Benediction: Diversion Book 9

by Eden Winters

  “Why are we doing this again?” Lucky asked as an aside to his sister. “You’ve had two kids already. Don’t you remember?”

  Charlotte let out a long-suffering sigh, one unchanged over the twenty years or so since she went from novice to master of the long-suffering sigh. “Each child is different. Besides, it’s been over sixteen years since Ty. Things have changed.”

  Not really. Kids still happened the same way and came kicking and screaming into the world the same way.

  “Besides,” Rett chimed in. “This is your and Bo’s first time going through the pregnancy and bringing the child into the world. You want the full experience, right?”

  Yeah, but… “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he snarled to the woman definitely falling short of the best friend he thought her to be.

  “I am. Trust me. You’ll want to be there when your son or daughter comes into the world, right?”

  “One thing I had forgotten was how miserable the last trimester can be.” Charlotte rubbed her back. “Someone owes me a foot rub when we get home. I don’t care who, but I’m flinging these torture-device shoes across the floor, propping my swollen tootsies on the ottoman, and someone better commence to rubbing.”

  Lucky thought he heard a collective sigh when his group headed out the door. Every time folks got together some asshole opened their mouth and spouted ignorance.

  What haunted Lucky wasn’t the close-minded beliefs of ultra-conservative people though. The words that repeated themselves in his mind and kept him up at night were, “Aren’t you afraid of having kids with such dangerous jobs?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucky rocked forward and back in the elegant chair he never could have afforded on his salary, in the nursery he thought he’d never use when he’d first bought the house. Having two wealthy, if dangerous, guardian angels, devils, or whatever, had its perks. A warm bundle of sleepy baby lay tucked in his arms, bottom lip pouched out and making occasional sucking motions as he drifted off to sleep, like he so often did.

  Alejandro Gualterio Schollenberger. Bo and Lucky’s son.

  Lucky had never been good at remaining still, but he’d play statue to help get Andro to sleep. Poor boy. Teething made him irritable. An irritable baby meant the rest of the household suffered too. Was there any such thing as a good night’s sleep with an unhappy baby around?

  He hummed as he rocked. His singing voice might horrify the kid into never sleeping again. But what the fuck? His lover/partner/husband-in-practice-if-not-on-paper, Bo, would kill him for singing Achy Breaky Heart anyway. Or so he’d threatened last time.

  Lucky tried for Rockabye Baby. Hmm… What came after “rockabye baby”? Oh well, he sang a few lines of Achy Breaky Heart. At least he knew the words.

  Mostly.

  Lucky combed his fingers through soft black hair, lightly touched a fingertip to Alejandro’s nose. His heart squeezed, and it wasn’t heartburn due to his sister’s latest attempt to make homemade biscuits.

  His and Bo’s son. The one he’d desperately wanted without even realizing. He’d gone from two-bit felon to family man, with the steady job, decent house, best partner in the world, and a mortgage. What once would have sent him screaming seemed like the perfect life now.

  Well, except for the possibility of leaving his kids orphans.

  At last Alejandro settled, eyes drifting shut and staying closed. He relaxed, perfectly at ease in his papa’s arms. Papa. Enough to give a guy some serious chills. Of course, Lucky would go to his grave denying them. He’d be damned if he let people accuse him of having feelings or some shit.

  Lucky bent, kissed the top of his son’s wispy-haired head, and rose from the chair, doing his best not to jostle his precious bundle.

  He laid Alejandro on his back as he’d been instructed in the childbirth and parenting classes he’d attended with Charlotte, and smoothed down Andro’s blue onesie. So peaceful. So still. Lying in an expensive crib bought for him by Nestor Sauceda and Victor Mangiardi, former drug lords turned narcotics agents.

  The little guy had no idea he lived with two fathers who loved him so very much, and a family who’d provide him with the kind of life his biological mother thought out of her reach.

  Thank God for the precious gift Yolanda gave to him and Bo. He’d even gone with Bo to have their son christened in the church, at the mother’s request—scandalizing Lucky’s Southern-Baptist-attend-church-twice-a-year family. He might not have understood the Catholic ritual, but it was the least they could do.

  Sometimes Lucky couldn’t believe this beautiful child was theirs.

  On the far side of the room another crib lay empty, waiting to welcome Andro’s little brother or sister. A gift from the same two men who’d purchased Andro’s furniture.

  Lucky would worry about two former drug traffickers hanging around in his life later.

  God, how blessed he was, and so undeserving. He might not be a paragon of virtue by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d do his damnedest—whoops, make that “darnedest”—to be a good father to his kids and a good partner to Bo.

  That’s where goodness must end. Sainthood and Lucky didn’t mix. Knowing better than to leave things lying about and risk a talking-to by Bo, he put the worn copy of Goodnight Moon he’d read tonight into the little wooden bookcase. He slipped his readers off his nose and into his shirt pocket.

  Lucky took one more look at his son and turned the lights out, leaving a Teddy-bear-shaped nightlight to give off a soft glow. He left the door between the nursery and his and Bo’s room partially open, the better to hear any nighttime cries.

  He tiptoed into the bathroom, ran water into the jacuzzi tub, and checked his phone. Still no message from Bo. Bo becoming the boss was supposed to mean he’d be home most nights, but until he learned all he must, he’d likely keep late hours.

  After all, Walter Smith carried decades of knowledge around in his head, knowledge he’d need to pass on to Bo in a matter of a few months.

  So, Bo slipped out long enough to attend class, then went back to work. Occasionally Lucky checked to make sure Bo hadn’t moved his electric toothbrush to the office.

  Already Lucky spent more time consulting for DEA, and working with Loretta Johnson and the trainees, than he did with Bo. Nothing separated the meek from the hard-core like an instructor who’d lost fingers to the job. At least Bo avoided landing in harm’s way these days.

  For the most part.

  Lucky stripped, tossed his clothes onto the floor. Nope. Better not go there. He placed them in the hamper instead. See? He could be taught.

  Easing into the warm water, he let out a sigh. Oh, this felt good. Better if Bo were with him. His lover would be home as soon as he could, no doubt.

  Lucky took his time lathering and rinsing, washing his hair, on the outside chance Bo might make an appearance.

  He managed to stay awake an entire hour after going to bed, watching back episodes of his favorite soap opera, before sleep won the battle.

  Sometime in the night he acquired a man in his bed. Lucky shrugged off sleep long enough to pat the arm flung over his chest and drift off again.

  An empty bed greeted him in the morning. Had he merely dreamed Bo came home? But no, a crumpled shirt hid his in the hamper. He eased the nursery door open and peeked inside. Apparently, Bo wasn’t the only early riser.

  Lucky slipped a pair of jeans over the boxers he’d slept in and scratched his chest and yawned, then made his way into the living room.

  Bo sat on the couch in sweatpants and a T-shirt, laptop on one nicely muscled thigh and Andro on the other. Occasionally he angled the giggling, keyboard-banging tyke away from the laptop.

  “I’ll take him.” Lucky picked up the solid weight that was their son and held him aloft. Andro gurgled, kicking his legs and drooling. Two barely-there teeth peeked up through his bottom gums. “Did he wake you?”

  “I was already up.” Bo yawned and lifted a cup of tea from the coffee table. He polished of
f the last dregs and scrunched his face. “Gah,” he said, mouth wide and tongue out. “It’s gone cold.”

  “Want me to get you a refill?” Keeping a firm grip on his squirming son, Lucky bent and gave Bo a good morning kiss.

  “No, that’s okay,” Bo murmured against Lucky’s lips. “I’d rather have you.” He grinned and swatted Lucky’s ass.

  Lucky grinned back. “Don’t start nothing you ain’t gonna finish.”

  Bo waggled his brows. “The kid’s got to take a nap sometime.”

  Lucky strode back and forth in front of the couch, bouncing Andro in his arms. “What time did you get in last night?”

  “Too late,” Bo replied on a yawn, still studying the laptop screen. “The meeting went over, as usual.”

  How Lucky would love to ask more about the mysterious meeting, but Bo climbing above Lucky’s pay grade—and meeting with more people above Lucky’s pay grade—meant his partner couldn’t tell him. Too much like keeping secrets for Lucky’s tastes.

  In his head he understood—there were cases he’d kept from Bo—but he couldn’t help feeling left out. Bo was in his prime, climbing the ladder, still pretty much intact after his time with SNB.

  In the short years they’d been together, Lucky’d been shot, done permanent injury to an ankle, lost two fingers and a chunk of liver…

  Better for Bo to wear the suit and tie and meet with corporate types than slink down the alleys Lucky frequented, trailing body parts along the way.

  Andro snuggled into Lucky’s neck, squirming and blowing raspberries. Yeah, a half-hour with the drool-factory and he’d need a shower.

  A black and white blob with a tail lay on the back of the couch, ignoring the world with his eyes closed. Even from a distance of three feet, Cat Lucky’s grumbling purr reached Lucky’s ears.

  Bo and Lucky used to own a dog, until they’d gutted the attached garage and built Charlotte her own small apartment. Now they occasionally caught a glimpse of white fur in the back yard, but the traitorous beast long ago gave up any pretense of living with them.

  At least they still had Ty staying in the house, and Lucky strongly suspected Andro was the lure that kept him there.

  Andro held Ty’s heart in one pudgy little hand. Once the baby came, Ty might give up on college plans completely to be their fulltime nanny.

  Lucky liked kids, but he’d better warn Ty’s girlfriend Chelsea that if they ever got married, Ty might insist on a large family.

  What if their kids turned out like Chelsea’s father, Keith, the office asshole?

  Brr… No. Just…no.

  If Ty hadn’t had school this morning, he’d doubtless have had his favorite cousin in his lap while playing video games.

  Bo smiled up at Lucky, blinking sleepy eyes, and stretched as best he could with a lapful of computer. “I tried not to wake you up. You need your sleep.” He patted the couch next to him. “Have a seat.”

  Lucky squeezed in next to Bo, possibly closer than actually necessary, and noticed what occupied the computer screen. Names. Lots and lots of names. Along with a list of famous people with the name, the origin, and what the name meant in different cultures.

  Andro grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked. Lucky merely turned his head and tuned out his son’s trying to stand in his lap by using his hair as a pull up.

  “Da, da, da, da, pffffft.”

  “I agree, Andro.” Bo coaxed the hand away from Lucky’s hair in favor of his finger. “Papa does make a good climbing wall.”

  Papa. Lucky would never tire of hearing that.

  “I’ve been thinking. How about Luna for a girl?” Bo opened a browser and entered the name. The guy put a lot of research into this list. Hell, he put a lot of research into everything.

  “Ain’t that a kind of moth?” They were so not naming their kid after an insect.

  “Okay, scratch Luna. What you got?”

  Lucky pulled a name out of thin air. “Angelique?”

  “Angelique Schollenberger. Do you have any idea how old she’ll be before she can spell her name? Especially if we give her a middle name with more than one syllable.” Good point. Andro might one day give them grief about his mouthful of a name. Plenty of names meant plenty of nickname opportunities should the kid feel the need for a change.

  Middle name. They had to come up with more than one? Walter’s wife didn’t have a middle name, and she’d gotten along fine in life. “Ann? Jan? Sue?”

  Bo rolled his eyes Heavenward, “We need to put a lot of thought into this. That name goes with them their whole lives. We need something tasteful, yet unique enough that if a teacher calls their first name, fifteen kids in their class don’t answer.” He paused to nuzzle the baby’s nose, then Lucky’s. “If we don’t do this right, the kid might hate us. I know I hate the name my parents gave me.” Nothing wrong with William Patrick Schollenberger, III, except for William Patrick Schollenberger, II dragging the name through the mud and giving Bo reasons to want to forget any connection.

  “Yeah. Try being named after a NASCAR track.” Richmond, Charlotte, Dallas, Daytona, and Bristol. Only, Lucky liked to tease Dallas by calling him Dover, and he’d picked on Charlotte mercilessly as kids with the nickname Talladega. Oh, who was he fooling? He still called her that when he wanted to work her nerves.

  Which he definitely didn’t want to do these days. Pregnancy hormones and the fiery hot Lucklighter temper? No thank you.

  Bo flipped a tab on his spreadsheet. “Okay. We can leave off girl’s names for now. How about boys?” He’d labeled a third tab, “Names that can be used for either.”

  Lucky ticked off points on his fingers. “We can’t name him after my dad, my grandfather, who still doesn’t talk to me, none of my uncles, and sure as hell none of my brothers. Alejandro got Walter’s name.” Oh, wow! Inspiration. “How about Alexander?”

  Bo shook his head. Andro giggled and grabbed his hair. Bo shook his head again to ease the death grip before he went bald. “We can’t name both our sons the same name. That’s what Alejandro means in Spanish.”

  Oh, right. Lucky knew that. “What you got?”

  “Charles, Taylor, Kyle, James.”

  “Nope, not James. Uncle on my mother’s side. And James’ll get turned into Jimmy and fall into the whole fifteen-kids-in-class-with-the-same-name thingy.” Not to mention the pain in Lucky’s ass from work called Jimmy. “What kind of family names you got, besides William and Patrick?”

  “Grover, Winston, Eugene—”

  Lucky shuddered. “Not Eugene.”

  “Oh, right. That was your middle name.”

  Lucky might go by Simon Harrison now, but he’d come into the world as Richmond Eugene Lucklighter.

  “There’s Great-Uncle Grover, and my great-grandfather on my mother’s side was Winston.”

  The kid was half Lucklighter. If he was small, a name like Grover might toughen him up just to keep from getting beaten up in grade school. “Imagine our son, the names Grover or Winston, and a bunch of judgmental eight-year-olds.”

  “Okay. Strike those.” Bo rested against the back of the couch, rolling his head to stare at Lucky. “The kid has to have a name. The more I research, the more I realize I don’t have a clue.”

  “He or she isn’t here yet. You know, it would be easier to pick a name if we knew whether we were having a boy or girl.” Lucky patted Bo’s knee and batted his eyes.

  Bo scowled. “Now, Lucky, we agreed.”

  Funny. Whenever Charlotte and Bo brought up the agreement to wait till the child’s arrival to find out if it was a boy or girl, Lucky couldn’t quite recall nodding and saying, “Yeah, I’m down with that.” Didn’t mean it hadn’t happened, but… “What if we choose a name, meet the kid, and the name doesn’t fit?”

  “That’s why we keep a list, so we’ll have plenty of options. We’ll weed out the ones we don’t like, and go into the hospital with maybe five for a boy and five for a girl. That way we have plenty to choose from.”

 
Plenty didn’t help if none seemed right. Dear God, let Victor and Nestor not chime in with their opinions. That’d be so like them. Buying furniture did not give them naming rights.

  Charlotte stepped from the kitchen, sipping a cup of something that might be herbal tea, since she’d given up coffee for the pregnancy.

  “What do you think of Eva, Charlotte?” Bo asked.

  “Eva Peron.”

  “Emily?”

  “Emily Dickenson.”

  “Rachel.”

  “Character from Friends.” She patted her belly with her free hand. “But this is your kid. My opinion doesn’t matter.”

  Charlotte? Not voice an opinion? Who was this woman and what had she done with Lucky’s sister? “Not even as Auntie?” C’mon. Charlotte Lucklighter had an opinion about everything and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “Well, I helped pick the name for Dallas’s little girl, but she’s named for Mom.” Charlotte glanced at Lucky, an apology in her eyes. During the time Lucky’s family shunned him, his brother returned any gifts Lucky sent, and even now, Lucky only saw his niece on rare occasions. To her, he wasn’t Uncle Lucky. Not yet, at least. Charlotte disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Bo closed his laptop the third time Andro hit the keyboard, and set it aside to make baby talk, which caused Andro to laugh.

  Lucky and Bo, playing with their child. Who’d have ever thought? Clanging from the kitchen announced his sister’s whereabouts, since she preferred for them to start the day together rather than eat breakfast alone in her little kitchenette. Soon she’d holler, “Breakfast is ready!”

  Please let Bo have made the coffee. You’d think someone who didn’t drink the stuff wouldn’t make it so good. Biscuits and coffee, known in the family as hockey pucks and paint thinner when touched by Charlotte’s hands.

  Bless her heart.

  Cooking skills aside, Lucky, Bo, Alejandro, Ty, Charlotte and baby made the perfect little family.

  The perfect, domestic moment.

  Perfect moments ended, and the reality of Lucky’s job waited outside the door. With work in an hour and at least one man who wanted Lucky dead out there somewhere, domestic bliss couldn’t last.