I was just happy to be out of the house.
The doctor had two offices, one in Brooklyn and one in North Jersey. Once we crossed the Outerbridge into New Jersey, we drove for another five minutes before we pulled into an underground garage. Seeing as the office was closed there was only one car in the lot which I assumed belonged to the doctor. The seven of us made our way into the office. The doctor greeted us briefly before Wolf pulled him to the side and handed him a thick envelope.
“We were never here,” he said.
“I never saw you.”
“She get’s the best care, you hear me? That’s my grandbaby she’s carrying.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” the doctor assured him.
I may have cried again, but the tears didn’t last long because Maria wiped them and escorted me into the examining room. She stayed with me as the doctor gave me a full exam. My first thought was that this doctor was on top of his game. He gave me a much more thorough exam than the doctor I had seen a couple of months ago, who accepted my phony insurance card as a form of I.D. After the exam was finished, and he had a blood and urine sample from me, it was time for the 3D sonogram.
I redressed, lowered my leggings under my belly and lifted my shirt as the entire family piled into the tiny room. I knew I should have been looking at the screen, that it would be different from the sonograms I had been taking with Lauren’s machine, but I couldn’t help but look at the people standing around me.
“Doesn’t this make you want to have another three?” Riggs asked Lauren.
“No,” she deadpanned.
“Enzo!” Wolf shouted.
“Right next to you, Pop.”
I had to chuckle at that—Enzo was literally standing right next to him.
“There you are,” Wolf grunted, turning to hand him his phone.
“Get the camera up on this thing, I want to take pictures.”
“Oh, no need,” the doctor informed him. “I’ll print you as many copies of the images I take as you’d like.”
Staring at the doctor like he was speaking in a foreign language, Wolf elbowed Enzo, and ordered, “Take the pictures.”
“I got you, Pop.”
“Nico!” Wolf bellowed for his other son.
“Over here,” he called.
I didn’t realize he had been standing right next to me until he raised his hand to show his presence and it brushed against mine. I looked at him, but he kept his gaze pinned to the back of his father’s head. He had been very quiet since Operation Baby Scotto began.
“FaceTime your brother from your phone.”
With a nod, Nico did as he was told.
“Before you ask, I’m here,” Maria said, waving her phone. “And I already have Sophie on the line.”
“Thanks, Lady.”
“Let me know when we can begin, Mr. Scotto,” the doctor chimed in.
Nico touched my hand again, diverting my attention back to him and handed me the phone. As I took it from his hand, the doctor squirted a cold, jelly-like substance on my belly. I flinched, not expecting the coldness and involuntary reached for Nico’s hand. He narrowed his eyes, glanced at our joined hands then back at me. I don’t know what it was about the look he gave me, but I immediately felt my cheeks flush and released his hand, mumbling an apology before turning my attention to the phone and Frankie’s face.
“There’s my gorgeous baby mama,” Frankie said. “You ready to see little Tyler?”
“Who the hell is Tyler?” Wolf grunted.
“That’s what Frankie wants to name the baby if it’s a boy.”
“Over my dead body,” Wolf replied. “It’s tradition to name the first grandson after the paternal grandfather.”
“Um…I like you…a lot, but I don’t know if I can name my kid Wolf,” I said, trying to sound as apologetic as possible.
“His real name is Alfonse,” Nico supplied.
Wolf glanced over his shoulder at me, a grin peeking from behind his beard.
“It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it sweetheart?”
“Um...”
He winked at me and turned his attention back to the doctor, giving him the green light to proceed. Silence filled the room as we all stared at the screen with anticipation as he moved the wand around over my belly. Suddenly, a swishing heartbeat replaced the quiet and a moment after that the profile of the most beautiful baby appeared on the screen. The features were so much more pronounced and somehow, that made it all the more real. This perfect little baby was mine.
“Looks just like me,” Enzo said.
“He definitely has the Scotto chin,” Frankie boasted.
“Pop? You okay?” Nico asked.
Making sure I kept the phone pointed at the monitor for Frankie to see, I looked at Wolf and watched in awe as he thumbed away a tear. The sight made my throat dry and something in my chest ached as I naively longed for my dad.
For his support.
For his love.
For his affection.
For him to be a fraction of the father the man standing before me was to his kids.
“Still waiting,” Frankie said, bringing me back to the present. I almost forgot I was still on the phone with him and he was waiting for another belly shot.
“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?”
It didn’t feel right telling Frankie, who had basically uprooted his life because of my dad, that I was missing him. I’m not even sure missing is the right word. I guess I just want a dad, or at least to know what it feels to have one parent who loves you unconditionally.
“Nothing,” I lie, rolling my sweats under my belly. “I was just thinking about your dad and how happy he looked when he saw the baby on the monitor.”
“He surprised me. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen my dad cry and still have a few fingers left…” his voice trails. “You love that t-shirt,” he points out as I lift it up, exposing my belly.
“It’s getting a little tight. Were you still on the phone when the doctor told me to watch my weight?”
He chuckles.
“Yeah, I thought it was classic when you yelled at my dad to stop feeding you cannoli’s for breakfast.”
“I swear I’ve never seen a group of people who all equally love food as much as your family does. It’s no wonder I’m hungry all the time, I’m carrying the next generation of the Scotto’s.”
Frankie laughs and I lower the phone.
“Hey baby, it’s Daddy. Is your Mommy right, are you going to be a big eater like the rest of us?”
I smile as he continues to talk to the baby, something he’s been doing every night for the last two weeks. He’s also been reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting when he’s not busy with football and school, which I thought was super cute.
“Hey, how’s the reading been going?” I ask, while holding the phone in position so that my belly is still in view of the screen.
“I haven’t really had much of a chance to read. Lift the phone, there’s something I want to tell you.”
Curious, I lift the phone so we can look at one another.
“I got a job.”
“What? How do you have time to work?”
When he’s not at school, he’s at practice or an off-season game.
“I work the overnight shift at a gas station, three nights a week.”
I noticed last week he looked really tired, but I assumed it was due to football. He was working his ass off, trying to prove himself so they would play him, but because he was a transfer and they already had a starting lineup, Frankie sat on the bench most of the time—something he hated. Now, he’s telling me he’s got a job that has him up all night. How is he going to play when they do put him in?
“Does this have anything to do with the team not playing you?”
“No, I got a job because we’re having a kid Carina, and I’m really not all that keen on having my dad support me, my girlfriend and my baby.”
&n
bsp; He sounds annoyed and as he pushes his fingers roughly through his hair, it’s confirmed.
“I spoke to Nico earlier, and I told him I would be sending money to his Venmo account as soon as I get paid. It’s not a lot, but I looked online and you can get a decent crib for three hundred bucks. We’ll start there.”
“Does your dad know about this?”
“No.”
“And Nico was okay with you getting a job?”
“Nico don’t have a say. No one does,” he clips. “Look, I gotta go. I want to get a couple of hours of sleep before I head into work.”
“Frankie.”
“Carina, I know you’re miserable too not being able to go to school and never leaving the house, but I hate it up here and staying busy is the only thing keeping me from losing it.”
His words strike a chord, but he doesn’t give me much of a chance to respond. He tells me he loves me and that he’ll call me tomorrow before disconnecting the call. He doesn’t even give me the chance to tell him I love him too.
Nothing.
He hangs up.
He fucking hangs up on me.
Anger rushes through me in big waves and I’m not even sure what the hell I’m angry about. Logically, I know Frankie getting a job is the responsible thing to do and I’m sure none of this has been easy on him. I mean, isn’t that why I didn’t tell him about missing my dad? I knew it wasn’t fair to complain, that we were both suffering. Still, I couldn’t suppress the anger.
I roll out of bed and start to pace the room.
Frankie’s miserable.
He needs to keep busy, or he’s going to lose his mind.
Well, what about me?
What do I have to keep me from losing mine?
I sit here, day after day, reading books, and studying for a G.E.D. exam I don’t know when I’ll be able to take. Today was the first day I went outside in a over a month.
A month.
It’s hasn’t even been that long and we’re already falling to pieces.
The sound of running water coming from the bathroom across the hall distracts me from my tirade for a moment. Before I realize what I’m doing, I charge for the door, swinging it open as I step into the hallway.
After we returned from the doctor, Nico called one of the Knights, Cobra, to stand guard at the door and took off without a word. It wasn’t unusual, at least twice a week Nico disappeared on me for whatever reason. It normally happened after we spent an entire day together doing random shit, like binge watching episodes of Chicago P.D. or trying to cook something together. The first time it happened was after we cooked the pizzas. He was gone the next morning, and I didn’t see him until the one that followed.
Crossing the hallway, I stand in the doorway of the bathroom unbeknownst to Nico. I ball my fist and stare daggers into his back as he leans over the sink and washes his face.
His very muscular back like his arms, is decorated in tattoos.
Oh, crap.
He’s not wearing a shirt.
At least his sweatpants aren’t hanging around his thighs as he takes a piss.
That was awkward.
He lifts his head, still not realizing I’m watching him and stares at his reflection in the mirror.
“You’re a dick,” he grinds out.
My eyes widen and I take another angry step towards him. His eyes slice to mine in the mirror and quickly narrow.
“Did you just call me a dick?”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t you knock?”
“Why would you call me a dick? Is this—”
“I wasn’t calling you a dick,” he growls. “I was talking to myself. I didn’t realize you were fucking standing there, watching me like a creep.”
“I wasn’t creeping, the door was open!”
“That’s not an invitation, Green Eyes,” he sneers, closing the tap.
Reaching for a towel, he turns around and my eyes immediately lower as he starts to dry his face. I take the opportunity to read the words inked across his collar bone.
Carpe diem.
Seize the day.
But my wandering eyes don’t stop there, though.
“Your nipples are pierced,” I blurt, pointing to the rings like a fool.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah, amongst other things. Now, can you get the fuck out of the bathroom so I can take a shower?”
He doesn’t bother to look at me as he turns and peels back the shower curtain. I stand frozen, watching as he twists the knobs of the shower. He reaches out testing the water, then turns back to me, his fingers gripping the waistband of his sweatpants. His angry gaze lowers, and he stares at the t-shirt riding up on my belly.
Suddenly, under his scrutiny, I feel self-conscious and I tug at the hem of the shirt, but it doesn’t help much. It’s too tight.
“You got three seconds Carrie, until I don’t give a fuck no more and I take my pants off. One…”
I drop my hands away from my body and square my shoulders back as I match his glare with one of my own.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“Two…”
My bravado begins to crumble as I feel tears prick my eyes. Unwilling to let him see me cry, I divert my gaze towards the toilet.
Of course the seat is up.
It’s always up!
Anger flares again.
Stronger.
Deeper.
A wild uncontrollable rage that can’t be contained.
I stalk towards the toilet, slam the seat down and glance over my shoulder.
If looks could kill.
“Shut the damn seat after you pee, my ass fell in the toilet this morning!”
“Three.”
“Fuck you,” I spat before I storm out of the bathroom.
I slam the door behind me, followed by my bedroom door. I lean against it and give into the tears.
Hormones…they’re a bitch.
-Eleven-
Nico
“Fuck!”
Turning off the water, I rear my fist back and slam it with as much force as I can muster, into the nearest wall. The sheetrock breaks and my knuckles instantly start to bleed. I pull my hand out of the wall and do it again, clenching my jaw as the pain shoots through my hand and up my arm.
My nostrils flare as I pull in a ragged breath and step away from the destroyed wall. I’m losing control like I never have before and I don’t know how to reign myself in.
Carrie’s muffled cries sound through the hall and though they are distant, they ring in my ears and slice through my gut. I’ve tried. I swear to Christ, I’ve tried not to let her get under my skin, but after that night with the fucking tomatoes, I started spiraling. I realized I’m not just physically attracted to Carrie, but I also like our arrangement. I like her being here. I like doing things for her—little things, like calling my stepsister to make sure she gets girl time. And like doing things with her too. For fuck’s sake, I fucking look forward to the nights we sit on the couch watching hours of television and though we both don’t know what the fuck we’re doing in the kitchen, I love burning dinner after dinner with her and going through takeout menus when our efforts are destroyed.
And I really fucking like that she still wears my tee, and those faded sweats even though they’re getting too small for her. It doesn’t matter that she thinks they’re Frankie’s.
It doesn’t matter that she’s his.
None of it fucking matters because I can’t control myself.
I can’t turn whatever this is off.
I’m so fucking desperate that a couple of weeks ago, I started disappearing two nights a week. I’d take my Harley to Jack’s house because that’s where Lacey has been staying after she was discharged from the psych ward. Sometimes I’d go in, sometimes I just stay across the street, but I did it, hoping that whatever I felt for her would come back because I’d rather feel that than feel what I’m feeling for my brother’s girlfriend.
I
’d rather be the disloyal prick who put the moves on Blackie’s wife, than the despicable cunt who runs home to his brother’s girlfriend, hoping she’s wearing his clothes when he opens the door.
Then there’s the baby.
As close as I have been to Lacey, and as much time as I’ve spent with her during her pregnancy, I have never felt her baby move inside her. Nor have I had the urge to lay my hand on her stomach like I do when Carrie and I are laying on opposite sides of the couch.
Today, when I was in that room, I wanted to kick everyone out and I sure as fuck didn’t want to make the call to Frankie. Then the baby’s face came on that screen and it was like a fucking punch to the gut.
It’s the reason I left as soon as we got home.
I couldn’t be around her.
For fuck’s sake, I haven’t even touched her. I’m not talking about a gentle brush of the hand or the single fucking hug that flipped my world upside down. I haven’t felt her lips touch mine or let my hands roam her body. I haven’t even fucking tasted her, and I feel like this.
It’s a problem.
A big fucking problem.
And driving by Uncle Jack’s isn’t going to fix it. Lacey had her baby the other day and the miracle lawyer got Blackie out of rehab. Now, they’re one big happy family—which is fine, because that shit wasn’t working anyway. The only thing it did was make me realize I was done feeling anything for Blackie’s wife.
Someone else has taken her place.
Someone much more forbidden.
And whenever everything else fails, I remind myself that someone is seventeen and then I laugh. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll drive my ass to her father’s house and give him my hands willingly.
Cuff me.
Lock me up.
Throw away the key.
Maybe then it will stop.
Maybe then I can breathe.
Her cries continue to assault me, wreaking havoc on my mind, obliterating my conscience. I pull open the bathroom door and stalk across the hall. My bloody hand closes around the brass knob as I drag in a ragged breath. Touching my forehead to the door, I close my eyes.
Walking The Line (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 3) Page 11
