Still Trouble
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader
Word Count: 9.2k
Summary: At Liv and Robby’s wedding, you start to feel like you’ve lost the girl you used to be. Jack spends the night reminding you exactly who you still are.
Warnings: pregnancy, pregnant reader, established relationship, married reader and Jack, body insecurity during pregnancy, hormonal/emotional reader, swollen feet/ankles, pregnancy discomfort, baby kicking, wedding emotions, crying, emotional reassurance, possessive language, age gap relationship, suggestive content, heated kissing, public/semi-public intimacy, sneaking away during a wedding reception, locked office makeout, hand under dress, implied smut, Jack being extremely attracted to his pregnant wife, pregnancy pillow slander, soft dominance, “use your words,” husband duties, father duties, lots of tenderness, happy ending.
Author’s Note: Forearms/trouble time jump! This one is set at Robby and Liv’s wedding, with the reader eight months pregnant, emotional, uncomfortable, and trying very hard to be normal about being sober, swollen, wearing flats, and missing the red-top version of herself. Jack, naturally, notices everything. We’ve got maid of honor reader, best man Jack, Liv being radiant, Robby being absolutely gone, baby kicks during vows, foot rubs at the reception, a very emotional dance, a locked venue office, Penelope the pregnancy pillow causing problems, and Jack Abbot being devastatingly in love with his pregnant wife. This is soft, funny, a little spicy, and very much about being loved and wanted through every version of yourself.
Xoxo, Del
| Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 |
The bridal suite was exactly the kind of room you would have destroyed five years ago.
Not literally.
Probably.
There were curling irons heating on the vanity, makeup bags split open across every available surface, champagne flutes sweating beside tubes of lipstick and bobby pins, and music playing from a speaker near the window. Someone had brought fruit. No one was eating it.
Liv stood in the middle of it all in a white satin robe while one of the bridesmaids fixed a curl near her temple.
She looked radiant.
That was annoying.
Beautiful, obviously. Bridal, definitely. But radiant in a way that made your throat keep trying to do something suspicious.
You sat in the velvet chair near the window with one hand braced beneath your stomach and the other wrapped around a glass of ice water.
Eight months pregnant.
Maid of honor.
In flats.
The dress was soft and formal, gathered carefully around your stomach in a way everyone had promised was flattering.
Everyone had used that word.
Flattering.
A dangerous word.
A word people used when they wanted to reassure you that you did not look as enormous as you felt.
The baby kicked hard beneath your ribs.
You looked down at your stomach. “Rude.”
Liv’s mom turned from the garment bag with both hands pressed to her chest. “Is the baby moving?”
You braced one hand beneath your stomach. “The baby is criticizing my posture.”
One of the bridesmaids laughed from the vanity.
Liv looked over her shoulder at you, eyes bright. “Already causing trouble?”
You glanced down again. “The baby comes by it honestly.”
Liv smiled so hard it almost undid you.
You looked back down at your water.
Water.
In a bridal suite.
While everyone else got champagne.
Once upon a time, you would have been barefoot beside Liv with a mimosa in one hand and your phone in the other, recording some terrible little video neither of you would ever post because both of you would be screaming the lyrics too loudly.
Once upon a time, you would have been the one dancing around the room, fixing Liv’s lipstick, stealing sips of champagne, making her laugh until someone threatened to take the curling iron away from both of you.
You would have been keeping up.
Instead, you were sitting down because standing too long made your lower back stage a formal protest, drinking ice water through a straw, and trying to decide if your ankles still counted as separate body parts.
You were happy.
That was the thing.
You were so happy for Liv that it hurt a little to look at her.
She was flushed and bright and nervous, glancing toward the garment bag every few minutes, as if the dress inside it might disappear if she did not keep checking. She looked like every good thing you had ever wanted for her had finally found somewhere to land.
You loved her.
You loved Robby for making her look like that.
You loved this day already, even with the flats and the water and the baby treating your ribs like a suggestion.
Liv caught your eye in the mirror. “What?”
You blinked. “Nothing.”
Liv’s smile turned suspicious. “No, that was a look.”
You shifted in the chair and immediately regretted it. “It was a normal look.”
Liv gathered the edges of her robe and crossed the room toward you. “Are you about to be nice to me?”
You sat up straighter. “No.”
Liv’s smile widened. “You are.”
You pointed your straw at her. “Don’t make it weird.”
Liv stopped in front of you. “It’s already weird. You’re soft.”
You looked down at your stomach. “I am swollen. There is a difference.”
Liv laughed, but her eyes went shiny.
You held out your hand before your own face could betray you.
Liv slipped her fingers through yours.
You squeezed once.
Then you looked her dead in the eye.
“I want you to know you are the only person who could get my pregnant ass into a formal gown,” you said.
Liv’s face crumpled immediately.
You pointed at her with your free hand. “No.”
Liv laughed wetly. “No what?”
You narrowed your eyes. “No crying. Your makeup is professionally applied.”
Liv squeezed your hand. “You can’t say something like that and then tell me not to cry.”
You lifted your chin. “I can do anything I want. I am carrying a child and wearing structured fabric.”
Liv pressed her lips together, trying and failing to hold back her smile.
You squeezed her hand again, gentler this time.
“I wouldn’t do this for anybody else,” you said.
Liv’s eyes filled.
Your throat tightened, but you forced a dramatic sigh before it could become anything too honest.
“So you’re welcome,” you added.
Liv laughed, and that made it safe.
That made it easier to breathe.
She bent carefully and hugged you around the shoulders, mindful of your stomach.
You closed your eyes for half a second.
Just half.
Liv’s voice softened against your hair. “I love you.”
You swallowed hard. “I love you too. Unfortunately.”
Liv laughed against your hair.
You let yourself hold her for one more second.
Then you pulled back and gave her a stern look.
“Now please step away from me before I become sincere enough to require medical intervention,” you said.
Liv wiped carefully beneath one eye. “You are impossible.”
You lifted one shoulder. “I am loyal.”
Liv smiled. “You are.”
You shifted in the chair. “And uncomfortable.”
Liv nodded. “Also true.”
The baby kicked again, harder this time, and you pressed one hand to the side of your stomach with a slow breath.
Liv’s smile softened. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I think the kid is staging a protest.”
Liv’s brows pulled together. “Do you need anything?”
“I think I’m going to take a quick walk,” you said. “See if movement appeases them.”
One of the bridesmaids looked up from the vanity. “Do you want someone to go with you?”
You lifted your water glass. “No, thank you. This is a private negotiation between me and the tenant.”
Liv’s mouth twitched. “The tenant?”
You braced one hand beneath your stomach as the baby shifted again. “The tenant has been very active today.”
Liv glanced down at your stomach. “Maybe the baby is excited.”
You looked down too. “The baby is using my ribs as a footrest.”
Liv laughed, and the sound softened something in your chest.
You pushed yourself up from the chair carefully.
Very carefully.
With the kind of effort that made you feel about ninety years old and personally victimized by gravity.
Liv reached for you.
You held up one hand. “Do not assist me unless I ask. I still have some dignity.”
Liv froze, fighting a smile. “Okay.”
You made it upright and immediately regretted your confidence.
The baby shifted.
You looked down. “You are not helping.”
Liv pressed her lips together.
You pointed at her. “Do not laugh at me on your wedding day.”
Liv’s eyes widened innocently. “I would never.”
You gave her a look. “You absolutely would.”
Liv’s smile broke free. “I absolutely would.”
You grabbed your water from the vanity and took a careful step toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Liv watched you, still smiling, but there was something soft underneath it.
Too soft.
You looked away before it could land.
“I’m happy,” you said, because you needed her to know that much.
Liv’s eyes warmed. “I know.”
You nodded once.
That was all you could risk.
Then you slipped out into the hallway.
The quiet hit first.
Blessedly.
The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music and laughter into something softer. The hallway was cooler, dimmer, decorated with framed prints and little gold sconces that made the venue look more expensive than it probably was.
You stood there for a second, one hand on your stomach and one wrapped around your water glass.
Then you exhaled.
“Okay,” you muttered.
The baby shifted.
You looked down. “Don’t start.”
You started down the hall slowly, because waddling was a word you refused to use for yourself even privately.
You preferred deliberate. Purposeful. Structurally cautious.
Halfway past a framed landscape painting, your lower back twinged.
You stopped and pressed one hand to the wall.
“Great,” you whispered. “Elegant.”
Jack’s voice came from the corner of the hallway. “You always did know how to make an entrance.”
Your eyes closed.
Of course.
Of course he would be there.
You turned your head.
Jack stood near the intersecting hall in his suit, one hand in his pocket, tie straight, jacket fitted across his shoulders in a way that felt personally offensive.
Best man.
Husband.
Problem.
His eyes found your face first.
Then moved down. Slowly. Not in surprise. Not in assessment.
In that way he looked at you sometimes, making the rest of the world feel badly lit by comparison.
You lifted your water glass between you. “No.”
Jack stopped a few feet away. “No?”
You pointed the glass at him. “No looking.”
His mouth curved faintly. “I’m looking.”
You gave him a flat look. “I can see that.”
Jack’s gaze moved over your face, soft and certain. “You’re beautiful.”
You sighed. “You are very predictable for a man who thinks he’s mysterious.”
Jack stepped closer. “Still true.”
You glanced down at your feet. “I am wearing flats.”
Jack’s gaze flicked down briefly. “I noticed.”
“My ankles have resigned,” you said.
Jack looked back at your face. “I noticed that too.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You are not supposed to notice that.”
“I notice everything about you,” Jack said.
The words were quiet.
Simple.
Horribly effective.
Your throat tightened before you could stop it.
You looked down at your stomach. “Your kid is making me emotional.”
Jack’s hand came to your stomach, warm through the formal fabric. “Our kid.”
You lifted your eyes to his. “Your kid when I’m emotionally unstable in a hallway.”
The baby kicked.
Immediately.
Jack’s whole face changed.
It always did.
Every time the baby moved under his hand, something in him went soft and helpless and almost young with wonder.
“Hi, kid,” Jack murmured.
Your chest squeezed.
You hated that too.
Loved it.
Hated it because you loved it.
You looked down at his hand. “Do not encourage them. They’re already making everything about themselves.”
Jack’s thumb moved once over the curve of your stomach. “Wonder where they get that.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Choose your next words carefully.”
His mouth curved.
“There she is,” Jack said.
The words landed gently.
Too gently.
Your smile wobbled at the edges, and Jack saw it.
Of course he saw it.
His expression shifted. Not alarmed. Not pitying. Just aware.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
You looked toward the bridal suite door.
Behind it, Liv laughed at something, bright and breathless.
Your chest ached.
“Nothing,” you said.
Jack waited.
You looked back at him and tried for a smile. “I’m uncomfortable, sober, wearing supportive footwear, and currently being held hostage by formal fabric.”
His eyes stayed on yours. “That all?”
You swallowed. No. No, it was not.
It was also the mirror.
And Liv’s champagne.
And the way you had pictured this morning years ago without ever imagining your body would feel so unfamiliar inside it.
It was wanting to be more for Liv.
It was feeling like less for yourself.
It was Jack looking at you like that and not knowing how to believe him.
But the ceremony was soon.
Liv was waiting.
The day was not yours to unravel inside.
So you lifted your chin. “For now.”
Jack heard the promise in it. Or the postponement.
His thumb brushed once over your stomach.
“Okay,” Jack said.
That almost made it worse. Not pushing. Not demanding.
Just understanding that you were holding something you did not have room to put down yet.
You exhaled. “You have best man duties.”
Jack nodded. “I do.”
You glanced pointedly down the hall. “You should be doing them.”
“I also have husband duties,” Jack said.
Your face warmed. “Jack.”
His hand stayed warm over your stomach. “And father duties.”
The baby kicked beneath his palm. Jack’s mouth curved faintly.
You looked down. “Do not encourage him.”
“Kid has good timing,” Jack said.
You looked back up at him. “The kid has your need to interrupt a moment.”
“Our kid,” Jack said.
Your throat tightened.
“Our kid,” you allowed.
Jack’s eyes softened. Then he leaned closer, his mouth near your ear.
“And between you and me, Trouble,” Jack murmured, “husband duties win every time.”
Your breath caught.
He kissed you before you could answer.
Soft. Private. Steady.
One hand still warm over your stomach, the other coming carefully to your jaw like he knew exactly how much of you needed holding.
For one stupid second, you forgot your ankles.
Forgot the dress. Forgot the water. Forgot every version of yourself you were afraid you had lost.
When Jack pulled back, his forehead hovered close to yours.
You swallowed. “That was a very irresponsible use of best man time.”
His mouth curved. “I’ll make it up to Robby.”
You smiled. “You won’t.”
“No,” Jack said. “Probably not.”
The hallway went quiet around you.
Then a burst of laughter came from inside the bridal suite, loud enough to break the moment before it could become too much.
You stepped back carefully. “I should go in.”
Jack nodded, but he did not move right away. His gaze stayed on your face.
“Later,” Jack said.
Your throat tightened.
You knew what he meant.
Later, when Liv and Robby were married. Later, when the pictures were done. Later, when you were not trying to protect your best friend’s joy from your own complicated heart.
Later, when you could say the thing.
You nodded once. “Later.”
Jack leaned in and kissed your forehead.
Then he stepped back and nodded toward the bridal suite.
“Go,” Jack said.
You pointed your water glass at him. “Go be the best man.”
Jack’s eyes warmed. “Yes, ma’am.”
You hated how much that still worked on you.
Even pregnant.
Especially pregnant.
You turned before he could see your face too clearly and made your careful way back toward the bridal suite.
Behind you, Jack did not move until you were safely through the door.
Of course he didn’t.
By the time the wedding coordinator lined everyone up outside the doors, you had peed twice, adjusted the dress four times, and accused the baby of attempting to unionize against you.
The baby responded by kicking you directly beneath the ribs.
You pressed one hand to your stomach and exhaled through your nose. “Noted.”
The bridesmaid in front of you turned slightly. “Are you okay?”
You smiled at her. “Perfect. I’m glowing.”
Her eyes dropped to your stomach.
You gave her a look. “Do not fact-check me.”
She laughed softly and turned back around.
The music changed on the other side of the closed doors, and the little line of bridesmaids and groomsmen went still.
For one second, everything inside you softened.
Liv was behind you somewhere, hidden from the aisle, probably holding her bouquet too tightly and trying not to cry before she even saw Robby.
You hoped Robby cried first.
You hoped Liv saw it.
You hoped the whole room saw it, actually, because Robby had spent far too long pretending he was immune to her, and you wanted witnesses when that finally stopped being true.
The coordinator opened the doors.
Light spilled into the hall.
One by one, the bridesmaids and groomsmen started down the aisle.
Then it was your turn.
Jack was waiting for you.
He stood just inside the doors in his suit, one arm offered, his face composed in a way that would have fooled everyone else.
It did not fool you.
His eyes moved over your face first, then dropped briefly to your stomach, then back up again.
Checking.
Always checking.
You slipped your hand through the crook of his arm. “If I trip, save the baby first.”
Jack’s mouth barely moved. “I’ll save both of you.”
You looked up at him. “That was very husband of you.”
His eyes warmed. “I practice.”
The coordinator gestured toward the aisle.
You took one careful step. Then another.
The whole room turned toward you. Not really. Not fully.
They were waiting for Liv.
You knew that.
You knew no one was staring at your stomach or your flats or the way your hand tightened briefly on Jack’s arm when the baby shifted again.
But knowing something and feeling it were apparently two different departments, and yours were not communicating.
Jack’s hand came over yours where it rested on his sleeve. A small touch. Steady.
Hidden enough that no one else would notice.
You noticed.
You looked straight ahead. “I’m fine.”
Jack kept his voice low. “I know.”
You whispered, “You don’t have to do that.”
Jack’s voice remained low. “I know that too.”
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Then why are you doing it?”
His thumb moved once over your knuckles. “Husband duties.”
Your chest tightened.
You looked away before your face could do anything incriminating.
Jack walked you to the front, slow enough to make it look natural, steady enough that you did not have to think about every step. When you reached your place beside Liv’s empty spot, he released your arm with obvious reluctance.
You lifted your brows at him.
Jack’s mouth curved faintly.
Then he crossed to Robby’s side and took his place as best man.
Robby stood at the front with his hands folded in front of him, shoulders squared, expression controlled.
Then the music changed again.
Everyone stood.
Liv appeared at the end of the aisle.
And Robby was finished.
Completely.
His face did not crumple. Robby was too stubborn for that. But something in him opened, something private and helpless and so plainly hers that your throat closed around the breath you had meant to take.
“Oh,” you whispered.
The bridesmaid beside you glanced over. You pressed your lips together quickly.
Liv walked down the aisle, radiant and nervous, smiling as if she were trying to keep herself from running. Her eyes never left Robby.
Robby’s never left hers.
By the time Liv reached the front, your eyes were already burning.
Liv handed you her bouquet with shaking fingers.
You took it carefully, then leaned just close enough for only her to hear. “He’s gone.”
Liv’s smile trembled. “I know.”
You looked at Robby. His jaw shifted once.
You looked back at Liv and softened. “Good.”
Liv blinked fast, then turned toward him.
The officiant began speaking.
You tried to listen. You really did. You loved weddings. You loved vows. You loved romance and commitment and the dangerous optimism of two people deciding to be foolish together in front of witnesses.
You did not love being internally assaulted during them.
The baby kicked once. Hard.
Your fingers tightened around Liv’s bouquet.
Jack noticed immediately.
From across the aisle, his gaze snapped to your face.
You gave him a tiny smile.
The kind that said, do not move.
The kind that said, I am fine.
The kind that said, if you interrupt this ceremony because your kid has started kickboxing my ribs, I will never forgive you.
Jack’s brows drew together faintly.
You widened your eyes at him.
He stayed where he was.
The officiant smiled at Robby. “Robby, you may begin.”
Robby took Liv’s hands.
For one second, he looked like he might say something dry. Something small. Something safe.
Then he looked at her face and lost the ability to hide.
“Liv,” Robby said, his voice rougher than usual.
Liv’s chin wobbled.
Your own eyes filled immediately.
You hated everyone.
Robby swallowed once. “You are the loudest person I have ever met.”
A laugh moved through the guests. Liv laughed too, already crying.
Robby’s thumbs moved over her hands. “And somehow, you are also the safest.”
Your throat tightened hard.
The baby kicked again.
You nearly flinched. Nearly. Your hand shifted over your stomach before you could stop it, bouquet tucked awkwardly against your side.
Jack saw. Again. His whole body changed by half an inch, like instinct had tried to move him before discipline stopped it.
You gave him a look. He held your gaze.
You mouthed, Stay.
Jack’s jaw shifted. But he stayed.
Liv’s vows came next, and if Robby’s were a wound, Liv’s were a flood.
She cried. Obviously. She laughed at herself for crying. Obviously.
She made Robby laugh. Less obviously, but beautifully.
“You make quiet feel like somewhere I’m allowed to be,” Liv said, her voice trembling.
Robby looked wrecked.
Your chest hurt.
You forgot, for a few seconds, the ache in your feet and the pull in your back and the baby’s ongoing protest beneath your ribs.
You forgot yourself completely.
There was only Liv.
Your Liv.
Your best friend in white, standing across from the man who had learned how to hold all her noise without asking her to become smaller.
You smiled through the tears.
Then the baby kicked again, sharp enough that your breath caught.
Jack took one step. Tiny. Almost nothing.
Robby’s eyes flicked briefly toward him.
Jack stopped.
You stared at your husband across the aisle and gave the smallest shake of your head.
Jack looked deeply unhappy about obeying.
Good.
Let him suffer.
He was the reason you were in this condition in the first place.
Mostly.
Technically, if memory served, you had climbed on top of him in one of his old shirts and very little else.
Enthusiastically.
But that was beside the point.
The officiant pronounced them married a few minutes later.
Liv kissed Robby before she was technically told to.
The guests laughed and clapped.
Robby caught her by the waist like he had expected nothing else.
You cried immediately.
Not cute crying either. Actual tears. Ridiculous.
Pregnancy had made your face a public event.
Jack crossed to you as the music swelled and the wedding party began to move back down the aisle.
His hand found your elbow first, gentle and steady.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
You wiped quickly beneath one eye with the side of your hand. “No.”
His expression sharpened.
You sniffed and handed Liv’s bouquet back to her as she passed you, laughing and crying against Robby’s shoulder. “I’m happy.”
Jack’s face softened.
You looked up at him. “And the kid hates vows.”
His mouth curved, small and helpless. “The kid has opinions.”
You replied, “The kid has feet.”
Jack’s hand moved to your back as he guided you into step beside him. “Our kid.”
You sighed, leaning into him for half a second as the guests clapped around you. “Our kid when they stop aiming for my ribs.”
Jack bent his head closer to yours. “Still our kid.”
You looked up at him.
His eyes were warm. Devastatingly warm.
You pointed one finger at him as you walked. “Do not be tender while I’m trying to be mad at your offspring.”
Jack’s mouth brushed your temple so quickly no one else would catch it.
“Our offspring,” he murmured.
Your chest squeezed.
The baby kicked again.
You closed your eyes. “Traitor.”
Jack’s hand stayed steady at your back.
And somehow, impossibly, you made it all the way back down the aisle without crying harder.
Mostly.
By the time dinner ended, your feet had become a separate emotional event.
The ceremony had been beautiful. The pictures had been beautiful.
Liv and Robby were beautiful.
The entire day had been beautiful in a way that made people say things like perfect and magical and meant to be.
Your feet did not care.
Your feet were angry.
Your feet had unionized with your lower back, and both parties were threatening a formal strike.
You sat at the wedding party table with one hand resting on your stomach, your water glass sweating beside your plate, and your flats kicked off beneath the table like evidence of a crime.
The baby had finally settled.
Mostly.
You did not trust it.
Liv was across the room with Robby, laughing as someone pulled her toward the dance floor. Her dress moved around her in soft white waves, her hair already slipping out of its perfect pins, and her face was so bright you could have found her in the dark.
Your chest tightened.
God, she was happy.
You loved that.
You loved it so much it hurt.
Robby said something near Liv’s ear, and Liv tipped her head back, laughing.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
Then your smile wobbled.
Just slightly.
You looked down at your water glass and took a sip.
A voice beside you said, “You look like you’re considering violence.”
You turned your head.
Jack stood beside your chair, suit jacket off now, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened at his throat.
Your husband. Best man. Problem.
You looked at his forearms for half a second too long.
His mouth curved faintly.
You lifted your gaze to his face. “I am considering several things.”
Jack’s eyes dropped briefly beneath the table. “Where are your shoes?”
You glanced down. “They abandoned me.”
Jack pulled out the chair beside you and sat. “That right?”
You nodded solemnly. “We had creative differences.”
Jack reached under the table and found one of your ankles. “Your feet hurt.”
You gave him a look. “That was not a question.”
“No,” Jack said.
You stiffened when he lifted your foot carefully into his lap. “Jack.”
His hand stayed warm around your ankle. “What?”
You looked around quickly. “We are in public.”
Jack settled your heel against his thigh. “I know.”
“You are the best man,” you said.
“I remember,” Jack said.
You lowered your voice. “You cannot just put my foot in your lap during the reception.”
Jack’s thumb pressed carefully into the arch of your foot. “Looks like I can.”
Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head.
You caught yourself just in time.
Barely.
Jack noticed.
His mouth curved. “That bad?”
You gripped the edge of your chair. “Do not sound pleased.”
“I’m not pleased that you’re hurting,” Jack said.
You narrowed your eyes. “You are pleased that you’re right.”
Jack’s thumb moved again, slower this time. “A little.”
You exhaled through your nose. “I hate you.”
His eyes warmed. “No, you don’t.”
You sank back into the chair. “No. I really don’t.”
Jack worked his thumb carefully along the sole of your foot, firm enough to help and gentle enough that your throat tightened for reasons that had very little to do with pain.
You looked toward the dance floor.
Liv was spinning under Robby’s arm now, her laugh carrying over the music.
Robby looked ridiculous.
Not because he was dancing badly.
He was actually better than you expected. He looked ridiculous because he was happy and trying not to show too much of it, which meant he was showing all of it.
You smiled. “Look at him.”
Jack glanced toward the dance floor. “He’s gone.”
You laughed softly. “Completely.”
Jack’s hand moved to your ankle, his fingers careful over the swelling. “She looks happy.”
You swallowed. “She is.”
“She deserves it,” Jack said.
You nodded. “She does.”
Your voice came out too soft.
Jack looked back at you.
You felt his attention before you saw it.
You kept your eyes on the dance floor.
Liv danced like joy had gotten into her bones. Hair loose. Face flushed. Robby’s hand steady at her waist. She was everything you had pictured for her and nothing like the version of the day you had imagined sharing with her.
Jack’s thumb paused against your ankle. “Trouble.”
You kept your eyes on Liv. “I’m happy.”
His voice stayed low. “I know.”
You looked at him quickly. “I am.”
Jack’s eyes stayed steady. “I know you are.”
You nodded, because you believed him.
Because he believed you. That helped. It also made the ache easier to feel.
You looked down at your stomach. “I just thought I’d be more fun today.”
Jack’s hand stilled. You immediately regretted saying it.
You reached for your water. “Forget I said that.”
“No,” Jack said.
You looked at him. “No?”
His eyes stayed on yours. “No.”
You huffed. “That is not how forgetting works.”
“I’m not forgetting it,” Jack said.
Your fingers tightened around the glass.
Across the room, the music changed into something louder, something you and Liv would have ruined five years ago with bad dancing and worse singing.
Your chest ached.
You looked back toward the dance floor. “I would’ve been out there with her.”
Jack watched your face.
You swallowed. “Before.”
His hand resumed moving slowly over your ankle. “Before?”
You gestured weakly at yourself. “Before this.”
Jack’s expression shifted. Careful. Still.
You looked down at the dress gathered around your stomach. “Before I was eight months pregnant and wearing flats and drinking water like a Victorian invalid.”
His mouth twitched.
You looked down at your lap. “Before I had to sit through half the reception with my feet up because standing for pictures made me feel like my spine was filing a complaint.”
Jack’s thumb pressed into the arch of your foot again.
You closed your eyes for a second. Then you opened them and looked toward Liv.
“I used to keep up with her,” you said.
Jack did not rush to answer.
You were grateful for that. You hated it a little too.
“I used to be the girl dancing with Liv until two in the morning,” you said. “The girl taking shots. The girl in tight jeans and that red top.”
Jack’s gaze moved over your face. You felt it like a touch.
You tried to smile. “The girl making bad choices.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “You made several.”
You looked at him. “You were one of them.”
His eyes warmed. “Best one you ever made.”
Your laugh came out small.
Then it faded.
You looked down at the dress gathered around your stomach.
The fabric was beautiful. Soft. Formal. Expensive.
It still felt like too much proof that your body was not the one you remembered.
Your voice dropped. “I used to be Trouble.”
Jack went still. His hand stopped around your ankle.
You wished, immediately, that you could pull the words back. But they were there now. Sitting between you under the music.
Jack’s voice was low when he answered. “Sweetheart.”
You looked away.
“You think you’re not Trouble anymore?” Jack asked.
Your throat tightened.
You stared at your water glass. “I’m wearing flats.”
Jack’s thumb moved once over your ankle. “You threatened formalwear twice before dinner.”
Your mouth trembled.
“You looked like you were about to argue with the baby during the vows,” Jack said.
You glanced at him. “The baby was kickboxing my ribs during vows.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “You whispered traitor at a passing tray of champagne.”
“That was private,” you said.
“You sent me to Target at ten-thirty last week because ice cream wasn’t cutting it anymore and the kid wanted gelato,” Jack said.
You lifted your chin. “That was the kid.”
“The kid is brand-specific?” Jack asked.
You nodded. “The kid has standards.”
Jack’s eyes warmed.
“You named your pregnancy pillow and accused me of disrespecting her boundaries,” Jack said.
You gave him a warning look. “Penelope supports me.”
Jack’s expression flattened. “Penelope knows what she did.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Jack watched you with quiet satisfaction.
There. That look. Like he had found you. Like he had known exactly where to reach.
You shook your head, still smiling. “You are insane.”
“I can’t have sex with my wife without first completing an obstacle course,” Jack said.
Your face went hot. “Jack.”
His eyes stayed on yours. “What?”
You glanced around the reception. “We are at Robby and Liv’s wedding.”
“I’m aware,” Jack said.
“You are talking about sex,” you said.
Jack’s thumb moved over the top of your foot. “With my wife.”
Your stomach flipped. Annoyingly. Wonderfully.
You looked away, but your smile stayed.
Jack’s hand moved from your ankle to the top of your foot, his thumb sweeping slowly over your skin.
“The red top didn’t make you Trouble,” Jack said.
Your smile faded.
You looked back at him.
“The tequila didn’t make you Trouble,” he said. “The dancing didn’t make you Trouble.”
Your throat tightened.
“You did,” Jack said.
The words landed so simply you almost did not know what to do with them.
Jack’s eyes held yours.
“You still do,” he said.
Your breath caught.
The music swelled around you. People laughed. Glasses clinked. Liv shouted something from the dance floor, bright and happy and alive.
You barely heard it.
Jack’s hand stayed warm around your foot. Steady. Yours.
“I know you love me,” you whispered.
Jack’s expression softened. “I do.”
You looked down at your stomach. “I know we’re married.”
His thumb moved once over your ankle. “We are.”
“I know you’re excited about the baby,” you said.
Jack glanced at your stomach, then back to your face. “I am.”
You looked up quickly. “I am too. I’m so excited.”
“I know,” Jack said.
You swallowed.
Your voice went smaller. “But sometimes I don’t feel like the woman you wanted.”
Jack’s face changed. Not with pity. With recognition.
“Trouble,” Jack said.
You shook your head once. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t,” Jack said.
You looked down at yourself. “My body is different.”
“I know,” Jack said.
“I’m different,” you said.
“I know,” Jack said.
Your eyes burned. “And I don’t feel sexy.”
Jack’s hand stilled.
For one second, he did not move.
Then his gaze moved over you. Slowly. Not polite. Not pitying.
Not soft in the way people looked at pregnant women when they meant glowing but also fragile.
This was different.
This was Jack looking at you like he had looked at you across a bar.
Across the cab of his truck.
Across your kitchen in his white button-down.
This was heat.
Quieter now. Deeper. No less real.
Your breath caught.
Jack leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear him beneath the music. “You said you didn’t feel sexy.”
Your throat tightened.
His gaze moved over you, slow and unmistakable.
“That is not how I see you,” Jack said.
Your breath caught.
His hand closed around your ankle, warm and careful.
“Sweetheart,” Jack said, rougher now, “I didn’t know I could want you more than I already did.”
Your eyes lifted to his.
The room seemed to tilt slightly around the edges.
Jack did not look away.
“You’re carrying our kid,” he said. “You’re sitting here in that dress, mad at your water, pretending you don’t want to cry because you miss the girl you think you used to be.”
Your chest ached.
His thumb moved over your skin.
“And I am looking at you,” Jack said, “trying to remember how I’m supposed to act normal in public.”
Your breath caught.
“Jack,” you whispered.
His eyes darkened. “You are still the woman I look for first in every room.”
A tear slipped before you could stop it. Jack reached up and caught it with his thumb.
You tried to laugh. “This is very rude of you.”
His mouth curved faintly. “I know.”
You blinked hard. “I’m already emotional.”
“I know that too,” Jack said.
“You’re making it worse,” you said.
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “Good.”
Your breath caught again. His thumb brushed once beneath your eye.
“You didn’t disappear,” Jack said.
Your throat closed.
“You changed,” he said. “That’s not the same thing.”
The words went straight through you. Clean. Necessary. Cruel in the way true things could be cruel when they touched the exact place you had been trying to protect.
You looked down at your stomach.
The baby shifted.
Jack’s hand moved there automatically, leaving your foot in his lap so he could rest his palm over the curve of you.
“Hi, kid,” Jack murmured.
You blinked hard. “The kid is ruining my moment.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “The kid is participating.”
You narrowed your eyes through the tears. “The kid is nosy.”
“The kid gets that from you,” Jack said.
You pointed at him. “Careful.”
“There she is,” Jack said.
You laughed, wet and small.
Jack’s hand tightened gently over your stomach.
Across the room, Liv waved at you from the dance floor. You lifted one hand weakly. Liv pointed at you.
You shook your head immediately.
Liv pointed harder.
You pointed at your stomach.
Liv mimed dancing anyway.
You stared at her.
Then Robby leaned down and said something in Liv’s ear.
Liv looked back at you, softened, and blew you a kiss instead.
Your eyes burned all over again.
Jack watched your face. “You want to dance with her.”
You swallowed. “I want to be able to.”
He looked toward the dance floor, then back at you. “Dance with me first.”
You gave him a look. “Jack.”
His hand moved back to your ankle. “One song.”
“I can barely stand,” you said.
“I’ll hold you,” Jack said.
Your chest tightened.
You tried again anyway. “I cannot dance.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “You can sway aggressively.”
A surprised laugh slipped out of you.
He lifted your foot carefully from his lap and set it down, then reached for your flats under the table.
You watched him slide one onto your foot. Then the other.
Something about it made your throat tighten worse than the speech had.
Jack looked up. “Still okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He stood and offered you his hand. You stared at it. Then you looked at him.
“You know I’m going to complain the entire time,” you said.
Jack’s eyes warmed. “I’m counting on it.”
You took his hand.
He helped you stand slowly, one hand going immediately to your back, the other staying wrapped around yours like he knew exactly how much balance you had left and had no intention of making you spend any of it alone.
Your body protested. Your feet complained. The baby shifted.
You leaned into him as he guided you to the very edge of the dance floor.
The music moved around you.
Liv laughed somewhere nearby.
Robby’s voice followed, low and fond.
Jack swayed with you slowly, barely more than a shift of weight beneath the warm lights.
The old you would have danced differently.
The red top girl would have found Liv in the middle of the floor and pulled her close, laughing and bright and fearless.
But Jack’s hand was steady at your back.
Your stomach rested between you.
The baby moved once, softer now.
Jack’s mouth brushed your temple.
And when you opened your eyes, Liv was watching you from across the dance floor. She was crying. Of course she was. You shook your head at her. Liv smiled through it.
Then she mouthed, I love you.
Your throat tightened.
You mouthed back, Unfortunately.
Liv laughed.
Jack’s hand moved gently over your back. “You okay?”
You leaned into him. “No.”
His mouth brushed your hair. “Happy?”
You watched Liv turn back into Robby’s arms. Your chest ached.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Really happy.”
Jack held you a little closer.
And for the first time all day, you let yourself believe two things could be true at once.
You could miss the girl in the red top. You could still be her. You could be swollen, sober, emotional, wearing flats, carrying Jack’s kid, and still be the woman he wanted to take home.
Still Liv’s person. Still Jack’s wife. Still Trouble.
Jack’s hand stayed at your back as he guided you off the edge of the dance floor.
At first, you thought he was taking you back to the table.
Then he turned down the hallway.
You looked up at him. “Where are we going?”
Jack kept his pace slow enough for you. “Somewhere quiet.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds suspicious.”
His mouth curved faintly. “It’s not.”
You glanced back toward the reception hall. “That also sounds suspicious.”
Jack pushed open a door near the end of the hall with one hand. “In here.”
You stepped inside and immediately narrowed your eyes.
It was a small venue office, tucked away from the reception hall, with a narrow couch against one wall, a desk covered in vendor paperwork, and a stack of folded linens waiting in the corner.
You turned back to him. “Did you just put me in an office?”
Jack shut the door behind you and turned the lock. “I put you somewhere quiet.”
Your eyes dropped to his hand on the lock.
Then back to his face.
You lifted your brows. “Somewhere quiet with a lock?”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Useful feature.”
“That sounds extremely suspicious,” you said.
“It’s a door,” Jack said.
You gave him a look. “It is a locked door.”
His hand found your waist. “You needed privacy.”
You glanced toward the desk, then back at him. “For crying or crimes?”
Jack’s eyes moved over your face. “Depends how you’re feeling.”
Your stomach flipped.
You crossed your arms carefully over the swell of your stomach. “I am too pregnant to be lured into a venue office.”
Jack stepped closer. “You weren’t lured.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You led me down a hallway and locked a door.”
His hand moved carefully over your stomach. “I gave you somewhere to sit.”
You looked pointedly at his hand. “You are doing more than that.”
Jack’s thumb moved once against the fabric of your dress. “Not yet.”
Your breath caught. He noticed. His eyes warmed.
You pointed at him. “You are a menace.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “Sit down.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Bossy.”
“Pregnant,” Jack said.
You opened your mouth.
His hand spread carefully over your stomach. “My pregnant wife.”
Your mouth closed.
Jack’s expression softened. Annoying. Devastating.
You let him guide you to the narrow couch and sat with a relieved sigh you wished had sounded less dramatic.
Jack noticed anyway.
His mouth curved faintly. “That bad?”
You leaned your head back against the couch. “Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”
He crossed to the desk, found a plastic cup beside a pitcher of water, and poured one for you.
You watched him bring it over. “You brought me to an office for water.”
Jack handed you the cup. “I brought you here because you looked like you were about to cry on the dance floor.”
Your fingers tightened around the cup.
His eyes stayed on yours. “And because I wanted you alone for five minutes.”
The air shifted. Softly. Dangerously.
You swallowed. “Jack.”
He stood in front of you, tie loose, sleeves rolled, hair slightly mussed from a full day of wedding chaos and husband duties.
He looked infuriatingly good.
He looked like the man who had once backed you against his truck and made you forget how to act normal in public.
Your body remembered before you meant it to.
Jack saw that too.
His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.
His voice went quieter. “Trouble.”
You set the cup on the small table beside the couch. “You should be careful.”
His mouth curved. “Should I?”
You nodded, even as your fingers found his loosened tie. “This is Robby and Liv’s wedding.”
Jack let you tug him closer. “I know where we are.”
Your breath caught as he braced one hand on the back of the couch beside your shoulder.
He bent slowly.
Slow enough to give you room. Slow enough to make you take it.
You lifted your face to his.
The kiss was supposed to be soft.
It was not.
It started careful, but the careful part only lasted until your fingers tightened around his tie and Jack made a rough sound against your mouth.
Then his hand was at your jaw. Then your hand was in his hair. Then he was kissing you like he had been waiting all day and had finally run out of patience.
You gasped against his mouth. “Jack.”
His lips moved to your jaw. “Yeah?”
Your eyes closed as his mouth found the place beneath your ear. “We are in an office.”
Jack’s hand tightened at your waist. “Door locks.”
You shivered. “That is not the moral issue.”
His mouth curved against your skin. “It’s the practical one.”
A laugh broke out of you, breathless and helpless.
Jack kissed it from your mouth.
For a minute, maybe two, you forgot everything.
The dress. The swelling. The water. The way your feet hurt. The red top ghost.
There was only Jack’s mouth, and Jack’s hands and Jack looking at you like restraint was something he had personally outgrown.
Your fingers slid over his jaw. “This feels familiar.”
Jack paused with his mouth close to yours. “You sneaking off with me?”
Your breath shook. “You looking at me like you’re about to make a bad decision.”
His eyes darkened.
Jack’s thumb moved once over your cheek. “Wasn’t bad the first time.”
Your chest tightened.
The first time. The heat. The want. The reckless girl you used to be.
You tried to smile, but it came out smaller than you meant it to.
You whispered, “I used to be better at this.”
Jack went still. Not frozen. Not distant. Listening.
His voice dropped. “Better at what?”
You swallowed hard and looked down at his tie still twisted in your fingers. “Being the woman you sneak away with.”
The room went quiet.
Jack’s fingers found your chin. Gentle. Certain. He brought your face back to his.
“You are the woman I sneak away with,” Jack said.
Your eyes burned.
His gaze held yours. “You are the woman I take home.”
Your breath caught.
Jack’s thumb brushed your jaw. “You are the woman I want.”
The words moved through you slowly. Deeply.
Before you could answer, Jack kissed you again.
This time, it was not careful.
It was controlled.
There was a difference.
His hand slid over your hip, then down the outside of your thigh, gathering the fabric of your dress just enough for his fingers to find bare skin above your knee.
You inhaled sharply.
Jack stopped immediately. “Okay?”
You nodded.
His eyes stayed on yours. “Words.”
Your voice came out shaky. “Yes, Jack.”
His mouth found yours again.
His fingers skimmed higher, still careful, still maddening, and your head tipped back against the couch as heat unfurled low in your body.
The baby shifted.
You froze. Jack froze too.
For one ridiculous second, neither of you moved.
Then you looked down at your stomach. “Absolutely not.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh against your neck.
You pointed at your stomach. “This is private.”
His shoulders shook once.
You looked back at him. “Do not laugh while seducing me in an office.”
Jack lifted his head, eyes warm and dark. “Hotel.”
Your pulse jumped. “What?”
His thumb moved once over your hip. “I’m taking you back to the hotel before I forget where we are.”
You stared at him. Then your gaze dropped to his mouth.
You tried to sound normal. “That seems responsible.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “Trying something new.”
You pulled gently at his tie. “I don’t like it.”
His eyes darkened. “You will.”
Your breath caught.
Jack kissed you once more. Slow. Firm. A promise more than a finish.
Then he helped you stand, one hand steady at your back, the other smoothing your dress back into place like he had not just had his hand under it.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You are very composed for a man committing crimes against my emotional stability.”
Jack unlocked the door and glanced into the hall. “Practice.”
You stepped carefully beside him. “I hate that answer.”
His hand found yours.
Jack’s eyes warmed. “No, you don’t.”
You leaned into his side as he guided you back toward the reception long enough to say goodbye. “No. I really don’t.”
By the time Jack got you back to the hotel room, the heat from the stolen office had settled into something heavier.
You were still tired. Deeply tired. Your feet hurt. Your back ached. The baby had apparently accepted the end of the reception with only mild resentment.
But Jack’s hand at your back felt like a promise he had not finished keeping.
He opened the door with one hand, your overnight bag slung over his shoulder and the giant U-shaped pregnancy pillow tucked under his other arm.
He looked very handsome.
And deeply offended.
You saw his eyes move to the pillow as he stepped inside.
Then you watched him glare at it. Actually glare.
You stepped into the room behind him. “Do not start with her.”
Jack set the overnight bag near the dresser. “I didn’t say anything.”
You pointed at his face. “You looked.”
Jack placed the pillow on the bed with unnecessary precision. “She knows what she did.”
You rolled your eyes and shut the door behind you. “Penelope supports me.”
Jack’s gaze stayed on the pillow. “Penelope takes up more mattress than I do.”
You crossed your arms carefully over the swell of your stomach. “She has a job.”
Jack turned toward you. “She has an agenda.”
You lifted your chin. “She keeps my hips aligned.”
His eyes moved over you. “She keeps me from my wife.”
Your face warmed despite the exhaustion. “You are ridiculous.”
His expression softened. “I know.”
That was somehow worse.
You looked away first and reached awkwardly for the zipper at the side of your dress. “Please help me get out of this before I become one with the fabric.”
Jack crossed the room immediately.
His hands came to your waist, careful and familiar, and he turned you gently so your back was to him.
The room went quiet.
Not silent.
The air conditioner hummed softly near the window. A car passed on the street below. Somewhere down the hall, a door shut with a muted click.
Jack found the zipper.
His fingers brushed the back of your dress.
You closed your eyes.
Jack’s voice softened behind you. “Still okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
The zipper lowered slowly. Too slowly.
You tried to laugh. “You know this is not supposed to be seductive. I am trying to escape.”
Jack’s hand stilled at the middle of your back. Then his mouth came close to your ear.
Jack’s voice dropped. “I’m aware.”
Your breath caught.
You looked over your shoulder. “And?”
His eyes dropped to your mouth. “And I’ve been waiting all night to get you out of this dress.”
Your breath caught. Annoying. So annoying. You were eight months pregnant, swollen, exhausted, emotionally fragile, and apparently still very easy.
Jack finished lowering the zipper, then eased the dress down your shoulders. The fabric loosened around you in a soft rush, slipping over your stomach and down your hips until he helped you step out of it.
You stood in front of him in your practical maternity set, one hand settling automatically over your stomach.
You looked down at yourself and gave a weak laugh. “And there goes the glamour.”
Jack did not laugh.
You looked up.
He was staring at you. Not politely. Not sweetly. Not like he was trying to be kind. He was staring at you like restraint had followed him all the way from the venue and finally run out in the middle of the hotel room.
Your stomach tightened.
You said his name quietly. “Jack.”
His eyes lifted to your face. “What?”
You swallowed. “Don’t look at me like you’re trying to be nice.”
His expression changed. Heat moved through his face, slow and unmistakable.
Jack stepped closer. “I’m not trying to be nice.”
Your breath caught.
His hand moved to your stomach. The baby shifted beneath his palm.
Jack bent his head toward the curve of you. “Hi, kid.”
Your eyes burned because that still did something to you every time.
Then Jack looked back at you, and the softness did not leave.
Neither did the heat.
Jack’s thumb brushed the side of your stomach. “You said you didn’t feel like the woman I wanted.”
Your throat tightened.
You whispered, “I didn’t say you didn’t want me.”
Jack’s fingers found your chin. Gentle. Certain.
He brought your face back to his.
His eyes stayed on yours. “No. You said you didn’t feel like her.”
Your breath shook.
Jack’s gaze moved over you again, lingering in a way that made your pulse jump.
“You are,” he said.
Your hand curled in the front of his shirt.
His voice dropped lower. “And you are still the woman I have been trying not to put my hands on all day.”
You breathed his name. “Jack.”
His thumb brushed your jaw.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I didn’t know there was more.”
Your breath caught.
Jack’s eyes moved over you. “There is.”
You pulled him closer.
Jack kissed you like the office had only been the warning.
Like the dance floor had only been the beginning.
Like every careful look, every hand at your back, every quiet check-in had been leading here.
You felt tired. You felt huge. You felt wanted.
That was the part that broke you a little.
Jack kissed your jaw, then your neck, then the bare slope of your shoulder. His hands stayed careful over every place that hurt and entirely unapologetic everywhere else.
Your breath caught.
Jack paused against your skin. “Still okay?”
Your fingers tightened in his shirt. “Yes, Jack.”
His mouth brushed your shoulder again. “Good.”
You leaned into him, and his arm came around your back immediately, steadying you before you had to ask.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.
There was only his mouth at your skin.
Your fingers in his loosened tie.
His palm warm over your stomach.
The quiet certainty that he wanted you exactly like this.
Jack’s hand moved to your hip. “Bed.”
Your pulse jumped. You glanced past him. Penelope sat on the mattress in all her U-shaped smugness.
You pointed weakly at the pillow. “She’s watching.”
Jack turned his head. His expression flattened.
He addressed the pillow directly. “Penelope.”
You laughed, exhausted and shaky and warm all the way through. “Be nice.”
Jack looked back at you, eyes dark. “I’ll be nice to you.”
Your breath caught.
He kissed you before you could answer. Slow. Firm. A promise more than a question.
Then Jack helped you toward the bed, one hand steady at your back, the other already reaching for Penelope with the grim focus of a man preparing to negotiate with an enemy nation.
You watched him move the pillow aside. “You’re being very brave.”
Jack gave Penelope one final look. “I’m adapting.”
“You’re glaring,” you said.
His gaze stayed on the pillow. “She knows why.”
You smiled.
Then Jack turned back to you.
The smile faded from your face for an entirely different reason.
His eyes moved over you again. Slowly. Warm. Hungry. Yours.
Jack stepped between your knees and touched your cheek. “Still Trouble.”
Your chest tightened.
You reached for him. “Still tired.”
His mouth brushed yours. “I know.”
You looked up at him. “Still want me?”
Jack went very still.
Then his hand slid to the back of your neck, careful and certain, and his mouth hovered over yours.
His voice was low when he answered. “Always.”
That was the last clear thing either of you said for a while.
And Jack Abbot made sure you knew exactly how much he wanted you.
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