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Graves: Why the fuck is Landry here? He’s tight-lipped and not invited in until you respond.
I jaunt down to the front porch to find Liam smoking a cigarette and pinning Dr. Landry with a skeptical glare, who doesn’t seem offended in the least.
Liam turns that glare on me. “What the hell is going on?”
“I asked him to come,” I say, not bothering to expound.
Liam scans me and then drops his cigarette to the ground, extinguishing it with his shoe. “What’s wrong with her?”
I consider blowing him off, but the panic etched into his features is too thick. “Not wrong. She’s”—my mouth splits with an idiotic smile—“pregnant.”
He scrubs a hand over his dazed face. “Pregnant. Thank fuck.” As he hauls me into a hug, he continues muttering, “I thought … I was so scared.” His voice rises with increasing excitement. “Congratulations, Chief.Jesus, I’m so happy for you guys. Forus.” He pats me on the back and as he steps away with a firm grip on my shoulder, his jaw falls lax, as though he’s been handed the answers to all life’s mysteries. “I’m gonna be a goddamn uncle.”
And with that epiphany, I’m forgotten. Liam sprints into the house, shouting expletives, while I guide Landry up to Ivy.
The clamor of the chaos currently unfolding in my bedroom reverberates throughout the house, reaching us before we’re even on the second-floor landing. Liam must have gathered up Gage and Ty on the way in because all three are fussing over the mama-to-be.
“Freckles! Holy shit! A miniature Freckles,” Ty bellows.
Ivy’s voice is fainter, but filled with so much joy that it causes a crest of emotion to swell inside my chest. “Or a miniature Chief,” she counters.
“Fuck, that could be fun too,” Liam says. “We get to boss this one around.”
Ivy laughs. “That’s an angle I haven’t—”
“Fuck that. I want a girl,” Gage barks in hisgruff tenor.
The room falls silent, and even though Landry and I are about to enter, I motion to him to pause, eager to hear how this plays out.
Ivy is the first to speak, her tone a sweet warble. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really?” Ty parrots.
Gage grunts, and I can hear Liam quietly snickering at his discomfort, but he finally answers, “If anyone should be raising a woman, it’s Ivy. One branch without spoiled fruit.” There is no higher praise from Gage Porter.
I don’t have to see or hear the tears to know they’re there. Landry and I walk in to witness Ivy enfolded by the three men who’ve stood by me through everything. Our beginning was rotted with so much sourness; it’s a wonder any of us made it here.
Tasting hope.
Ivy catches sight of me before the guys do. Our eyes lock, and in some unspoken way, I know we’re thinking the same thing. Tom is here with us. The twisted roots of all his labor have flourished into vines twining around my girl right now. We might be bringing our child into a precarious world, fraught with threats and deception and far more risks than we’d like, but there will be no baby loved like this one. No family more diligent or protective. That’s all he ever wanted for his little girl—for her to seize what was hers. And that she has.
After I shoo the guys away, Landry performs an ultrasound on Ivy with his portable machine, revealing she’s eleven weeks along. Everything looks good. Relief floods us both, as well as a gratefulness that she’s been eating better lately and consuming limited alcohol.
With so many people visiting today, Ivy was excited to share our news, but I nixed that quickly. We won’t be able to divulge this pregnancy until we thoroughly ascertain the threat level. She’s annoyed but compliant—I hope.
The party takes off smoothly. Many of our guests flew in, so people traipse in at various hours in the afternoon, which provides us with an easiness to greet and mingle. Of course, the guys won’t let Ivy lift a finger. If the four of us were less doting under ordinarycircumstances, I’d say that was a dead giveaway, but those who’ve been around us don’t tend to notice a difference.
It’s Celeste who tracks the guys’ movements with a scrutinizing eye. She watches as they amble by, kissing Ivy’s hair or asking if she needs anything while she’s tucked inside my arms. I’m sure, to others, it begs a myriad of questions, but to the men who spent years merely existing, she’s the one who stoked the spark of life back into their lives. She’s the one who’s growing a new one now.
At the moment, Ivy is on my lap, resting for a beat. Celeste is seated next to us, drooling over the Noire brothers while also decidedly gauging her best friend’s new environment.
Liam drops into the empty chair beside Celeste, parking an equally scrutinizing gaze on her. “What’s your problem, Carver? No one here to fuck you into a coma?” That’s nearly a direct quote from the fraudulent text he sent from Celeste to Ivy. Always stirring shit.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss as Ivy quietly groans.
She must be waiting to see what Celeste’s response is because it’s unlike my Little Storm to hold her tongue.
Celeste rolls her whiskey eyes, a sardonic smirk lifting one corner of her mouth. “I knew it was you. Nothing better to do with your time than study me, huh? Trying to be someone you’re not—again. Does it sting,Graves? Knowing you’re always playing a part and never the one getting yourfill?”
