Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Meanwhile, Noah Westbury, a talented quarterback facing trade rumors and uncertainty about his future, grapples with the pressure of his growing family. As the offers from other teams pour in and the waiting game continues with his current team, Noah finds himself questioning his career and the impact it has on his marriage.
Amidst the difficulties, Peyton and Noah find solace in their close knit family, and their unwavering support, they discover the power of love and the importance of being there for one another.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
PEYTON
The four of us enter the fertility clinic. Noah holds the door open for Elle and me, and Ben brings up the rear. Everyone in the waiting room stares, and I can only imagine what they’re thinking—here come the swingers. It would be laughable if I hadn’t read a book about swingers and how one ended up pregnant, which was a major no-no according to the pact or contract each person signed. As much as I hate to admit it, the story was a page turner. Mostly in the sense I had to know what the hell was going to happen, and the sex scenes were hot. I made Noah try a few of them out. He was game at first until shit turned a bit freaky and he asked if I wasn’t happy in our relationship. Talk about hurting his feelings and embarrassing myself in one fell swoop. Noah apologized and offered to read it with me, but I declined and deleted the book. I didn’t need to know how it ended.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what the people in this room are thinking when they see the four of us walk in. The guys take a seat while Elle and I go to check in. What we’re doing is unconventional, but on par with how our lives are.
“Hello,” I say when we get to the counter. “I’m Peyton Westbury and this is my sister, Elle Miller. We have a consultation today.”
The receptionist smiles, types, and then hands us each a clipboard to fill out. “Are Noah and Ben here as well?”
We nod.
“Great. We’ll call them back shortly.”
“For what?” Elle asks.
“A sample,” she says.
“Ben shoots blanks,” Elle says. I have to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. What Ben went through isn’t funny, and I don’t mean to laugh, except he and Elle crack jokes about it all the time. They’re comfortable with the comedic relief and they need to see we’re laughing with them. “His spunk is already on reserve.”
“Elle . . .” I grit my teeth as I say her name. She looks at me and shrugs. She doesn’t like the “words” as she calls them. They’re clinical and too scientific for her.
The receptionist probably wishes she stayed home instead of dealing with the likes of us. She goes back to her computer and presses a few more keys and then nods. “Yes, I see that now. Okay, we’ll call Noah back shortly.”
I thank her and drag my sister away.
Elle sits down next to Ben. It’s nice to see them on the same page, finally. They’ve both struggled with acceptance—Elle having a famous father and Ben being an outsider, their careers, and finding their footing when one has felt unequal in their relationship. Their break—as Elle calls it—thankfully was short-lived, and now we’re planning their wedding. Actually, it’s a vow renewal since these two got hitched in a hospital room and then paid the nurse off to allow them some “alone time” in the room. I don’t even want to know how many health code violations my sister and her husband broke that day.
“The receptionist said they’re going to call you back for a sample,” I tell Noah.
“You’re going to jack off to porn and dump your seed into a cup,” Ben says, as if the room isn’t filled with other people.
“Jesus Christ,” Noah mutters, while I try to hide behind my clipboard. “A little tact.”
Ben laughs and man slaps Noah on his shoulder. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had, but I thought in some odd way, it would be fun for us to do this together. Well, mostly Elle and me. I know the last thing Noah wants is to have to make another deposit into a cup, among other things. He’s already gone for testing once to see where the issue of infertility is. He’s definitely not the issue. It’s all me and all a result of the car accident. The eggs are there, but the scarring I have is too much work for the egg and sperm to meet.
And then there’s the question of whether I can even carry a baby.
Sigh.
We’ve done all the research on IVF, the side effects, the pain and agony, the hope and despair. I’ve gone back to counseling to help with what I’m feeling—the hopelessness and failures as a woman and a wife—the burden I’ve put on my shoulders and on Noah. He doesn’t like to see me hurt or in pain, and yet that’s what I’m going to be in, no matter what.
I want to carry our baby in my womb. I know it may not be possible, but I have to try. If this fails . . . if my body betrays me, we’ll look for a surrogate. It’s not what I want though, especially since it won’t be my sister, and I’m having a hard time accepting it may be my only option.