Kat
Rosie visited yesterday. She showed up outta the blue when I was reading after the kids went to sleep and kept me company. By that point, I was having a hard time concentrating on the storyline, when all I could think about was Ryker at the clubhouse party doing whatever with whomever. Trust takes a long time to build, and my trust in him is at the seedling stage. One of these days the stem will sprout and grow into a beautiful flower. Until then, I’m stuck where I am, overthinking, worrying, needing him home where I can see him face to face. Sure, the texts helped some. But, they didn’t last long. Once that seed of doubt gets planted it has a way of flourishing like a weed in a forest of hope. That’s why I’m grateful for Rosie’s distraction. We talked. Ate pie together. Caught up on nothing and everything at the same time. It was sort of amazing, considering I don’t have any female friends here besides her. And even that friendship is unusual.
Rosie left late last night, the girls are at school, and Walker is sleeping soundly after a bath and a bottle. My current situation; I’m soaking in a hot bubble bath to calm these intense, albeit sporadic Braxton Hicks contractions. Obviously, it’s been years since I experienced anything like them. Nonetheless, I remember what they feel like, and they suck major donkey dick. Big, fuzzy donkey dick. Ugly, weirdly shaped donkey dick. You catch the drift.
Reclining my head on the ledge of the tub, legs bent at the knees, hands cupping either side of my belly; I ride out the next false contraction. When it’s through, I grab my loofa and pour a generous amount of body wash on it to get clean. If I felt up to it, I’d shave. I’m not. So that’ll have to wait for another day when I’m feeling less green. Even my stomach’s a mess. The eggs and bacon I cooked this morning didn’t settle well. The yogurt I ate for lunch, to soothe my bubble gut, didn’t mask the issue like I hoped it would. If I had a choice, I’d lay in bed all day and sleep. However, when you’re a mom, you don’t get that option. The girls will need dinner, Walker too, among other motherly duties. For now, I’ll bask in the relaxing heat and fuss over my endless to-do list later.
“Kat?” A familiar masculine voice reverberates through the space, coming from the bedroom.
Ryker’s home.
“Yes?” I call.
“You in the tub? Or are you usin’ the toilet?”
“Tub.”
Without an invitation, Ryker opens the bathroom door, wearing a breathtaking smile, eyes bright, face scruffy, showing no signs of a hangover or pain. He’s even changed his clothes. The jeans are gone, and sweats are back in action. It ought to be illegal for a man to look that damn good in sweatpants.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He scooters forth and takes a seat on the ledge of the tub, drawing a tender finger down my scarred cheek. “I missed you.”
I missed you, too.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies flap in my belly, overriding the waning contraction and mild sickness. I smile bashfully at him.
Ryker dips his hand in the tub to massage my massive belly, which pokes a smidge out of the water. “How’s she doin’? How are you doin’? How’s Walker?”
What’s with the inquisition? Since when does he ask about Walker?
“We’re all fine,” I remark, confusion lacing my words.
“I’m glad to hear it. Well, whenever you’re done, come out to the living room, I’ve got somethin’ to show ya.”
He’s acting weird.
“Um. O-kay.”
Patting the side of our daughter, he continues to smile that same spectacular smile, leans in, pecks my forehead, then he’s gone like a figment of my imagination.
Peculiar
Quite peculiar.
Curious about what Ryker’s up to, I finish washing in record time for a pregnant woman. Which is nowhere close to the land speed record. More like a snail’s pace. Climbing out of the bath isn’t without difficulty. Neither is drying off with an average towel. I’m certain we’ve been over this once before, but there needs to be pregnancy towels for us fat ladies. Get to it marketing people; I wanna wrap my body all the way, not half of it! Soaking up the wetness, I get mostly dry before wrapping the damp towel around my hair in a turban. Clothes are next. Meh. They’re so overrated… albeit essential. The question is, what do I wear? Is this weirdness Ryker’s exuding something that requires proper attire aka maternity leggings and a blouse? Or, can I throw on one of his Harley t-shirts that I’ve begun to stretch out around the tummy, and tug on a pair of his oversized sweats sans panties? They’ve become my go-to duds when I wanna be ultra-comfy. A necessity pretty much all the time, considering walking around the size of the Goodyear blimp isn’t exactly fun. There’s less than a month until my due date, and I’m about to start counting down the days like an advent calendar. Don’t we all do that? In the beginning, you loathe being pregnant due to the sickness. In the middle you love it. Then you reach the final countdown, and you’re ready to do anything, and I do mean anything, to induce labor. Eat spicy food, fuck like rabbits, nipple stimulation, running, jumping, walking, twerking, mowing the lawn, and even drinking castor oil, if you’re desperate enough. I’ve not gotten to that point, but I know some who have. More power to ya. The idea of shitting my brains out while someone pushes on my bladder and kicks my heart isn’t exactly on my bucket list. If you wanna give it a whirl, knock yourself out.
Selecting a navy blue shirt from a hanger in Ryker’s closet and a pair of black Nike sweats, I drape the clothes over my forearm and carry them into the bathroom to get dressed. That’s where I left the maternity bra I have to wear this late in the game. If I don’t, there will be milk stains all over my shirt. Guess it’s a good thing I have reusable breast pads to soak up the colostrum leakage.
Once that clumsy task is complete I brush my teeth, deodorize my pits, clean my glasses, gloss my lips, comb my wet hair and tie it up in a messy bun. Finished, I give myself a once over and shrug at the form reflecting back at me. My face is fuller than it was a month ago. I’m getting Violet Beauregarde fat, and I don’t like it one bit. The scar on my cheek is lighter, though. That’s a plus.
Fixing the loose strands of hair in my bun, I stop staring in the mirror and waddle into the bedroom to check on Walker. Sidling up to his bassinet I peek inside. He’s gone. What the frog shit? Did Dad come in here and steal him? Is that who drove Ryker home today? It has to be. Nobody else holds the little guy besides me or the girls.
Hand perched on hip; I breathe through a sneaky Braxton Hicks contraction, then pad toward the great room with bare feet that resemble bejeweled Lil’ Smokies sausages glued to an oddly shaped puff pastry… Mmmm that sounds yummy—Lil Smokies and puff pastry. Perhaps I’ll Pinterest this later to see what I find. Maybe pick up some BBQ sauce, too. Lil Smokies go perfectly with BBQ deliciousness, especially the sweet and tangy kind. Oh Boy, I’m not even feeling well, and I still wanna stuff my face. Lord, help me now.
Too busy observing said sausage toes that Scarlett painted with six different colors; I don’t notice Ryker holding Walker until I suddenly come upon them seated at the kitchen table of all places. On first glance, I stumble over my fat feet, catch myself on the back of another chair, and gasp at the odd, hopeful sight of the baby boy sleeping soundly on his massive chest.
“Wh-what ar-are you doing with him?” I whisper disjointedly, catching my breath.
Grinning like the cat that ate the canary, Ryker tilts his gorgeous head toward the living room. Confused as all get out, I follow the silent movement. Then everything becomes crystal clear. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious than this. Oh. My. Bejesus. This is… too much… Too, too much.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I soak in the insane view. I can’t believe he…
“You got the results,” I mumble to myself, heart thundering in my chest.
Ryker reaches out to fold our fingers together, and I let him. Without warning, I tremble. My bottom lip wobbles so I suck it between my teeth. Tears form and begin teeming. I’m… I’m in shock. That has to be what this feeling is… This is happening. This is real. It’s freaking happening, and I can’t believe it.
“Sweetheart?” Ryker questions, as his perfect fingers squeeze mine.
There’s no way I can look at him—at Walker. I’ll have a total meltdown if I do. Don’t test a pregnant chick with happy moments, she’ll lose it. That’s exactly what I’m close to doing.
“You know,” I force out.
The backdoor closes, and multiple sets of heavy footsteps resonate through the mudroom.
Kade, Dad, and Bear enter the space. It seems to gain ten times the emotion in their presence. To see them here, witnessing this… it’s too much. The silly hormonal dam breaks and I outright start to sob. Kade saunters over to… wait is he relieving Ryker of Walker? No. That can’t be right. He isn’t peeling my sleeping little boy from his… father’s chest. Oh. Jeez. His father. A hiccup cry wrenches from my throat, and Ryker pulls me to him. Without asking, he cradles me in his lap and my cheek rests on a beefy pec, as he whispers loving tidbits that only I can hear.
“You were so right, babe,” he croons, massaging the side of my thigh. “I should’ve listened. Rosie brought the paperwork last night.”
“Did you buy out the baby store?” I sniffle, curling into him, inhaling his manly scent, his warmth, comfort—him. It’s perfection. The only place I wanna be for always.
I sense him shrug. “We’ve got one infant and another on the way. We know we’re havin’ a girl. So I had to get enough for the both of ‘em.”
“A giant, pink giraffe, really?” I giggle softly.
“It goes with the giant blue bear that Pops picked out.”
“They helped?” Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.
“I’m a gimp right now, babe. Who else was gonna do all the heavy liftin’?”
Oh right. Duh. I wasn’t thinking.
“Sorry. I guess I couldn’t picture Bear in a baby store.”
Ryker chuckles all deep and sexy, giving me an extra sweet squeeze. “We had to drive two hours to get to that store. I called ahead, so they had some of the stuff ready for us to load when we got there. Why don’t you go see what we bought our kids? There’s even a little somethin’ in there for Rox and Scarlett, too.”
I’m a goner.
He had me hooked before. Stuck on his line and halfway reeled in.
Not anymore.
Consider me caught.
Buying stuff for our kids has melted me into a pile of madly in love goo. It’s bright pink and bursting with unicorn glitter! For all his assholish ways, Ryker has these rare moments of perfection that outshine the darkness that lurks around the edges of our complicated relationship.
Instead of moving, I nuzzle my nose to his pec, soaking up all that is him. It’s better here anyhow. The messy living room can wait.
“Tiger,” he warns. “You gotta quit that.”
“What?”
Something hard flexes against my hip that cuddles his crotch. “When you get all affectionate, I get like this.” The thickness does a pushup, letting himself be known.
Don’t worry, I know you’re there Ryker Jr, and you’re just as tempting as I remember.
“You’re always horny,” I mumble, lips pressed against the cotton of his tee, hiding my smile.
“I am. Am I?” he snickers, playing along with my silly banter.
“Uh huh.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Yours?” I suppress a school girl giggle.
“Mine, huh?”
Ryker’s palm glides up my arm to my shoulder, where he slides his fingers into the base of my hair. He gets a firm hold and tilts my head back, so I’m forced to look up at him. A zing of pleasure awakens my clit as he slowly lowers his lips to mine, fusing us as one, breathing together, touching—being. Agonizing seconds tick by as we merge there, going pliant… softer, softer, softer, until we’re slotted in the most delicious of ways. Our tongues pursue their mate in a game of hide and seek. A tiny touch at first, and then another. My heart wallops harder with each tentative taste. Curling a hand around his thick neck, I flick my tongue along his, memorizing the seductive flavor. Ryker moans, tunneling the vibrations into my mouth.
That’s it.
Getting high on his touch, I moan in response. Ryker answers my ravenous call with a hungrier one of his own. Yanking me higher, until I’m molded to him completely, he captures my mouth in a searing kiss that borderlines violent. Teeth clink. Lips bruise. Giving as good as I get, I battle for supremacy. On and on our mouths mate. Illicit moans and groans exchange. My juices soak through the cotton of my bottoms. Somehow, I end up straddling his lap, undulating against the erection in his pants. Yet, we don’t stop. His big palms grab my ass, kneading, helping me along—grinding, grinding, grinding, on his cock; hitting my clit with expert precision.
It’s not enough.
There’s too many clothes in the way.
Blindly tearing at the waist of his sweats with my fingertips, he helps me slide them down, so they rest at the tops of his knees, exposing his thick erection. Yes! On instinct, I fumble to my feet. Bent in half, mouth still molded to his in sloppy kisses, I shimmy my pants to the floor with his help. Before the sensible part of my brain can interfere, I reposition myself on his lap and impale my pussy on his pre-cum coated dick, groaning in pleasure through the aching stretch.
OhMyFuckingGod!
“Fuuck,” he growls, attacking my lips with the passion of a hundred orgasms, palm possessively gripping the nape of my neck.
Pushing off the chair rungs with the tips of my toes, I ride his member. It’s messy. Frenzied. It’s gloriously shameless. Clasping my hands around his neck, curled forward to combat my large belly wedged between us, we kiss, we fuck, we lose ourselves in ecstasy. The wet cacophony of bodies colliding is music to my ears. His manly scent invades my brain. Sweat beads on my brow. Air heaves from my lungs, thighs burn from exertion. But I don’t stop. I can’t! The urge to climax is imminent. I need this. I need him!
Heat builds, turning my blood to molten lava. My walls contract around his girth. Slamming my hips down one last time, spearing myself wholly, the world as I know it fragments into microscopic pieces of explosive nirvana. Throwing my head back, eyes pinched shut, I scream Ryker’s name, coming apart at the seams. Starved for more, my pussy spasms on and on, deepening the white-hot pleasure with each downward stroke. Ryker helps me along by rocking our pelvises together in perfect sync, hitting that special spot just right. Before the high can fizzle and I catch my breath, another all-consuming orgasm unexpectedly crests. Holding on for dear life, Ryker controls my hips with both hands, fucking me on his cock like I’m a life-size fleshlight.
Jesus Christ!
So good!
“That’s it. Come on, beautiful. Come all over me,” he rasps, unable to steady his own breath.
And I do. Again. On. Command.
Kisses forgotten, Ryker attacks my throat with small nips and love bites. “I’m gonna come in you,” he growls below my ear, pressing a tender peck there.
“Yes!” I cry out.
“That’s it.” He drags his lips to my jaw.
One final thrust and he stills, releasing a feral moan as hot spurts fill my channel. His thigh twitches beneath me, body tremoring through his release.
That was… unexpected… amazing!
Sagging forward, boneless, forehead resting on his shoulder, I force air into my lungs. A satisfied smile pulls at my lips. “That was…”
“Perfect,” he finishes for me.
“It was.” A pinch of guilt takes hold. “I thought you couldn’t have sex.”
“Don’t care.” His hands travel up and down my spine as if he can’t stop himself from touching me in some way.
“Are you hurt?” It sounds like I’m asking my sixty-year-old partner if he threw out his hip having sex. One of these years that could be the case.
“Nope. Might be a bit sore later. But it was worth it.”
Drawing back to judge if he’s telling the truth, he smiles boyishly, cheeks reddening. That’s not like him. Ryker doesn’t do shy.
Heart-stopping warmth washes through me at the rare sight. I brush my thumb across the bridge of his nose and cheek. Then lean in to ghost my lips over his before planting a gentle kiss there. It’s soft, tender, and oh-so-wonderful that it nearly steals my breath away. When we were together all those years ago, kissing him was emotional. It always touched the delicate spots inside of me that I kept hidden. This isn’t the same. It’s somehow more. As if we had crawled through an endless desert in search of a miracle and found one another on the other side.
“I love you,” I whisper there, testing the seam of his mouth with the sweep of my tongue.
“I love you so much more,” he returns equally sweet before touching his tongue to mine.
Someone clears their throat, bursting our perfect sex bubble.
Shit sticks! I forgot we weren’t alone. We had… all of our family here.
Hiding my face in Ryker’s neck, wanting to die from mortification, I blindly search for his hands and plant them on either of my butt cheeks to conceal them from prying eyes. As if they didn’t see everything already. As if my ass isn’t bigger than his already large hands. It is. I’ve got quite the rump. All of my jiggly bits that only Ryker is supposed to see are out on display. Not that Kade hasn’t seen them at least once, but that’s not the point. I wasn’t having sex then. The jiggly bits jiggle during sex. And I’ve put on a bit of weight, thanks to the two-ton baby residing in my womb. Oh crap, I screamed Ryker’s name, too, didn’t I? Yep, someone kill me now. There’s no way I can ever live this down. Who has sex with their crippled whatever he is when their father, best friend, and Bear are in the same damn room? Ugh! This can’t be reality. I didn’t do that. My slutty, Ryker sniffing pussy didn’t just force me into that, did it?
Squeezing my lady parts I can indeed feel the softening cock take leave, and a cum mess beginning. Great! This is super-de-duper, naked from the waist down, and dribbling man juice. Guys are so lucky. They don’t have to deal with this after they come. A quick wipe up and they’re good to go. While us ladies are squeezing fresh baby batter from our hot boxes for the next three hours. Or is that just me? It damn well better not be. If you say so, you’re lying. The inner thigh cum slide is a real thing.
Catching on to what I’m doing, Ryker chuckles. “It’s okay, babe. They left way before you got naked.”
“Someone’s in here now,” I whisper hiss below his ear.
A throatier, way sexier chuckle follows. Damn him and his hotness. He’s a Walmart sized buffet of finger-lickin' beefcake, I tell ya. It’s unfair to womankind.
“It’s Kade, with our son. He’s not starin’ at your ass.”
“Our son?” Is he… no… that… what?
“He’s my kid second. You claimed him first. So he’s your son, too. If you want him to be.”
I… I have a son.
Me.
Katrina Remington.
Has a son.
I dunno if it’s the endorphin high, pregnancy hormones, or what, but those simple life-changing words flip a switch and I burst into tears. Clinging to Ryker I blubber, so happy, yet manically overwhelmed in the crook of his neck. To calm me, he whispers a round of reassuring words that mean nothing and everything all at once. He soothes me further with the gentle glide of his palms up and down either side of my back.
“Shhh, it’s okay, babe. Don’t cry. You’re killin’ me with your tears,” he mutters, peppering kisses along my shoulder.
“Watermelon Tits,” my bestie calls, his voice laced with concern. “Don’t cry. We mere menfolk don’t deal well with our favorite female crying.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
Get it together, Kat. You’re making them uncomfortable.
Sucking back a bout of hormonal tears, I force myself to quit acting like a giant baby. There’s no reason to act this way. So I have a son now. That doesn’t need to reduce me to waterworks. I can get my shit together. No, I need to get my shit together. I’m crying, half naked in my man’s lap for Christ sake. My man. Yeah. That’s what he is. I think we established he’s definitely that. It just sounds strange to me. My man. My son. My cabin. My new life. The words taste sweet on my tongue—pleasant.
“Is Kade lookin’ over here?” I test to be safe.
“Nope. He’s starin’ at the ceiling.”
Good.
I don’t move yet. “Then I should probably get cleaned up.”
“We both should.”
True.
“I’m gonna make a mad dash to the bathroom and get washed up. You can handle yourself, right?”
Please say yes. This is embarrassing enough. Having to clean his cock is an ultimate low when I’m in the same room as Dickcheese. I’ll never live it down.
Ryker chuckles. “Uh, yeah, I’ve got two workin’ hands, I can wipe my dick.”
“Good. ‘Cause I’ve got a waterfall of cum to combat. You have less mess to worry about.”
“Waterfall of cum?” I sense a smile in his voice. Bet it’s a sexy one.
I nip his neck. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about the inner thigh cum slide that we ladies have to deal with when you fellas decide to bust a nut in our vags.”
One millisecond all is chill. The next I’ve got Ryker rolling in boisterous laughter for no good reason, alongside my best friend who apparently caught everything I said. He has hearing aids in or something. I’m not speaking that loud. This isn’t funny. I’m dead serious. The cum slide is not a joke.
Semi-insulted by their outburst, I play slap Ryker’s good pec and climb off his lap. He’s too busy laughing to notice. As predicted, once vertical, the luge of baby gravy starts its descent. It’s icky, wet and gross, so I have to force myself not to run from the room as intended or cup my vagina to keep the mess contained. For show, I sway my hips and stroll with my head held high from the room; bare, jiggly ass and all.
Eat that, you cackling hyenas.
“Babe!” Ryker calls to my retreating form as he somewhat controls his laughter. It’s futile. Because as soon as I don’t respond, Sir Asshole and Sir Dickcheese bust a louder gut.
Fuckheads.
Forgoing the girls’ bathroom, I enter our bedroom. Once I know that nobody can see me, I shake out my shoulders and waddle to our washroom; my cheeks burning as hot as coals. Those dipsticks sure know how to humiliate a chick. Let’s see if I share pie with either of them ever again. I’m stingy enough with pie. Sharing isn’t always caring in my book. They can eat dirt from now on. Bet it’ll taste good with some whipped topping, ‘cause that’s all they’re getting.
Disregarding my freshly fucked reflection in the mirror, I snatch a washcloth from underneath the sink and begin wiping up the cummy explosion. On the second swipe, a jelly lump tinged with blood winds up on the cotton. No. No! This cannot be happening. Not now. I stare at the gelatinous blob in denial. Out of the blue, a familiar wave of motherhood hits stronger than before—a true contraction. It’s painful as hell.
Gripping the vanity for support, I Lamaze breathe through the tightness wreaking havoc as the stark realization that there’s no going back takes root. I’ve officially lost my mucus plug. If my two other pregnancies were any barometer for what’s to come, I’m gonna have this baby in the next 48 hours. The contractions will be sporadic, yet excruciating until my water breaks and then the baby will make an immediate appearance. Hopefully, if I’m lucky, this is an overreaction, and she’ll wait for her due date to grace us with her presence. It’s way too soon. I’m about three weeks out. Full-term by doctor standards, but early nonetheless.
Massaging the side of my stomach as it loosens; I finish cleaning the vag mess and find another pair of sweats from Ryker’s closet before joining my family in the living room. All four of the men in my life are sprawled out on the chair and couch. Dad’s stolen Walker, who’s passed out on his chest. The impulse to reclaim my son is great. Doing the mature thing, I shove that notion to the wayside. There’s no reason the men in my life can’t hold my boy. I’ve got plenty of time to cuddle the little bug. Plus, it’s not exactly smart to carry him at this point, when I know a contraction could sneak up at any moment. However, until I’m positive that I’m in true labor, I have no intention of telling any of the guys. They’ll freak. Irrationally so. Bear’s daily texts are a prime example. Every morning since the accident, I’ve woken up to him asking how I’m feeling. It doesn’t help that none of my family was happy to find out I skipped my last doctor’s appointment. It’s not entirely my fault that I have no desire to see that flirty doc without Ryker. There’s no telling what she’ll say or how she’ll act. And taking Kade, since I was pissed at him on Walker’s behalf, wasn’t gonna happen. Not when I was set on strangling him.
Still a little salty about their stupid behavior, I ignore my family and carefully lower to the floor to dive headfirst into one of the bags that they brought home. The room goes silent as they watch me unload a fancy breast pump, enough bottles for a small orphanage, and four packs of pacifiers in different styles. Who needs four kinds of binkies? Walker probably won’t even take them. He’s too fond of his fingers.
Looking over my shoulder at Ryker, I hold up the four colorful packs. “Are we having quads and I wasn’t aware?” I tease, bouncing my eyebrows.
From the comfort of the couch, Ryker pokes his sexy tongue out, grinning half-cocked. “Smartass.”
“You like it,” I quip.
“I fucking love it. But no. I got them because I heard some babies are picky ‘bout their pacifiers. We don’t wanna have a screamin’ kid at two in the mornin’ and only one type of paci she spits out. Consider them backups. We can return whatever we don’t need.”
Well, alrighty then. I wasn’t expecting that.
Is it weird that his considerate daddy talk makes me wanna jump his bones again? I’ve never been more attracted to Ryker than I am at this moment.
Not sure what to say that isn’t gonna make me sound lovesick, I continue to rifle through the giant sack. There are breast milk storage bags, and diaper rash ointment left. The next bag has everything from small toys to cloth diapers that I’ll use as burp cloths. Honestly, I’m impressed he remembered. By the fourth bag, I’ve got the entire floor littered with baby items. There’s a large stack of boy clothes in one pile that go from 0-3 months to 3-6 months. The girl pile is much the same. The amount of pink and purple is overwhelming. Can’t we go mint or light blue for once? Why do girls always gotta wear pinks and purples? At least he bought her a little black dress, which is nothing more than a onesie with attached tutu.
“They’re deliverin’ the matchin’ crib and dresser sets in a few days. I paid extra for them to build ‘em on site, so I don’t have to,” Ryker notes as I read the extras printed on this swing box. Beside it is a matching unisex playpen with a built-in changing table. They never had this super awesome shit when the girls were little. We also didn’t have the money to afford it if they did. This is pretty darn incredible.
By the time I’ve dug through our stuff, I’ve kept a straight face as another contraction took hold, read numerous packaging, cataloged in my head what we have and where it should go, and embraced the blazing love expanding inside my chest. He’s gotten everything I could’ve thought of and more. Way more. We’re set for months. The four boxes of wipes and diapers are overkill. It’s like we’re stockpiling to have quints.
As the guys continue to carry on amongst themselves, the back door slams open, followed by a rush of footfalls.
“Mom!” Scarlett skids to a halt beside the chair. Her eyes widen, soaking up the goodies.
Crawling on my hands and knees to the single undisturbed bag, I shove it across the hardwood toward her feet. Rox pauses beside her sister, equally taken with the baby depot. “Hey girls, open that.” I point, sitting back on my haunches.
They exchange curious glances before dropping backpacks on the floor by their feet with a thunk and peeking inside. Scarlett, my impatient one, dips her grubby paws in the bag first and extracts a shirt and jewelry box with her name engraved on the top. Propping the black garment on her chest, she looks down and reads the white script aloud. “Big Sister.”
Following suit, Roxie does the same, her cute expression twisted in confusion. “Biggest Sister.”
At the very bottom of the sack, Scarlett seizes the final two objects and fans them on the ground in front of her. The matching black onesies are a sight for sore eyes. I’m thrilled Ryker pulled this off. Clever man.
“Little Brother?” Rox mumbles to her sissy, fingering the cotton.
“Brother.” Scarlett tests the word on her palate.
“The other says Littlest Sister,” Roxie illuminates.
“It does,” I add, grinning so wide my cheeks ache.
“I thought we didn’t know if he was Dad’s or not?” Rox looks to me for an explanation.
“Got the test back. He is, kiddo. Which makes him your brother,” Ryker answers in my stead, flashing a smile that would make the straightest man weak at the knees.
Scarlett jumps to her feet and launches herself at her dad. Wrapping him in a monkey hug, babbling her excitement, she stuffs her face in the crook of his neck. Both of his muscly arms engulf her tiny frame as he winks at me over her shoulder. My insides go berserk at the adorable sight. Rox, who’s not as crazy as her sister, drops onto the floor next to me with her arms extended. I take that as my cue to get some much-needed lovin’. Her hair smells of strawberries as I take a whiff.
Smartass Uncle Kade, not wanting to be left out, lets his presence be known. “Hello. What am I, chopped liver? Where are my after-school hugs?” He waves the girls forth with theatrical gimme gimme hand movements.
Rox snickers and pecks my cheek before she entertains her uncle’s need for attention. Scarlett giggles and joins her sister in a three-way hug with Dickcheese, whose lazy ass doesn’t even get off the couch. Nope. He forces them to bend and hug. Then the fool drags them into his lap. Roxie on one knee, Scarlett on the other; all three of them rolling in laughter. It’s contagious, and soon the entire room has erupted in silly merriment.
Quirking a come-hither finger and patting his lap, Ryker draws me like a moth to a flame. I struggle to get to my feet to join him. Just as I do another powerful contraction takes hold. Dammit. Panicked they’ll notice, I forgo my man’s invitation and waddle to the bathroom without saying a word. Locking myself inside, I drop the toilet lid in place and take a seat on the top to breathe through the agony. Grinding my molars, I close my eyes and try not to fight the inevitable. 35 seconds feels like an eternity.
Exhaling in relief as soon as the vice releases my poor uterus, I rub my daughter. “Why can’t you wait?” I whisper as if she’ll respond. “Couldn’t you give me another week or two?”
Her snarky comeback is a foot in the ribs. Not that I can blame her. It’s my body’s fault, not hers. It has to be uncomfortable living in a sac for months on end. If I was her, I’d be cranky, too.
Now that I’m fairly certain these bitches aren’t going to let up until my babes is delivered, I need to decide how to proceed. Do I inform Ryker? Do I ask him to call the doc? Do I tell Kade? Frankly, I don’t wanna say a thing. Maybe I can get through dinner tonight without incident, and before we go to bed, I’ll tell Ryker. This way I don’t interrupt our evening. Tonight is cause for celebration. Walker is officially ours for life. If that doesn’t warrant a special dinner and family time, I dunno what does. And this damn body of mine isn’t gonna ruin that. As long as my water doesn’t break, I’ll be fine… I hope.
Decision made, I stack my strong mind over matter, fix my clothes, and rejoin my chatty family in the living room.
“How does pizza sound for dinner?” I ask, maneuvering around the baby crap to take a seat on Ryker’s good leg, right where I wanna be. Rox and Scarlett are busy doing their homework on the floor by the front door with Grandpa Bear’s help. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that big, burly man would be sitting Indian style on the hardwood, stroking his beard as he listens to Scarlett prattle on about her latest assignment, juice box in hand. It’s an awe-inspiring sight. If I had my camera handy, I’d snap a pic.
My man’s arms wrap around me as he sprinkles tiny kisses on my temple. “Pizza sounds good, babe.”
Snatching the remote off the end table, Kade puts some sort of classic car show on the TV as I relax on my lover. Head resting on his shoulder, legs draped over his, feet pressing into the couch cushions. I listen to the strong lub lub of his heart in my ear while he talks random car stuff with my dad. The deep purr of his voice echoing inside his chest sounds personal. Like it’s a special cadence made just for me.
Over the next however many hours we spend quality time as a family unit. Pizza is ordered and devoured. Beer drank by the males. Pie fought over. With me winning three large slices that I’m saving for later. Once the girls’ homework is complete, Uncle Kade changes the channel to a kid-friendly movie about a dog. I take my leave on multiple occasions, pretending to pee, when in reality I’m fighting the unrelenting squeeze of contractions. Nobody seems to notice, and for that I’m grateful. The best part of the night is watching Ryker feed his son a bottle and burp him without needing any direction. As if it’s second nature to him. A flood of memories bring me back to the days when he would do the same for our daughters. While some men are lazy with their parenting, leaving most of the duties to the mother, I’ve been blessed with a man who takes pride in carrying half the load. Even if he isn’t quite capable with his casted leg.
Before bedtime, the girls take showers, kiss their favorite uncle and grandpas goodnight, and climb into bed to await our nightly ritual.
“You go be with the girls, I’ll put Walker down,” I explain to Ryker as I steal my son from Grandpa Bear cuddles. He’s reluctant to release him to me. With a parting kiss to his grandson’s forehead, Bear relinquishes his hold by placing my babes in my waiting arms.
Scooting by me on his wheeled contraption, Ryker pauses to kiss my cheek. “See ya in there soon, sweetheart.” He pinches my butt in departure.
“Y-yep.” I flush at his never-ending charm. Sometimes I wonder what a man like that wants with a woman like me. I’m average, and he’s well… sort of an asshole… but a hot, unconditionally loveable one.
As Ryker joins our daughters, I say goodbye to the other three men in my life. Bear offers me a tight hug, careful not to suffocate a sleeping Walker. Dad is worse. He won’t stop; rubbing my belly, kissing my face, wrapping me in a warm embrace that only a daddy can give his daughter.
“Love you so much, peanut,” he coos to my ear.
“Love you, too, Dad.”
“If you need me. Call.”
“I’m gonna be fine.” Which is code for I’ll call you tomorrow when my water breaks.
Taking a step back he strokes a palm down my arm and assesses me from nose to toes, then back again. If he looks too closely, I’m afraid he’ll call me on my shit. Perhaps he already knows and is too much of a gentleman to cause a scene. Is that why he’s been clingy tonight? Always wanting to put stuff in the sink or fridge for me. He even sat down to give me a foot rub. Yeah. He must know. My father and I were close growing up. It’d only make sense that he could tell something was off kilter tonight. The long bathroom breaks and lack of appetite might’ve risen the alarm. Those eyes of his miss nothing.
Leaning in once more, he kisses my cheek and lingers there. “Call me when it happens.”
Bingo.
“I will. Please don’t say anything,” I whisper in return, trying hard to keep a straight face since Bear’s watching our exchange like a hawk. He’s gotta be ready to go home. They’ve been here longer than they usually are.
“I won’t. But I’m serious. You can’t do this alone.”
“Ryker will be here.” Attempting to ease his wariness isn’t easy. If I was in his shoes, it’d be hard for me to leave my daughter if I knew she was in labor. Hell, I’d probably demand to sleep on her couch to keep an eye on things. Yes, that’s what my kids have to look forward to—an overbearing mother.
“I’m gonna leave Kade here,” Dad murmurs.
My heart rate spikes in fear. A cold sweat breaks out along the base of my neck, dampening my hair. I shiver.
“No. Please don’t.” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose to distract myself from overreacting.
“You don’t like that doctor. I know you. You’re gonna avoid callin’ her at all costs. Kade is the next best thing to that lady.”
He’s right. Too right.
Dad knows all about my discomfort with her unprofessional medical practices. Do I love the idea of birthing in a suite instead of the hospital? Yes. But I loathe the idea of her delivering any of my kids. The more I think about seeing her again, the more my skin crawls. A hospital birth doesn’t seem so bad if the alternative is her. There…that’s the plan. I’ve made up my mind. When my water breaks, I’ll deliver at the hospital. No need to stress over seeing that doctor again. Lord knows if she heard about Ryker’s accident, which I’m sure everyone in town did, she'd try to fuck him in the middle of labor out of sympathy. Ya know, because I can’t have sex for six weeks after birth. Wouldn’t want him to have to wait. Sheesh, I’ve gotta stop focusing on this outlandish bullpucky. There’s no use in trying to avoid reality. Let’s face it, I’m going to be a mom again and soon. There’s no turning back.
Finalizing our goodbye, before Dad can dampen my responsible planning, I half wrap him in another brief hug. Then move on to Dickcheese for a special bestie embrace. One that gives you all the feels and a sense of security that you can’t siphon from anybody else. They’re Dickcheesy scented.
One arm around his strong middle, cheek on pec, I close my eyes and bask in the comfort, careful not to smoosh Walker.
His lips press to the top of my head. “See ya tomorrow, Watermelon Tits. You be good. Call if you need me.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
Loving his sincerity, we hug a little tighter. Any more snug and he’ll pop my water. “I know ya do.”
Soaking up my fill like a needy sponge, I quietly finish our huggy time before escorting my men to the back door to lock up. With parting waves, they roll out. Two on their Harley’s, the third in a beat-up pickup that I don’t recognize. They must have a functioning junkyard around here that I’m unaware of. Half of the vehicles in Red Fort are a blast from the past—early to mid 90’s relics with faded paint and mild rust spots. It’s a miracle they’ve survived this long. Guess that’s the difference between Texas and Indiana—inclement weather. You don’t see people salting roads ‘round here.
I place Walker inside his bassinet next to our bed. Tucking a blanket halfway up his torso, I peck his dream crinkled forehead. His nose squishes up at my touch, but he doesn’t wake. Out of all my kids, Walker sleeps the most. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was part lion.
Satisfied that he’s snug as a bug, I join Ryker and the girls in their bedroom.
My love is sharing a large section of Roxie’s bed when I arrive.
Scarlett waves me over to hers. “Dad’s reading to us.” She draws back her comforter for me to climb in. I do, making way too much noise. Once I’m situated, Scarlett tucks the soft blanket around us both. A headful of blonde hair descends to rest on top of my belly. Guess it does function as more than my own personal shelf. She drapes an arm across my lap as I lean against her headboard and stroke my fingers through her soft, damp hair.
Beside our eldest daughter, Ryker resumes reading the first chapter of The Fairest of All: The Wicked Queen. To cheer the girls up after Ryker’s accident, I ordered the first book of the series, plus other various stories. In case you’re not familiar with it, Disney published numerous villain tales. This one being the queen from Snow White.
“Snow White followed Verona into the Queen’s chambers,” he enunciates smoothly, setting a steady, perfect pace. This reminds me of the days when I would read to the children at the library. It was one of the best parts of my job. Over the years I’ve read hundreds of books to the girls before bed. To have someone replace me as narrator is bittersweet. More sweet than bitter. Ryker fills the role well.
Tipping my head back to rest, I slip my drowsy eyes close to picture the scenes playing in my mind like a movie in high def. One chapter glides to the next; before I realize it, Scarlett’s asleep on my stomach. I’m not far behind.