you seriously don’t know who the father is?” he asked. “It’s my wedding day. Come on. Tell me the truth.”

“I honestly don’t know. And I don’t care. No matter who the biological father is, this baby is going to grow up with three amazing dads. And for that, I’m truly lucky.”

I winced and sucked in my breath.

“Are you okay?” Maurice asked.

“It’s just a cramp,” I said. “They’ve been really bad the last couple of weeks. Especially when I’m on my feet. I’m going to go sit down.”

“Thank you for the dance.” Maurice kissed me on the cheek again, then waved to the group of guys. “Get over here, Brady Lowe. I demand a dance with the man who set me up with my future husband!”

“I’m not much of a dancer…” Brady replied.

“No excuses! Get your tushy onto the dance floor!”

I started to head for my chair, then grabbed my purse and went to the bathroom instead. I made it into one of the stalls just as it happened.

I groaned, and pulled my phone out of my purse. Rogan picked up on the second ring.

“Heather? Why are you calling me?”

“I’m in the bathroom, and I need help,” I said. “My water just broke.”