by Kate Benson
I glance down at the clipboard before moving my eyes back to hers, my expression deadpan as I take it from her newly manicured grip.
“Please, don’t get up,” I smirk sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “Let me.”
“Thanks, babe,” she mocks me, giggling behind my back as I make my way to the receptionist’s desk.
I hand it to her, thanking her when she tells me Evie is next on the list. I move back to the line of seats, falling into the one beside her not-so-gently and glancing over at her. She’s tapping her foot nervously, biting on her lower lip in thought as she pretends to look at her phone now, too.
“When are you calling your mom?” I ask, watching her swallow hard.
“Not right now,” she insists, her eyes widening slightly before I release another low sigh and shake my head. “What? Why would I call her right now?”
“You don’t have to call her right now,” I agree. “But you need to figure that shit out right now.”
“But baby-”
“Don’t ‘but baby’ me,” I cut her words short, shaking my head once more. “I told you last night I wasn’t doing that secret keeping bullshit with you again, Evie,” I insist. She moves to argue, and I cut her short again. “No,” I continue. “I’m giving you another forty-eight hours to-”
“Forty-eight hours?” she rails, her voice loud enough to pull attention from two women beside us. “Are you insane?”
“Well, it’s been three days,” I shrug. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell her last night at dinner.”
“Why the hell would I tell her before I go to the doctor, Dash?” she whispers harshly. “So, she can have a heart attack before we even know if the test was right?”
“Baby, you’ve taken like nine of the fuckin’ things,” I counter, making her cheeks heat. “Do you seriously think we’re the first people in the history of the world to get nine fucked up pregnancy tests?”
“Maybe?” she tries, releasing a low sigh. “Okay, fine. Probably not,” she continues. “But everything I’ve read says you’re supposed to wait until the end of your first trimester to tell people.”
“First of all, you read one article on the way here, so don’t come at me like you’re the fuckin’ baby whisperer or some shit,” I reply, ticking off on my fingers. “Second, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t apply to your mother.” She releases a low huff, flipping me off before leaning back in her chair and forcing her gaze away from mine. “You have to tell her, Evie. I know you don’t want to, but-”
“But nothing!” she cuts me off, her words coming out in a harsh whisper. “And you’re wrong anyway, Dash. I don’t have to tell her shit,” she insists. “Why is your answer to everything to make things awkward between me and my family?”
“What the hell are you going to do, Evie? Cut off all communication with your mother for the rest of our lives because you don’t feel like having an awkward conversation?”
“No,” she shakes her head, trailing off. “We’re moving anyway. She isn’t going to see me every day, Dash. Telling her I’m pregnant is just going to stress her out and she’s old.”
“So, you think since we’re going to be in Austin, you somehow get a pass on telling your mom I knocked you up and this is the right decision because the truth will stress her out?” I ask, unable to hide the smirk from my lips. “Is that seriously your solution?”
“Well, what the hell do you want me to do, Dash?”
“Tell her!” I answer immediately with a shrug, watching her roll her eyes in reply. “She’s going to find out anyway, Evie.”
“Not if we don’t burden her with the information!”
“You don’t think she’s gonna notice when we start showing up to Thanksgiving with a kid?”
“Fine, Dash! We’ll just do everything your way like always!” she throws her hands up, shaking her head and murmuring under her breath. “God forbid we go with any of my ideas.”
“Atta girl,” I wink, ignoring her outburst and moving my palm to her thigh to give it an affectionate squeeze. “Seriously, baby. You just have to do it,” I order gently, smirking when I turn to find her eyes mid-glare. “Stop being a chicken shit. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
She chews on her lip, her scowl a distant memory as she peers up at me beneath her thick, black lashes, reading my features.
“You swear?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I ask, looking around the small waiting room, my stomach dipping once more with nerves, the feminine images on the walls around us doing as much to my anxiety as anything else has since she told me. “I feel like I’m sitting in the middle of a fucking uterus right now.”
“Jesus, Dash!” she whispers harshly, giving my arm a light smack. “Would you watch your mouth?”
“You think none of these people have ever heard the word fuck before?” I smirk, a low chuckle leaving my lips as I take in her exhausted expression. “Fuck is the word that brought us all together.”
“You’re so stupid,” she shakes her head, fighting her grin.
“Do you honestly believe I’d be sitting here with anyone else?” Her eyes come back to mine and she holds my gaze, her lips never moving. Her features relax just slightly before finally, she shakes her head again. “Who do you think that’s for, pussycat?”
“The Captain,” she whispers playfully before leaning over to kiss my jaw. “And also me.”
“And also you,” I agree with a smirk. “Stop trippin’.”
She’s about to answer, but the sound of footsteps followed by the door swinging open cuts her words short and we both glance up.
“Miss King?”
What the everloving fuck?
My eyes move up and immediately, every ounce of jealous rage I’ve ever harbored comes bubbling up into my chest.
“You have got to be shitting me,” I mumble, taking in the tall, tattooed, underwear modeling, demigod smiling back at us.
“Yes!” she beams and his lips moving into a wide smile. She stands at once and moves toward him, glancing back at me like an afterthought. “What are you doing, baby? Come on!”
“You must be Evie,” he says, pulling her disgruntled gaze from mine and forcing it softer instantaneously.
“Hell yeah, I am,” she nods, an uncharacteristically low, girly giggle moving through her chest as he takes her hand in his.
“It’s nice to meet you, Evie,” he chuckles low, his voice so smooth, I’d almost drop my panties for the motherfucker. “I’m Doctor Savage.”
Eight
evie
“You’re getting a new fuckin’ doctor,” Dash says low, his voice still holding a slight edge of annoyed jealousy as we step back out onto the sidewalk an hour later. “There’s no way in hell I’m driving four hours round trip just so that guy can-”
He isn’t able to finish his rant before I start in with my own.
“Oh, my God,” I breathe, my feet glued to the concrete sidewalk as I try desperately to hold myself upright. “It’s real, Dash. I’m actually pregnant.”
I push out a deep breath, unable to meet his eyes as my life flashes before mine. His feet stop and a moment later, I feel him returning to my side. He’s about to speak, but I cut him off immediately.
“An hour ago, I was just an unemployed art student who had a traumatic experience inside a drugstore and now I’m someone’s mother,” I blurt as my eyes begin to fill with tears. “I can’t even wake up on time without setting eight alarms. How the hell am I going to raise a human being?”
“Baby-”
“Baby, human, person, your spawn,” I cut him off, my eyes finally moving to face him, though he’s going hazy with my tears. “Call it whatever you want, Dash. I’ve had a squatter living inside my uterus for seven weeks.”
“Yeah, you’d think you would have noticed before now,” he remarks under his breath, earning a death glare.
“You shut up!” I hiss, spinning to face him, my breathing erratic. “You don’t get to say s
hit to me about-”
“Woah!” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when he takes in my panic. “Baby, breathe. I was just fucking with you, okay?” he insists, his palms finding the way to my shoulders as his green eyes hold mine with intent. “Listen to me. This is fucking scary. We didn’t plan for it, we aren’t ready, and neither of us know what the hell we’re doing.”
“This is the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard,” I reply, the light sob that had been caught in my throat finally escaping. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, I need you to work faster.”
“I get it, but none of that matters right now, Evie.”
“How can you say th-?”
“Because it’s just the way it is, pussycat,” he cuts me off, giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze and releasing a sigh that somehow, I feel all the way into my own belly. “We can obsess over the fact that we’re both scared out of our minds or we can get our shit together and figure it out. Those are the options we have to work with, okay?” His words pull an unsteady nod from me and I blink away the impending tears, finally able to focus on him. “Do you still want this?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then get all that bullshit out of your head and focus,” he asserts. “You’re Evie fucking King. You paint off the side of rafters and crush everything you fucking touch.” His words pull another deep breath of resolve from my lungs and I push it out, his gaze still fiercely holding mine. “We’ve got this, okay?”
“Okay,” I nod incessantly once more, pushing out another deep breath. “Yeah, we’ve totally got this.”
“Good girl,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead and reaching for my hand. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me to his truck and unlocks the passenger’s side for me.
“We have a ton of packing to do and I still have to run up to the bar sometime today,” he releases a long sigh before glancing down at me. “I had this whole plan to give you hell until you called your mom, but now I kind of just want to take you home.”
“Really?” I ask, the weight on my shoulders lifting instantly when he nods his answer. “God, I’d way rather do that than any of the other crap you said.”
My words bring a smirk to his lips before he pulls the door open and ushers me in, securing my door before making his way around the front of the pickup. He slips inside, stares out over the dash for a beat until finally, his eyes come back to mine.
“You buckled in over there?”
“Yeah,” I nod, leaning my head against the window as he cranks the ignition. “Dash?”
“What, baby?” he replies, his eyes focused on the rearview while I keep mine locked on the fuzzy, black and white image that holds our entire future.
“Are you scared?”
“I was,” he finally admits, taking the sonogram picture from me to gaze down at it for a moment. “As early as this morning, I was so fucking terrified, I wasn’t sure I’d ever breathe right again, Evie.” His eyes move to mine and something inside me relaxes instantly as he reaches for my hand, his eyes darting to my stomach. “I kept thinking this is crazy. You and me? Having a kid?” he shakes his head, his disbelief mirroring mine. “But then I remembered something someone told me once.” I’m about to ask him to elaborate, to share whatever advice he’d remembered that helped him chill the fuck out, because I need it like… yesterday. Before I can, though, his eyes move to mine and the corner of his lips quirk up slightly, cutting me short. “She said she wanted something wild, a little crazy,” he whispers, giving my hand a gentle squeeze as he glances at the picture again. The simple reminder his words offer take me back to that day at the beach, the one where we floated above the water, seamless with the clouds. “This might be the craziest thing we’ve ever done,” he smirks, his eyes locked on me once more. “But I guess it all stopped being so scary once I remembered I’d be doing it with you.”
dash
“How’s Eve feeling?” Mason asks, coming to a stop beside me at the bar, ignoring the glare of annoyance he’s earned.
“I wouldn’t know,” I shrug sarcastically. “I’d planned on spending the day making sure she didn’t have another meltdown, but my best friend was acting like a little bitch, so I had to come in on my day off instead.”
“Dude, don’t be like that.”
“Truth hurts, Mase,” I insist, closing the register once I’m finished counting it down before I turn to face him. “We still have to pack, tell your mom, get her medical shit transferred, find Evie a job,” I explain. “Shit, the only thing that we’ve actually been able to get done is get an apartment.”
“I really don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”
“You’re the one who’s been blowing my phone up all morning!” I rail, stepping around him toward the office, his heavy footsteps telling me he’s just behind. “All I asked you to do was help me show this girl the ropes so I didn’t have to be up here every day while we’re doing all this shit. You hit one speed bump and all hell broke loose.”
“Why the fuck would I train the new bar manager, Dash? You hired her,” he argues as I take a seat behind Walt’s desk, adjusting his books as quickly as I can. “Besides, it wasn’t a speed bump.”
“Yeah? Well, what the fuck would you call it then?”
“I’d call it you hiring a snobby little asshole to take your place and leaving me to do all the dirty work.”
“Bullshit,” I shake my head, moving my eyes back down to the pages and jotting the last of the numbers down. “There ain’t nothing wrong with that girl.”
“I hate her,” he hisses, making me roll my eyes.
“Why? Because she doesn’t want to fuck you?” I smirk, recalling his not-so-smooth greeting to her on her first day. “You ought to be used to that by now.”
“First of all,” he starts, pulling a snort from me as he flips me off. “Second, it has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what’s the fuckin’ problem, man?” I ask, finally leaning back in the chair to give him my full attention. “She’s got like three years’ experience, she’s cute enough that the mill guys like her but tough so you don’t have to worry about anyone giving her shit. She’s got good references, she’s up to date on all her certification and she’s flexible, which I’ll point out again, is strictly for your benefit. I don’t know what the fuck more you want, Mason.”
“How is that for my benefit?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.
“You can’t work dayshift ten months out of the fucking year,” I remind him. “Who the fuck wants to get hired on in a town this size to work mids for chump change?”
“So, because she has to work the occasional shitty shift, I have to kiss her ass?”
“No, you kiss her ass because that’s what I’m telling you to do,” I insist, rounding the desk when I stand. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
“Don’t call it your office, douche nozzle,” he shakes his head, eyes narrowed. “I hate it when you get all fuckin’ into yourself and pretend like you’re in charge of shit.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you called me in to wipe your ass,” I retort, moving toward the door to usher him out. “Why the fuck are you back here anyway? You’re the only one behind the bar. Go sell some fucking beer or something.”
“There’s no one here.”
“Then clean something or help me with stock,” I reply immediately. “Just do something that doesn’t involve you being in my fuckin’ face.”
“You’re a shitty best friend.”
“Yeah, back at ya,” I reply, giving his back a brotherly pat. “I’ll go over inventory with Alex and she can go on the floor with Amy tonight. You’ll just have to show her how to do all the closing shit. You think you can manage that?”
“Yeah.”
“Get over your bullshit, bro,” I insist as I pull the office door shut behind us. “I don’t care how many times you call me
tomorrow, you’re on your own.”
Nine
evie
In the short time we’ve spent not at each other’s throats, there’s only been a handful of times I ever really needed Dash to show up for me emotionally.
I’m not saying he’s lazy. I’m not saying he’s a shit boyfriend or that I think he’ll be a bad father.
I’m not saying any of that.
What I am saying is that of the things I’ve learned in this relationship, one of them is that a lot of times, I’ve got to be the grown-up. Without my constant nagging, there’d be a whole lot more fart jokes and boob slapping going on around here most days.
But then?
But then…
There are times, times like lately, when I just can’t do it and he sees it. Dash sees it and instead of freaking out right along with me, he does exactly what I need him to do.
Dash Hunter shows the fuck up for me.
This week, he’s been showing the fuck up for all three of us.
Three.
God, how terrifying is that thought?
It’s completely debilitating in a whole lot of ways, but then in others, it’s really not that scary at all. Maybe Dash is right. Maybe I just need to do me, do all the things that have always worked for me in the past, and things will just make a little more sense, be a little less terrifying.
It pains me to say it at times, but some days, most days, Dash is pretty freaking right about everything.
Maybe we’re not quite as doomed as I thought.
I step inside, grateful to find it’s not packed and make my way toward the bar. The sight of him glowing an odd shade of blue thanks to the lights overhead somehow warms me.
“Hey,” I smile, pulling his eyes up to meet mine.
