Brock had to keep himself from snorting.
“But it’s serious?” his mother asked.
Krista shrugged again. “Maybe.”
He had to hand it to Krista. She was playing it cool. They hadn’t evendiscussed what they were yet. Which was stupid, but every time she tried to get him to talk, fear gripped his chest and he shut down. He never talked about himself, ever. It was just easier that way. Emotions muddled the fuck out of things. Facts were easier. When you had the facts, you could be responsible and get shit done.
Emotions were tools of the procrastinator.
His mother patted Krista’s hand. “Well, he’s never brought a girl home for Christmas before, so it must be.”
Brock took a sip of his eggnog. The instant hit of rum to his brain immediately helped take off the edge. Heath always knew how to make a good rum and egg nog. Three parts rum to one part nog.
Krista did the same, but it must have occurred to the both of them at the same time, because just as Brock coughed and reached forward to take away the glass, Krista spat the contents back in. Four sets of eyes around the room looked on curiously.
“Dude,” Rex said with a snort. “Control freak much?”
Brock glared at his brother.
“I, um … ” Krista trailed off, looking at him imploringly.
“Too hot?” his mother asked.
“Too much rum?” Heath joked.
Krista shook her head. “I, uh … uh, no … I … ”
Apparently, that was all his mother needed, because the lightbulb flicked on so bright over her head that it was practically blinding. She grabbed Krista by the hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me, dear. We’ll fix you something better in the kitchen. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, Heath adds too much rum.”
“Go big or go home,” Heath called after them with a laugh.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rex asked, giving Brock a what-the-fuck look.
But Brock didn’t have time to deal with his brothers. He knew his motherknew. The woman had had four pregnancies of her own and certainly wasn’t an idiot. He had to defuse the situation. He had to help Krista. Pushing himself up from the couch, he beelined it for the kitchen only to hear “How long?” whispered from his mother’s mouth.
“How long what?” Krista stammered, her eyes darting up to Brock’s.
“How far along are you?”
Krista made a sheepish look and let her eyes travel to her feet. “Mrs. Hart … ”
“Joy.”
“P-pardon?”
“My name is Joy, dear. Call me Joy.”
“Mum.” Brock stepped up behind Krista.
“Let the woman speak,” his mother snapped, her eyes hardening as they took in his frazzled state only to soften again when she glanced back at the equally frazzled Krista. “You were saying, dear?”
Krista swallowed with a nod. “Okay … Joy. You have to know, I didn’t trap your son. I didn’t trap Brock. It … it was a night of drunken stupidity.”
Brock didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he placed them on Krista’s shoulders. The woman was tense.
Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes, and she reached for Krista’s hands. “It’s Brock’s?” Her eyes flitted back up to Brock. He nodded at the same time Krista did. “I’m going to be a Nana?” Krista nodded again. “Can I … can I?” She lifted one of her hands from Krista’s and made to touch her stomach, hesitating until Krista nodded again. A rogue tear dripped down her cheek, and she looked up at Krista with a smile. “Welcome to the family, dear.”
Brock let out another sigh. Well, that had gone better than he expected. Much better.
