MAC
Six months later…
I wake slowly. Deliciously. It’s a warm summer morning, and my bedroom window is open. The sheer curtains billow from a delicate breeze. “Crying Shame” by The Teskey Brothers croons softly from the speaker by my bed, right where a thick dark mug of coffee rests waiting for me to rise.
A deep breath fills my lungs. I let it out leisurely, feeling well-rested and happy. Today is the first day of my maternity leave and my first holiday since … Well it’s my first holiday. Ever.
“Mac!” Jared’s voice roars up the staircase, ruining my appealing fantasy. “Get out of bed, you lazy beached whale! You’re needed downstairs.”
“Fuck off!” I shriek back.
The truth is that I haven’t woken slowly because I barely slept at all. Who can sleep when your belly is bigger than Mt. Everest? There’s no crooning music to gently rouse me either. And no leisurely breaths of air or sweet breeze wafting through my window. The only thing true is my maternity leave starting today.
My bedroom is a sweaty hotbox because I’m the dick that’s due to have a baby in the height of summer. A baby pffft. An evil being grows inside me. One who kicks and punches and bounces on my bladder like it’s a jumping castle of fun. I’m literally being attacked from the inside out.
Pregnancy is a total shit sandwich. I’m not glowing and my hair hasn’t thickened into a glorious mane. It’s lank and damp from sweat and tangled around my neck, choking me like the tentacles of a giant Architeuthis.
And I’m not resting comfortably in my own room. Nooooooo. That would be asking too much. I’m in my old bedroom at my parents’ house. Why? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.
We gave up our lease with the duplex six months ago. Henry, Frog, and Cooper, bought a loft in the building where Casey, Grace, and Coby still reside. The three twits think the area exudes some kind of badass vibe, and they’re hoping it will rub off on them. I eventually had to ruin their ridiculous notion and explain that you’re actually born with the badass gene inside you. It’s not something you can just acquire by association. It’s not magical glitter that you sprinkle over yourself at the start of the day.
Not that they listened. No one ever listens to the ‘hormonal rants’ of a pregnant woman, so I’ll just leave it for them to figure out for themselves.
Jake and I decided to have our own house like my brothers and their wives rather than lease an apartment. Though unlike Jared and Evie, who lived in their house while they renovated it, and unlike Travis and Quinn, who moved in to a house they built without finishing the yard, Jake and I are doing the whole shebang. House, gardens, and pool. We demolished an old dilapidated house on the same street as Jared and Evie in Bondi and started a new house from scratch.
I figured it would only take a couple of months. All they had to do was pour a slab of concrete for the foundation, slap up a timber frame, some bricks, add a bath or two and a sink, dig a big hole for a pool, add in a few plants and voila! Instant dream house!
On that basis, we thought moving in with my parents for such a short period of time would be survivable, but five months later we’re still here and I’m hanging on by my fingernails.
Apparently construction workers are lazy. They don’t like to work. Sometimes they turn up just for show, eat their lunch at nine a.m. from their lunch boxes like little kids, and act like they’ve done a hard day’s yakka before heading home. They also gossip like you wouldn’t believe. I’m guessing it’s all the flapping of their gums that leaves them weary after a hard day of pretending to build stuff.
In summary, progress is slow. I show up onsite sporadically, heavily pregnant, and rage at them like a hormonal bitch. It spurs them into action, but they’ve estimated another three months before we can move in.
My baby shower was supposed to be in the new house. There should be a nursery set up and ready. Instead, I’m two weeks out from delivering Satan and I have nothing.
Well I have Jake, I guess. The asshead who sleeps like the dead. He rolls over in bed and his knee pulls up, hitting me in my side. I grunt. We’re getting married. Today.
This giant lump of muscled man will be my husband in a few short hours. He was supposed to sleep on the couch, tradition dictating you can’t see each other before the ceremony or it’s bad luck, but I don’t give a shit about the old, musty folklore. Jake promised he would never leave me again, and by god, that means not sleeping apart. Ever. Not even for a single night.
Jake makes an odd snuffling sound. He’s slowly rousing. A hot palm finds the hem of my oversized nightshirt. It slides beneath and climbs, rubbing a hand over my colossal pregnant belly.
My heart flutters and despite my shitty sleep, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
“You’re glaring at me,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed.
“I am,” I lie, “and I’ll continue to do so every morning you wake beside me for the rest of your natural life.”
“I already want a divorce,” he mutters, his calloused palm lovingly scratching its way across my sensitive, stretched skin.
“You can have the house,” I announce. “I’m over it already.”
“I’ll let you have the cat, then.”
“No,” I argue. “You can have the cat too.”
Our little kitten is a rescue from the RSCPA and a baby shower gift from Henry, Frog, and Cooper, because that’s what you buy for someone who’s about to give birth to Satan. A mothertrucking cat. Satan’s spirit animal. They thought looking after the furball would be good training for a baby. My friends are clueless wankers. It’s lucky they have me around all the time to set them straight.
“Where is it?” Jake asks, his rich brown eyes blinking open blearily. The bachelor party was last night. Jake and all the boys got to imbibe alcohol. Meanwhile, my bachelorette party was two weeks ago and included mocktails and flip-flops on my feet because cankles.
“Where’s what?”
“Constantine.”
That’s what we named our kitten. After the demon hunter who literally went to Hell and back. I voted for The Antichrist but Constantine seems to suit the fluffy little troublemaker. She’s also completely white, which was thoughtful of the boys. They know how soothing I find the colour.
“I don’t know. Do you hear her?”
She’s so tiny. We had to put a bell on her diamond studded collar—yes diamond studded collar. Jake bought it because he’s a sucker for Constantine’s huge feline eyes. God help us when our girl is born. Jake is going to spoil her until she becomes a complete hellion. Our daughter is going to be precocious and yet utterly endearing. She’ll wrap every single one of us around her finger until we’re nothing but a twisted mess.
“She’s somewhere.” I hear her bell tinkling from inside the room.
Jake rolls over and opens the drawer of the bedside table. He rustles around. Finding what he’s looking for, he pulls it out and rolls back. It’s a small rectangular gift-wrapped box tied with a red bow. He places it on my belly. It sways precariously from its mountainous perch. “Happy wedding day, my beautiful bride.”
My cheeks flush with pleasure. Constantine is not the only female he likes to spoil. “You got me a gift?”
He grins, eyes twinkling. “I did. Hurry up and open it before your family storms the bedroom door and drags us out to help with the setup.”
We’re holding our wedding in the backyard of my parents’ house. I’m too heavily pregnant to host anything more extravagant than that. It’s why Jared is already yelling at me. He’s tasked with twining flowers around the arbour I bought in a fit of fancy and setting out the guest chairs for the ceremony.
“If anyone tries dragging me into the setup, I’ll set fire to their clothes. While they’re wearing them,” I add as I pick up the box in my hands. I’ve left a million instructions so I’m able to relax today. It shouldn’t be hard to follow them.
“You won’t be lifting a finger today, Princess,” Jake assures me. “Now open your gift.”
Lips curved in a smile, I undo the bow and it slides away. A huge bang comes at the bedroom door before I free the lid.
“Macface! Are you up yet?”
It’s Evie. She must have arrived early with Jared. The wail of a baby wafts up the stairs. “Fuck,” we hear her mutter. “I just want five minutes to see my goddamn best friend on her wedding day.”
The sound of her clomping back down the stairs is loud. Their baby, my nephew, doesn’t like to be held by anyone else but his mother. He screams holy hell if she sets him down for even a minute. I don’t know how she manages to get up and dress for the day let alone shower. It makes me fear for the future.
Jake and I have only two weeks to ourselves before Satan arrives. I plan to make the most of them because Evie tells me her life is basically over now. This means we have just fourteen days left to live before we’re sentenced to a hellish existence of poop and puke.
Jake buries his head in my neck, chuckling as Evie departs.
“You think it’s funny?”
“Yes.” He kisses the skin at the base of my neck. Then another. And another.
A throaty moan escapes me. “That’ll be us in two weeks.”
His chuckles die a quick death and he draws back. “Now you’re just being mean.”
“I’m not mean,” I argue. “I’m just a realist.”
Constantine leaps on the bed. Or tries. Her claws appear on the edge and she lifts her head enough for us to see her ears and desperate cat eyes. She’s tried to leap and only got so far. She lets forth an almighty screech, and her bell tinkles wildly as she grapples.
Jake reaches for her and the sheets drop low, revealing his naked torso. “Come here, baby girl,” he croons and snuggles the tiny ball of fur into his neck. He drops back on the bed, Constantine barely visible in his enormous hands.
I pause, the box still in my hands as I eye my future husband. His hair is longer now. The ends are golden from our weekends at the beach. He’s sporting a short beard too. It’s surprisingly soft and I love how it feels rubbing against my skin. Constantine loves said facial hair too. She’s rubbing her head against his jaw with adoration in her eyes.
“Open your gift,” he urges.
Another bang comes at the bedroom door. Jared yells through it when it’s not opened immediately. “They brought the wrong flowers for the arbour!”
Christ. It begins. I sigh. “What did they bring?” I call back.
“Red roses.”
Idiot. “They’re the right flowers.”
“But they’ve still got thorns on them.”
All the better to prick you with, Brother dear. “Grow a pair,” Jake hollers at him.
“Fuckers,” he mutters and disappears.
A gentle knock comes moments later. “Mackenzie, honey.” It’s Mum. “The stylist is here for your hair.”
“Already?” Jake asks me.
My lips pinch. “What do you mean already? A good up-do takes time. Do you want my hair to look like ass on my special day?” It’s still tangled around my neck. I’d be better taking the scissors with me into the bathroom and hacking it off, but I’ve been trying to keep it longer for today.
Jake holds his palms up, already surrendering.
“I’m awake, Mum,” I call back. “I’ll be down soon.”
Jake sighs and sits up, Constantine still curled in his neck. He swings his legs off the bed and stands. Entirely naked. It’s my turn to sigh. Let’s face it, all that tanned, thick muscle is the real gift here. I’ll be married to that for the rest of my life.
My future husband stalks to the dresser, tucking our little kitten under his arm like a teeny football. Being so tiny, it makes it appear as though Jake has white armpit hair, and I laugh. He glances over his shoulder, catching me watching him. “Pervert.”
I wink. “Takes one to know one.”
Pregnancy has surprisingly heightened my libido, and Jake’s in turn. He gets mad with lust seeing my belly full with his baby. I figure it’s a possessive male trait that dates back to his caveman ancestry.
Dragging my gaze from his naked from, I return my attention to the box and lift the lid. Inside nestles a bracelet set with fire opals. The gemstones catch the light and flame brightly. The beauty of it steals my breath. “Jake,” I whisper.
He shrugs as if it’s nothing but his expression is one of pleasure. With our relationship being out in the open, Jake is free to buy me whatever he chooses and he does so liberally. He seems to take so much joy in it. “It caught my eye from the store window and reminded me of you. You like it?”
“It’s stunning. I absolutely love it. But I love you more.”
Jake’s eyes crinkle. “To my head tomatoes?”
I giggle and then gasp as Satan punches outward. The saying is one his dad used with him when he was a boy. He uses it freely now. “And back up again.”
Jake sets Constantine on the top of my old glossy dresser and goes to open a drawer. The slick surface causes her panic and she tears off, skittering, and slides right down the back of it. The resulting screech is loud enough to burst my ear drums.
“Constantine!” I roll to my side and wrestle my way off the bed. I’m puffing my way over but Jake is already kneeled on the floor, reaching underneath to grab her. She’s wedged and he has to tilt his head to the side to see anything.
“Gotcha,” he exclaims and drags her out.
She comes out attached to a ratty old envelope. I snatch her up, and she burrows in between my right boob and my belly.
“What’s this?” Jake is straightening, the envelope in his hand.
I shake my head. “I don’t—” I’m about to say know, but then I get a good look at it and see Jake Romero written across the front in childish scrawl. At the time I thought the lettering looked neat and a bit fierce, but now it just appears jagged and silly. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Jake flips it over. The back is still stuck down, sealing it closed.
“It’s the letter I wrote you when I was eleven.”
He looks at me, puzzled. “You kept it all this time?”
“I did for a long while. You left and it felt like the only tie I had with you. For some strange reason it was comforting, but I thought the letter lost. It must have fallen down the back of the dresser and stayed there for years.”
Jake slips his thumb beneath the flap and begins to tear it open. I snatch it from him with my free hand; the other is snuggling Constantine. It leaves his hands suspended in the air.
“You can’t read it now.”
“Yes.” He snatches it back and smirks. “I can.”
I want to wrestle it from him but my belly cramps. I suck in a sharp breath. Oh shit. Not today, Satan. I walk to the bed, turn, and sink down slowly.
“Are you okay?” Jake asks. He has the letter out, but he’s watching me, the lines on his brow etched deep with concern.
“Heartburn,” I lie.
“You eat too much crap,” he mutters, unfolding the page.
“I haven’t eaten anything at all yet today. I’m starving.” I really am. “I’ve a craving for pasta carbonara.”
Jake’s brow arches. “For breakfast?”
Constantine leaps free of my arms and onto the bed. She stalks toward Jake’s pillow, tail twitching. After a quick sniff to make sure it’s his, she climbs on and claws until she settles in. “Yes. For breakfast.”
He shakes his head with amusement as he starts reading the letter aloud.
“Dear Jake.
I’m sorry for what I said. And I’m sorry about your dad.”
I’d gone on to write ‘you should have told me,’ but then I scrunched up the page and started again. It was none of my business but then again, it felt like it was. At the time I was so confused. But now it’s never been clearer. Jake and I are soulmates, and my soulmate had been suffering. How cliché that sounds when I think it. Silly, even. But no matter what, fate knew we were meant to be and kept shoving us together until we figured it out for ourselves.
Jake keeps reading. “Hearing what happened made me hurt, so I know you must hurt too. I don’t know how far away you’re going, or if I’ll ever see you again, but if I do I’ll try and be nicer.
And I’ll make you a promise. I never break my promises so you must believe in me.
I promise that I’ll visit with your Dad, even if you can’t. And I’ll read to him all the time because books take you to the places you can’t go. I can be his family too.” His voice wobbles but he continues on. “Because family means no one ever gets left behind. I promise I won’t leave your Dad behind, Jake.
Take care,
Mackenzie Valentine.”
He looks up from the page, tears in his eyes. “I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.”
“It was a silly letter, Jake. It—”
“Fuck off,” he croaks. “It’s not silly. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Jake folds the page and tucks it inside the envelope. Then he opens the dresser drawer and puts it away with infinite care. After closing the drawer, he turns. “Come here.”
“I would, but I’ve beached myself on the edge of this bed and there’s no moving now.” No one tells you how you need a crane to get out of bed in the mornings when you’re pregnant.
Jake chuckles and walks over to me. He takes my hands and helps me upright, pulling me into a hug. It’s not easy with my huge belly in the way, but he manages to hold on tight, his body warm and solid. “Are you happy?” he asks, his face buried in my neck. He’s breathing me in, something he loves to do.
“I’ve never been happier.”
He draws back and looks me in the eye, but my arms remain wrapped around his neck. “I know you wanted to work with Jamieson and Valentine Consulting.” He knows because I told him. I confessed the need I felt to prove myself. But that need is gone. It died along with Gabriella Valdez. She was a police officer, but she chose to serve and protect out of love, not out of need to prove she could do it. It made me realise that I don’t need to prove shit to anyone else but myself and just do what I love.
And I love working with Jamieson. I’ll continue working with them for as long as they’ll have me. I’m right where I want to be.
“I only thought I wanted to,” I remind Jake. “You know that.”
“If you ever change your mind, I’d be okay with it. With you working with them. Well … not okay. Not really. But I’d live with it.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Good. I like having you boss us around.”
“I like bossing you all around.”
Jake chuckles. His lips are still smiling when he ducks his head and kisses me. The pressure of his mouth is firm and his tongue snakes out, licking my bottom lip, demanding entry.
I don’t deny him. The kiss turns heated and my fingers tangle in his hair.
“Mac?” Tap tap tap at the bedroom door. “The hairstylist,” Mum reminds me.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror of my parents’ bedroom. Their private space is large. A king bed dominates the room with a large bedhead made of textured fabric. A daybed occupies the area by the window. Mum likes to read there in the winter when the warmth of the sun hits the cushion-covered seat.
Evie and Quinn are sitting on it right now, and Grace and Mum are perched on the edge of her bed. They give a collective sigh at my image. Mum’s is heaviest of all. She’s in heaven right now. She has a grandbaby to obsess over and another on the way. She has her three daughters-in-law by her side (she adopted Grace into the family a long time ago), and she has me. The hellion child. Though not so much a hellion anymore. Well, maybe a little.
I stare at my reflection. “I look like a whale.”
They all protest but it’s true. I’m swollen and puffy. I have no jawline anymore. It’s vanished because fluid retention has swallowed me whole. My original plan when I eventually married was to wear the beautiful red dress Mitch bought me, but my bloated body would tear it apart. Instead, I wear a strapless ivory dress. The style is empire line, so it fits snug around my boobs and drops neatly to the floor. It’s overlaid with intricate floral lace and finished off with little lace-cap sleeves. The dress is elegant and ridiculously expensive, but I couldn’t resist.
My hair is done in light, beachy waves and hangs down my back. Two small pieces on either side have been swept off my face and hold together at the back with a jewelled pearl comb. The same one my mother wore on her wedding day. On my feet rest an elegant pair of thin strapped beach sandals in ivory because it’s all I can bear wearing.
The overall effect is very romantic when I usually opt for severe, but the change feels perfect, if just for today.
A tap comes at the door.
“Who is it?” Mum asks as the girls hover, twitching bits of my dress into place and realigning strands of hair.
“It’s me!” Dad booms.
“Come in,” she calls back.
The door pushes open with force and Dad strides in, along with Travis. I half turn to look at them, and Dad’s lips mash together. The pride in his eyes is so bright it’s a wonder I’m not blinded.
“Everyone out,” he barks. “I need to have a talk with my little girl.”
“It’s a bit late for the birds and bees talk,” Travis quips, taking hold of my elbows as he leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You look incredibly beautiful today, little sister.”
“Not so little,” I grumble. My belly tightens with a cramp and I wince. “But thank you.”
His green eyes light with concern. “Are you okay?”
Heat pricks at my eyes. “I’d be better if Mitch was here.”
Travis sighs heavily and steps back as I’m hugged in turn by my friends, and then by mother. They step out of the room and the door clicks shut. It’s almost time.
“He’s not coming?” I ask, looking to Dad.
“No, love.” My father shakes his head sadly. “He’s not.”
I hiccup, but it somehow turns into a sob.
“It’s not you,” Travis reassures me as Dad grabs my arm in vice-like grip and drags me toward the daybed. “Sit down,” he says.
I sink to the edge, wondering how I’ll ever get back up again, and I wait, looking up at my father as he gathers his thoughts.
“Mitch is …”
Struggling.
“Sick. That’s right.” Dad paces. “He has a cold. Errr flu.”
A scowl fixes on Travis’s face. “Dad.”
“He doesn’t want anyone else to get sick. Especially you, Mac, being almost due.”
Mitch woke from his coma after several weeks, but only to a minimally conscious state. He had limited awareness that came and went. He came around gradually, but then we broke the news about Gabriella and now it feels as though he’s lost the will to live.
He picks fights with me. He picks fights with Jared and Travis. He picks fights with our parents. His rehabilitation is regressing as he slowly, but surely, gives up on life.
Travis shakes his head and crouches, bringing him eye level with me. “Mitch doesn’t have the flu.”
“I know, Trav,” I say softly. “He’s not sick. He’s broken.”
My brother nods. “Deep down inside he wants to be here. He loves you. You’re his favourite sibling. He’s just not able to take that step yet. He needs more time, and we have to be patient in giving it to him.”
Dad stands by Travis and grasps his shoulder, his expression heavy. “Well said, Son.”
Bless them both. They don’t want to see me upset on my wedding day. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”
But I’m not. Mitch should have been here, Gabriella by his side in some sexy number that makes all the men’s eyes pop from their heads. Instead, he’s somewhere hurting, defeated, maybe even drinking, and Gabriella is in the ground.
Her death changed us, and her funeral destroyed us, but we’re closer now than we’ve ever been before. It was attended by more than five thousand people. Police lined the road for kilometres as the procession of her coffin left the church. The Australian community abhors the deaths of those who protect and serve. They came out in droves, standing by the side of the road, solemn, service officers saluting as the procession passed by.
My eldest brother missed it all. Instead, Mitch lay dormant in his hospital bed while thousands honoured her life, oblivious to his loss and missing his chance to say goodbye.
“Out you go now,” Dad says to Travis. “I need a private word.”
Travis nods and straightens. “I’ll see you out there.”
When the door clicks shut behind him, Dad takes a seat beside me with a sigh.
I eye him sideways. “You’re not really going to give the birds and bees speech, are you?”
He chuckles but the sound is pained.
“What is it?” I ask, wary.
“Did I ever tell you about Aunty Dee?”
Of course he never told us about our aunt Diana, his younger sister, and he knows that. It’s a no-go topic. She died at the age of eighteen, and she’s been a touchy subject ever since. Dad never talks about her with anyone.
“You’re the very image of her.” He hangs his head, studying the floor. My dad—the man who kicks ass and takes names and looks everyone in the eye when he speaks to them—can’t look at me. “The hair and the eyes but most of all, the attitude. Weakness wasn’t a word in her vocabulary, just like it isn’t in yours. There was fire inside of her and when you were born, it’s like she re-lit the torch inside of you.”
I had no idea, but it warms me to know I’m carrying my aunt’s legacy.
My dad lifts his head and his eyes are filled with the ache of regret. “I loved that fire. It meant no one would ever mess with her. It was going to take her places. So I encouraged it. I fanned the flames. But it was that fire that got her killed. It made her overconfident, gave her too much courage and too much heart. She fought for the underdog with reckless abandon, until one day she stood up to the wrong person at the wrong time, and he didn’t like it. Not one little bit. And as she walked to the train station one afternoon after school, he snatched her and he … he …” My dad’s voice cracks. He pauses and swallows, looking away again, the memory too much to bear. “He did things to her that no one should ever have to endure.”
I reach across and take his big hand in mine, my stomach rolling at what Aunty Dee must have gone through.
“Then you were born, and when I saw that same fire in you, it put the fear of God in my heart.” His gaze returns to mine, his expression grave and eyes glassy. “And I tried to smother it.”
“Fucking Dick Head school,” I mutter.
Dad shakes his head, huffing. “Yes, Fucking Dick Head school. I knew you called it that, by the way. But I convinced myself it could do what I couldn’t. I convinced myself it would douse that fire and keep you safe.”
“Dad,” I whisper.
“That was wrong and I’m sorry.”
My eyes burn. “I always thought I was the daughter you never wanted.”
“No.” His voice is appalled. “God, no. I love who you are. You have a beautiful spirit, and I’m so damn proud of you. You champion your friends and your family. You fight for them and would do anything for them. You went to war for them. You work tirelessly to give them a life you believe they deserve, but it’s time to start living the life you deserve now.” Dad lets go of my hand and stands. He walks to the bedside table where my bouquet of roses rests. He picks them up and turns, a smile slowly forming until happiness lines his face. “Time for you to get yourself hitched.”
“You have to help me up first.”
He chuckles and my belly cramps again. I’m getting good at hiding it because it kept happening the whole time he and Travis were talking and neither noticed. He takes my hand and helps me upright. Then his eyes crinkle. “Hurry up, love. That baby is going to come out at any moment. Best get that ring on your finger first.”
I gasp. “Dad! How did you know?”
“That you’ve gone into labour? Sweetheart, I may be old, but I’m not stupid. Your mother birthed four of my children. I recognise the signs.”
I tuck my arm in his and we leave the room. I descend the stairs and step outside, my father by my side. Henry is on his acoustic guitar by the arbour, and Evie is standing in front of a microphone. They begin my chosen song when they see me—“When I Look At You” by Miley Cyrus—and all our guests stand en masse, turning to watch.
I begin the walk down the aisle, my eyes burning. Jake is standing by the arbour in a navy suit with a red rose boutonniere. He wears a crisp white shirt beneath the jacket, open at the collar. He looks glorious and I remember back to when I broke my arm and likened him to Tim Riggins straight out of Friday Night Lights. We have so much shared history. Who knew that one day the boy who lost his family would marry the girl who smeared spaghetti all over his shirt?
A tear slips out and rolls down my cheek.
Shit. The last thing I need is to ruin my makeup!
Then I pause. Dad stops with me. I hear the slightest falter in Evie’s voice and Jake’s brow furrows.
“Dad,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
“What?” he whispers back.
“We have to go back inside.”
“What? Why?”
My voice is a hiss. “Because I think I’ve just wet myself.”
“Holy Jesus,” he booms in front of all and sundry. “Your waters have broken.”
The music comes to a crashing halt and everyone stands frozen, looking at me. Jake’s eyes drop to my belly and back up again, widening with panic. He doesn’t yell, but his shocked voice carries down the aisle. “You’re in labour?”
I grit my teeth. Didn’t you hear me before, Satan? I said not today.
“No!” I call back, feeling a sticky trickle of fluid run down the insides of my thighs. I wave reassuringly. “False alarm.”
Jake’s face settles into an expression of relief.
“Bitch, you are in labour.”
I turn a hard glare on Tim. He’s in the aisle seat right where we’ve paused, and his eyes are on the pool at my feet. A contraction hits me hard and I gasp. My fingers tighten on Dad’s arm until I’m sure I’ve cut his circulation off.
“Dad,” I whimper.
Mum comes tearing down the aisle, the elegant fascinator atop her head flying off behind her. “Where’s your hospital bag?” she shouts as if I’m deaf.
Travis is right behind her. Jared is right behind him. They start to crowd me. I think my brothers are discussing one of them grabbing my ankles and the other my arms and hauling me out to the car between them. Everyone is yelling. It’s goddamn pandemonium.
I rise on my tiptoes, my eyes finding Jake. He’s still standing by the arbour, apparently frozen.
“Help me,” I mouth.
My plea spurs him into action. His bulky muscle shoves through the throng of friends and family until he’s standing in front of me. “Satan’s coming?”
I nod, unable to hide the hard evidence. “She’s coming.”
He exhales, having a holy fuck moment. I know how he feels. This thing has to come out of my freaking vagina.
“Right.” In a single smooth motion, he puts an arm under my shoulders and behind my knees and lifts me. My lace dress trails to the ground, no doubt ruined. He gives me a single look before he carries me out, his eyes crinkling. “Let’s do this, Princess.”
My labour suite is crammed with hospital staff and family. Mum and Dad. Travis and Jared. Evie and Henry. “Everyone out!” I shriek. “Get the fuck out!”
I turn my head to Jake, my hair damp with sweat and our baby crowning. He’s by my side, pale and wobbly. It appears as if a light breeze will knock him over. I grab the collar of his shirt and drag him close so he can see the rage in my eyes.
“Get them all the fuck out of here before I burn this motherfucking hospital to the ground!”
Jake doesn’t leave my side but the midwife manages to herd them all out the door. Each of them are calling out various words of encouragement as they leave, but I pay no attention. I have a baby half out of my vagina. Their platitudes can go suck a bag of dicks.
“The head is out,” my obstetrician announces. “Come look,” he says to Jake.
Jake squeezes my hand and prepares to stand, but I hold on for dear life. “If you go down there to see my mangled vagina I will end you.”
He sinks back down.
“One more push,” the midwife cries.
I slump back in my bed. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
Nope. Fuck you all. I am done. I’ve changed my mind about having a baby. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.
Jake squeezes my hand again. “You’ve never failed at anything you set out to do. Search inside. You’ve got to find that inner strength and pull it out of you. Don’t give up, no matter how much you want to collapse.”
“Arrrrghhhhhhhh!!!” I push hard, rising up on my elbows. “Fuck you! My labour is not a goddamn Eminem song!” I yell on long, pained moan.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “That sounded so much better in my head.”
The wails of a baby render the air. It sounds like the bleating of a little lamb. “Oh my god,” I cry and crumple.
“Congratulations,” our obstetrician says with a big grin. He rises from his seated perch between my legs, our baby held up in his hands. “You have a little girl.”
Jake stands so abruptly his seat clatters back and hits the wall. His eyes are wide with wonder. “Mac, we have daughter.”
Tears are pouring down my cheeks. “And she’s perfect.”
I watch like a hawk from my pillow as Jake cuts the cord. Then they check her vitals, weigh her tiny body, and measure her length. When we’re assured that she’s fine, they fold her in a blanket and hand her to Jake.
His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are beaming. He looks to me. “She’s so small.”
He walks to me and passes her. We’ve been practising our baby passing already with Evie and Jared’s baby, using our nephew as a guinea pig. So his pass is done with relative ease.
I hold my daughter in my arms as the midwife takes photos. Jake puts his arm around me as I look up at her, my smile bright enough to crack the camera lens. Our first family photo.
“I’ll go share the news,” Jake says, eager like a little kid. “Be right back, okay?”
I spend the ten minutes he’s gone staring down at my daughter. “Little Satan, you are early and ambushed my wedding day,” I whisper. “I guess this is going to set the tone for the rest of your life, hmm?”
Jake returns. “Look who I found in the waiting room.”
He walks in and steps aside. Mitch hobbles through on a cane.
My vision blurs. “Stitch.”
A smile forces its way to his lips, but his eyes remain lifeless. “I hear I have a little niece.”
“You do.” I hold up the little bundle for his inspection as he shuffles forward. His rehabilitation includes physical therapy to help him walk again, but his lack of improvement is heartbreaking.
Jake reaches my side and takes our little bundle so Mitch can get a closer look. “Sit down so you can hold her,” he urges.
“No.” He shakes his head, staring down at my daughter. “I’m good.”
“Please,” I murmur.
Mitch huffs and stumbles into the seat by my bed. His cane clatters noisily to the floor, and my brother grunts with irritation. Jake plonks little Satan in his arms.
“We’ve named her Gabriella,” I say quietly. “Gabriella Mary.”
Mitch’s eyes close. Jake takes advantage and leaves the room, giving us a moment. “You don’t blame yourself for her … death, do you?”
“No,” I reply, but it’s a lie. I do. My mind understands that it’s Elijah Rossiter who killed her, but my heart feels differently. It’s something I’ll live with, but I’ll live with it knowing she died doing something she believed in. “Eli killed her.” And now he’s locked away, awaiting trial. “He was the one who pulled the trigger.”
Mitch opens his eyes. There’s a spark of something in them. Something I haven’t seen for a very long time. It’s resolve. The kind of resolve that sets the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
When my brother speaks, his voice chills me to the bone. “And he’s going to pay for that with his life.”
THE END