by Lori L. Otto
A Holland and a Fighter
Lori L. Otto
Copyright 2019 © Lori L. Otto
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
A Holland and a Fighter
Lori L. Otto Publications
Visit our website at: www.loriotto.com
First Edition: June 2019
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Printed in the United States of America
Created with Vellum
to you, the most devoted of readers,
especially the Holland Bubble
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Also by Lori L. Otto
Chapter 1
PART I - LIVVY
Waiting inside the lobby, I closely inspect the painting featured behind the concierge desk. With a critical eye, I see things I could have done differently. I never used to pick apart my work when I was painting regularly. Once I finished a project, I’d move on to the next and leave all the past ones where they shone best: in lobbies, bedrooms, museums, on the sides of 40-story buildings, wherever. Now, though, I’m my worst critic.
This one needs more paint. More blue paint. Maybe green, too. Damn it.
“Mrs. Scott, your car is here.”
Not lingering on what I can’t change, I smile at Leon and walk out the door he holds open for me. “Thank you, sir. I hope you have a great afternoon.”
“You have fun with the ladies,” he responds, having heard my plans when I asked him to arrange the ride for me.
I stop walking and turn around. “Bridesmaid dress shopping… like this?” I motion to my expanded figure, which feels five times larger than it likely is. “I’ll do my best.”
“You look lovely.”
“Jon probably paid you to say that.”
“I won’t say,” the concierge teases. I laugh as I make my way to the town car. Instead of taking the backseat that’s being offered, I point to the front. One of our regular drivers, Norman, quickly opens the other door for me.
“Thank you. You don’t mind a little company, do you?” I ask him.
“I never mind the company of a pretty lady.”
After he shuts the door, I mumble to myself. “Jon paid all of them.”
Norman buckles his seatbelt and checks all the mirrors before pulling away from the curb. “Mrs. Scott–”
“Livvy,” I correct him, as I do every time he drives me anywhere.
“Livvy, where are we off to today?”
“Prune,” I say. “First Street between–”
“Between First and Second Avenues,” he says with one raised eyebrow. “You have reservations? Oh,” he chuckles. “Who am I talking to?”
I smile and nod. “It’s Coley’s lunch. She dines where she wants and covers her bases.”
“So, she does.”
“It’s a side-effect of dating my brother,” I clarify. I don’t know if Coley would lead such a structured life without being engaged to Trey. “Now be honest, Norman. You’ve known me for a few years. I need the truth.”
“You know I hate these questions, Livvy.”
“Suck it up. Does this dress make me look fat?”
My driver glances over at me quickly, then back at the road. I can see the blush on his face, and I laugh at his discomfort. There’s only one answer to the question, and I can’t be mad at him for it.
“Now, Livvy, if you’re trying to hide your pregnancy, I will honestly tell you that your dress does not do the trick. I can see your bump.”
“Not trying to hide the pregnancy. That cat’s been out of the bag for a few weeks. So, I look fat, huh?”
“You can tell you’re with child, sweetheart. Fat and with child are two distinct and separate things. You are glowing today, and that dress looks delightful on you. And I haven’t seen Jon in weeks, so no, ma’am, he did not pay me to say such a thing. I’m a free thinker.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, side-eyeing him. “But you’re also married. You know the rules.”
“I do know the rules.”
“A-ha!”
“That doesn’t change my opinions.”
“All right. I’ll quit harassing you.”
“Thank you,” he says with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
We chat about his wife and grandkids the rest of the way to the restaurant. While I have a history of letting myself out of cars, I don’t mind the assistance of a sturdy man when I have to get up from the lower seats.
“Will you need a return ride?”
“I think Coley will make arrangements for all of us. I have no idea where all we have to go. Should be an exhausting day, for sure.”
“Tell her hello.”
“I will. Be safe.”
I have to walk about 30 feet to the entrance of the restaurant. On the way, I hear a handful of people shouting adoring praise about my baby bump. They’re still yelling at Livvy Holland, though. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been married to Jon for nearly 10 years. I’ll never shed the Holland moniker–not that I mind. I love my family and I proudly wear the name my parents gave me.
Jon minds, though. When he’s with me, he’ll normally shout his last name for principle’s sake. It’s always funny when Dad’s around, too.
“Sister Scott!” I grin when I hear Shea’s voice, looking around from the foyer of Prune. I nod at the hostess and make my way to my sister-in-law.
“Sister Scott!” I say to her on my way to the table reserved for us in the small restaurant. She pushes herself up cautiously to give me a hug. The embrace is weak, and our hugs are destined to get worse and worse as the weeks go by.
We stand side-by-side and compare bellies. “I’m winning!” she exclaims, clapping.
“Yeah, you keep cheering about your bigger baby and remember how that thing has to make its entrance into this world, yeah?” I tease her.
“Stop scaring me!” She backhands my upper arm before we both ease into the booth.
“You’re fine. I’m just carrying Auggie differently, that’s all.”
She starts laughing. “You have got to stop calling him that.”
I grin widely. “I just can’t. I’m falling in love with it.”
“There’s no way Jon’s going to let you call him that.”
“All men want a namesake, right? I’m just trying to figure out what to call little Jonathan Augustus Scott the second. Why not Auggie?”
“Why not Jon? Jonny? Nathan? Gus? Junior? Hell, call him Flip or Sam or Har
ry, but by God, don’t call him Auggie. Kids will tease him relentlessly.”
“My girls are already going to get him acclimated to the teasing. They’re calling him Froggie.”
Shea chokes on her drink. I give her a minute to recover. “They are not.”
“Edie even made him a little cross-stitch of a frog. My grandmother’s teaching her.”
“Oh my god. You can’t encourage this!” She’s still giggling.
“I know. But it’s so fun to watch Jon get all red and squirmy.”
“Did people call him Auggie when he was little?”
“I don’t think he was very open with his full name. You know what their childhood was like. That would require people to pay attention… there wasn’t a whole lot of that going around.”
“I know,” she says.
As if reading each other’s minds, we both check our watches at the same time.
“Where is she?” Shea asks. “She’s always Little Miss Prompt.”
“Right?!” I shake my head. “She did have to pick up her Maid of Honor first. Maybe Stella’s pokey or something.”
“Maybe.”
“Should we look for her?” I ask, pulling out my phone and scrolling for the friend locater app.
“Give her a few minutes.”
I nod. “How’s Will?” I ask her.
“My husband is sexy as ever,” she says with a glint in her eye.
“Shut up, he will never be as sexy as mine.”
“Girl, I got the sexiest of all the Scott brothers, and you know it.”
I huff aloud at her proclamation. “I don’t think so.”
“Really? When’s the last time you got any play? Huh?”
“Now, you know that’s not fair, Shea.”
“I told you.”
“Sexy and sex have nothing to do with one another!” I argue.
“The hell they don’t! Every. Damn. Day.”
“Still?” I whisper in moderate shock. “I mean, whatever. Jon and I are fine.”
“How long has it been?”
“How many months along am I?” Shea already knows the answer to my question and just likes to rub it in. “It’s not Jon’s fault.”
She smiles, and I might detect a tinge of empathy in that grin. Maybe.
“Auggie the Cockblocker,” she says.
I nod my head. “Auggie the Cockblocker. He’s killed my sex drive. This boy-child has killed my sex drive! The girls were the total opposite. I was just like you once…”
“How funny is that? What do you think it means for your kids?”
“I don’t want to think about that. My kids are little babies who are never growing up.”
“Your girls are seven and eight–and they both have birthdays right around the corner.”
“They were just babies yesterday,” I say, pouting.
“They’re darlings.”
“Willow’s a darling. Edie’s a hellion. Whatever. I love them both.”
“Of course, my goddaughter is a little darling.”
“She gets it from you…”
“Whatever. Will is the sweetest...” She gets a faraway look as her thoughts linger.
“C’mon, Shea. Which one is he? Sexiest or sweetest, because you can’t have it both ways.”
“Oh, yes I can. I do.”
“Fine. One-hundred percent, your husband takes after Jon, though. And I’m tired of arguing with you about this,” I say with finality.
“Fine,” she concedes. “Let’s talk about godparents. Did you two ever make a decision?”
With my first two children, the circumstances in our lives led to easy choices. With Edie, our firstborn, it was always going to be my uncle, Matty. I mean, from when I was a teenager, I knew I’d pick him for a godfather for my future child, way before I even knew if I’d have children. He’s just that guy that I knew I’d always want in my kid’s life. And Jon felt the same. My uncle had always been our champion… he kept our secrets and made arrangements for us to be together when my parents never would have allowed it. I guess Matty knew the eventuality of our marriage… of our happily ever after… of our eternity together.
Edie loves Uncle Matty and his husband, Nolan. For almost nine years, Jon and I lived across the hall from them, so they kind of helped us raise both of the girls. It was the perfect arrangement–one I’m grateful for. I’ll forever be indebted to them for all they’ve done for us, although I think my uncle feels the same way. He’d always wanted kids; the closest he got was being a step-parent to Nolan’s children, but they were teenagers by the time he came into their lives.
Matty, both girls and I all sobbed the day we moved out of our loft three months ago. Full-0n, runny-nose, went-through-an-entire-box-and-a-half-of-tissues sobbed.
We still go visit a few times a week.
As for Willow, who came a very short time after her big sister, Jon and Will were coming off a rough year in their relationship. It took Will going away on tour with his band for Jon to realize what a stand-up guy his younger brother truly was. I always knew. But while he was gone, Jon came to his senses, and used the godfather invitation as an olive branch. Will was honored.
He’d just met Shea, and we didn’t know her well, but after only a short time with her, we knew what Will knew: that he’d be a fool not to keep her around forever, and that she’d be a wonderful addition to our family. Fortunately, Shea took a chance on our crazy brood, moving from Minneapolis into the glaring spotlight we live under in Manhattan.
Willow adores them both.
“Yes,” I answer her. “We are going with… Trey as the godfather…” I pause, heightening the suspense and trying to read her reaction. She’s a blank slate as I announce my little brother’s name. “Your poker face is good,” I comment.
“Go on!”
“And Max for the other godfather.”
“Really!?”
“Yes.” I shrug my shoulders, admitting that our indecision got the best of us.
The decision came down to a choice between my brother, Trey, and Coley–who’s still running way later than usual–or Jon and Will’s youngest brother, Max, and his longtime boyfriend, Callen. It was a source of legitimate tension in our new home in the Flatiron district–like we were choosing sides or picking who was the better brother. I hated it. Jon hated it. Trey and Max, best friends since they were six, thought it was a dumb topic of contention and kept telling us to flip a coin.
I was not going to flip a coin for a godparent.
Not that we’re religious or something. Sure, it’s a sentimental title, but that’s just it. It’s all about the sentiment, and that means a lot to me.
“We haven’t told them yet, but I figure those two are always going to be close anyway. They can share a kid if we’re gone, right?”
“I mean, I can’t bear the thought of that, Liv,” Shea says, putting her hand on mine, “but absolutely. Sometimes I think Max and Trey are soulmates in their own right. Just on the friendship level. You know?”
“No, I know,” I say, nodding. “I’ve never held onto a friend that long.”
“Well, you have me now, Sister Scott,” she says, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. You can be my, uh… friendmate?”
“Oh, no, Livvy. That’s all wrong. Umm… soulfriend?” She looks wary as she laughs, realizing how much worse that sounds.
“But is it racist if I say that?” I ask her playfully as I touch her mocha skin. She nods her head vigorously. “See, I thought so. But I’m so calling you that from now on.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she says, chuckling harder.
“I won’t because I don’t want to lose the only soulfriend I have.”
“Why do I say words before my brain processes things?” Shea asks.
“It’s one of the things I love about you!”
“So back to Max and Trey. Both, huh? Sure you don’t want to hold off for baby number four?”
“That baby doesn’t exist
. Won’t exist,” I vow. “Four children are excessive! This is the family we wanted, honestly. Jon has always loved having two siblings. And I love having a little brother. Best of both worlds. No room for baby four… so snip snip is gonna happen,” I tell her.
“To Jon?”
“We’ve talked about it.”
“I guess it’s best that way, because you’re going to be Charlie’s godparents, so should something happen to Will and me–”
“Can’t-happen-won’t-happen,” I say, shaking my head at what’s one of the worst thoughts my mind can conjure. Losing Will or Shea would devastate me, Jon–my entire family.
“Should that happen,” she continues, “we’re going to give you that excessive family you never wanted.”
My eyes water involuntarily. “Just to put your mind at ease, Charlie would never be considered excessive to us. I’ve already told you; Jon and I will help you and Will whenever you need us. However you need us. He’s already as much my family as my own kids. Just like you’re my sister like Trey’s my brother… this body’s not giving birth to any more babies, but the Scott and Holland families can never be too big.”
My best friend wipes her eyes. “Thank you. But nothing bad is ever happening to us.”
“Never,” I assure her, finally seeing Coley come in the front door. “And soon-to-be Sister Holland has finally arrived!” I shout a little louder than I probably should have.
“Girl, you know people are going to think we are the worst damn nuns Manhattan has ever seen,” Shea says as she lays her hand flat on her belly.
“And we would be–with our sexy husbands,” I say with a wink.
