After giving me a sideways glance, he grimaces. “I’ve just been wondering whether you’d ever do that again. Would you like another baby, Bron?”
It might seem strange, but I’ve never considered it. Or rather, have only thought about it in terms of a solid fuck no. I’ve never had reason to want to go through all that pain and torture again.
Now it hits me, I’m in a relationship, and this isn’t just about me. “Do you want us to have a baby?”
He reaches out and clasps my hand, squeezing it firmly. “This isn’t about me. But if you want my answer, I never saw myself with a family, never thought about being a dad, until I was thrust into it when you and Trip came along as a package deal. Trip’s my son, and I’ll be content with just him. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have another child to add to our family.” He breaks off and takes a deep breath. “You went through something horrendous, so if you don’t want to have a baby with me, I understand. But if you wanted to try, well, I’d be amenable to that too.”
Twin feelings go through me. The first, my normal resounding NO. Never, uh uh, the fear, seeing my body change and not understanding what was happening to me, the sickness my mom and dad told me to get on with, the strange cravings that were never pampered to. And the birth… I want to vomit at just the thought of going through it all again. Then I glance at this strong man who’s stood by me and Trip. I couldn’t have a baby out of any feeling of obligation toward him; that would only put me under similar pressure again. But when I think of a baby conceived out of love, part of us both, something we both wanted, and knowing he’d be there beside me every step of the way. Well, maybe I might be persuaded to change that no. Not yet, though.
“Can I think about it?” My voice is cautious.
“No pressure, darlin’. I want what you want.” Again, he squeezes my fingers, and just like that, the conversation is over.
We collect Trip. Going to school is working wonders for him. It’s still up in the air as to whether he understands the emotions he doesn’t express. But when I ask how his day went, he actually smiles as he nods his head.
“Good?” I ask. Again, he dips and raises his chin. “Words, Trip.”
“G-g-good.” I reward him with a look of pleasure, which gets him to respond. “I drew a picture.”
“Did you bring it home?”
He pats his bag, indicating it’s in there. Then he initiates a conversation of his own. One that’s pretty predictable for a nearly nine-year-old boy. “W-w-what’s for dinner?”
Short quickly glances back over his shoulder before setting his eyes back on the road. “We’re not going home, Trip. Pippa is in the hospital having her baby. We’re going to stop there and see how she’s doing. Maybe we’ll pick up some takeout after we’ve seen her.”
It’s taken us an hour to get to his school and back, so I doubt things have progressed very far in our absence. But I don’t discourage his hope.
As I expected, things are much as we left them. Short’s brothers have been moved into a relatives’ room. It’s short on space, but they’ve brought more chairs in, and most of them are seated, while Rattler, Winchester, and Paint lounge against the walls, and Stalker is sitting on the floor, knees to his chest.
Beside Freak is Ace, a handheld games console in his grasp. His eyes alight as he sees Trip with us, beckons him over, then shifts his ass to make room for him on the edge of his chair. With a roll of his ass, Freak moves a couple of inches to his right, giving Trip enough space to sit down.
While not on the same level as the genius Ace, there’s something about the boys that, despite their age difference, has bonded them together. Perhaps they both exist in a world the majority of us struggle to understand.
Afternoon turns into evening, and there’s still no news. Several of the brothers are now playing poker, seated on the floor, surrounded by the empty pizza boxes that the prospects had brought in an hour ago.
As I’m wondering how to break it to Short that Trip and I really must go, I’ve work in the morning, and he’s got school, Saint suddenly bursts in. All eyes shoot to him as he announces, “I’ve got a daughter.” His eyes glisten as he adds some details. “Her name is Jade Rebecca Henley. She weighs seven pounds six ounces.” He pauses, shakes his head, and again states, “I’ve got a fuckin’ daughter.” He sounds like he’s in disbelief.
“Congrats, Brother.”
“Way to fuckin’ go.”
“You got your shotgun ready for when an asshole wants to date her?”
Comments fly from all around, and one by one the brothers step up to do that man-hug back-slap thing over and over, until I worry for the state of Saint’s spine.
Bullseye clears his way through the throng to get to his VP. From his cut he brings out a cigar. “For you, later,” he says, his eyes gleaming. Then, placing his hands on Saint’s shoulders, turns him around to face the room. “Our brother’s just announced the birth of our very own club princess. There ain’t nobody going to fuck with her.”
With fists thumping hearts, they all shout together, “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”
Grimacing, I wonder whether the noise is going to bring someone to chuck us out, but moments pass, and we’re not interrupted. I realise I’ve missed Saint starting a rota for everyone to go see Pippa and the baby.
“We’ve got to go soon,” I whisper to Short, torn between wanting to have a look at the baby and see how my friend is coping after her labour.
Short looks from me to Trip, then stands. He goes over to have a word with Saint, who nods fast. Seems he’s arranged for us to jump the queue and be next to see the newborn after Bullseye and Tempest come out.
We should have brought flowers,I think to myself, as we’re directed into the room where Pippa is lying, looking pale, exhausted, but radiant as she cradles her daughter in her arms.
“You want to hold her?” she asks me.
