Twisted Little Games - Book 2 (Little Games Duet)

by Dee Palmer

  “We know.” They are getting far too good at synchronised responses.

  “Right, Miss Parker, are we ready to meet your babies?” My nurse enters the room followed by two porters with a gurney.

  “Six weeks early, but yes, we’re ready.” I answer and try to calm the riot of butterflies raving in my tummy. I was never going to go full-term in my condition. Once I had accepted that, I knew a C-section was always going to be my only option. Still, I’m not a fan of the whole surgery thing.

  “Good, lets get you to the operating suite, and you two can go and get changed. We will see you in theatre.” She motions for Logan to move so the porters can bring the trolley alongside my bed.

  “Can’t we come with you?” He steps back and then he and Atticus move in to lift me onto gurney.

  “We will see you in the theatre.” She pulls the sidebars up once I am flat and levels a glare at my men that brooks no further discussion.

  “Fine,” they both reply, and I have to fight the urge to laugh at their matching petulant tone. I’m not sure who is rubbing off on whom, but they both look like naughty schoolboys being told off. They each lean to kiss me, tell me they love me, and in turn, they both make my heart swell and ache at the same time.

  “I think they are a little nervous too.” I explain to the nurse once they have finally left the room. She looks down at me and gives an understanding smile and gentle nod of her head.

  “That’s understandable, one of them gets to be a daddy today.”

  “Yes, one of them does.”

  I feel a little drowsy from the pre-med, but the adrenaline is fighting to keep me alert in spite of the numbing drugs. I don’t feel the incision but I do feel as if someone is wrestling with my innards. It’s not painful; it’s weird, a tugging, pulling sensation that makes me glad there is a screen up across my abdomen.

  “You’re doing so good, princess.” Atticus has his back to the action end and is focused on my face. They have a hand each but Logan keeps trying to peek over the screen.

  “This is really happening. I’m scared.” I puff out a deep breath, hoping to rid myself of the rocketing anxiety.

  “Everything is going to be okay.” Atticus kisses my knuckles.

  “I wish you’d stop making promises you can’t keep.”

  “I’m keeping this one,” he states emphatically.

  “Me too.” Logan’s head snaps back to face me, and with the certainty in his tone and Atticus’s intense stare, I find myself relaxing. I believe them.

  “What happens if they are mine, or yours for that matter?” Logan addresses Atticus, but I reply, incredulous at his timing.

  “Really, we’re doing this now?”

  “No time like the present. You said yourself this is really happening.” Logan shrugs, and my astonishment is compounded when Atticus engages in this surreal conversation.

  “It’s Tia’s choice.”

  “She didn’t make that decision when a knife was held to her. I don’t think she’s going to choose.”

  “I don’t think she will either. So where does that leave us?”

  “I’m right here guys; don’t I get a say?”

  “Are you going to choose?” Logan pauses and raises his brow, and his lips quirk, suppressing a knowing grin I bet.

  “Um…”

  “Exactly! Look, Atticus, we’ve both been through hell and back, but I’m in her life until she tells me she doesn’t want me. The same goes for the babies. I’ll either be the best father or the best uncle, end of scenarios. I’m not going anywhere other than standing right by her side.

  “I see.”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know you feel exactly the same,” Logan asserts, and Atticus lets out an easy laugh.

  “This is her decision.” Atticus squeezes my hand and looks from me to Logan.

  “I think we’re in this thing together,” Logan declares.

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Look, we’re not gonna start braiding each other’s hair or anything like that, but you’re not the complete arsehole I thought you were. You love her, and I can’t fault you for that. I’d rather have a half of her than nothing, and that’s the only sacrifice I’m prepared to make when it comes to her.”

  “This isn’t what I had planned either, but I would’ve been out of the picture months ago if you hadn’t intervened with the Russians. You may not have liked me back then, but you knew that letting me die would’ve broken her heart.”

  “Who says I like you now?” Logan sniffs.

  “Like you say, no hair braiding, but I have to admit you love her, maybe as much as I do…maybe…and you play a fair game of chess.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Cass, but chess isn’t even my game. Poker is my game.”

  “Is that so? Well, let’s take the game to Vegas when she’s better, and I’ll show you my poker face.”

  “Oh my god you guys.” I can feel the trickle of tears, and I swear my heart swells to the point of bursting. I’m about to try and express the inexpressible when there is this noise. Something other than the sound of their banter, surgical instruments and the hum of machines, something precious.

  A baby’s cry.

  “You have a little girl.” The doctor hands a tiny pink shiny body to a nurse who quickly wraps my baby in a waiting white sheet. After wiping the baby’s face, she brings her to me. I wish I could hold her. A tentative stroke of her puffy cheek is all I manage before she is whisked away for checks.

  “And a little boy!” the doctor announces. His tone is elated, but that’s nothing compared to the massive smiles on all our faces, tears streak my cheeks, and once more, I get the briefest chance to touch my baby.

  “Oh babe, you did so well. They are perfect!” Logan exhales the deepest breath in a rush of relief as if he has had it held in this whole time.

  “Can we hold them?” Atticus asks.

  “Of course, just as soon as they are checked over.” The doctor speaks but I can feel he is fixing whatever needs to be fixed behind the screen.

  “Okay, I guess we can wait.”

  “How are you princess?”

  “Happy, really fucking happy,” I gush, my eyes haven’t stopped streaming and my face aches from the stupid grin fixed wide across my face.

  “I don’t think you can say that now. I think you have to use some shit like fudge.” Logan teases.

  “Well, in that case, I’m really fudging happy then.”

  “They are so bloody tiny.” Logan’s massive hands fumble with the sticky tabs on the nappy and with cream on his fingers I know he’s wasting his time and will need another one. The babies weighed in at an impressive five and just under five pounds despite being six weeks early and only needed a few days in the NICU. They are both healthy, vocal and doing really well, we all are.

  It’s only the second week but Logan and Cass have both stepped up to full-on father role, happily doing everything except the feeding. They change nappies, do bath time, and rock the little ones to sleep.

  I have a pillow over my C-section scar and I’m waiting to swap over the babies as my little boy has just fed and it’s my little girl’s turn. We haven’t decided on names but then we are waiting on the test results. It seems only fair that the father should have an input.

  I get a sick twist in my tummy at the thought one of them isn’t going to be a father. I know what they both said about wanting me, wanting to be in my life regardless, but honestly, how would that work in reality? The father would naturally take a more dominant role. They are both proud, stubborn alpha males. Whoever is the father is going to make that fact very apparent, and I can’t see that ever sitting well with the one that isn’t the father. The problem is, I truly love them both. As selfish as it might be, I don’t want to choose. I want them, period.

  “You know you’ve put her BabyGro on back-to-front, Logan?” Atticus laughs and Logan scowls.

  “No I haven’t, it’s supposed to…oh, maybe you’re
right. Look, it’s not really going to matter. She’s going to explode in her nappy just as soon as she feeds and shit all down the legs, so I’ll have to change her again anyway.” Logan carefully carries her in his arms. I smile because he holds his breath every time he picks one of them up, and despite his size, he looks petrified of the tiny bundle. I pass my son to Atticus as Logan lays my daughter on the pillow to feed. I gently cradle her close and take in the scene around me, savouring this blissful moment when everything is perfect. Even though I still can’t walk, I have everything I could possibly want right here in my arms and in this room. I couldn’t be happier.

  The door opens and I know everything is about to change.

  “The results.” The nurse holds up an envelope and walks over to me. Logan and Atticus shift and stiffen, I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them look so pale. We all look at each other, and I suck in a deep breath.

  “Nothing changes, Tia.” Logan states, his jaw tense and the muscle ticking.

  “I know.” But I don’t know that and my trembling fingers as I reach for the news that will change all our lives is a very good indication of that fact.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Atticus adds.

  “I know.” I don’t know that either and this is killing me. I rip the edge of the envelope with my teeth and lift the letter free. I shake it open and start to read. It takes a long moment to sink in, and even then, it doesn’t make sense.

  “Is that even possible?” I frown at the jumble of information on the page.

  “Is what possible, what? Who’s the father?” Logan asks but they both step closer.

  “You both are.” I hold the letter up for them to see for themselves.

  “What? Let me see.” Atticus takes the letter, and he scans the document until Logan snatches it from his hand.

  “Show me.”

  “It says I’m the father of your son and Logan is the father of you daughter,” Atticus explains as Logan reads the news for himself.

  “That’s good right?” I ask, hesitation evident in my timid voice.

  “That’s fucking fantastic!” Logan throws the letter high into the air and clasps my face in his meaty palms, kissing me soundly on the lips.

  “Language, ass-wipe.” Atticus pulls him back and does the exact same thing to me, both taking care not to disturb the baby having her lunch.

  “Language, dick-wad,” Logan retorts.

  “Language, boys,” I admonish with a cheeky smile.

  “This is amazing though, right? I mean we’re an instant fudging family, and you don’t have to choose.” Logan grins wide and bright and casts a knowing glance at Atticus, which has my Spidey senses tingling.

  “I don’t?”

  “No, you don’t,” Logan informs me.

  “We’ve talked about this a lot, and this is your choice,” Atticus explains. They are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, a wall of mouth-watering manliness, both looking intense and serious and smoking hot. “You can choose one of us and the other will step back, a little, but still be in your life because of the baby…or…”

  “Or?” I ask as he leaves the word hanging ominously in the room like an elusive lifeline.

  “Or you can choose both of us.”

  “Holy fu-dge!” Where is my fairy godmother because she deserves a fudging raise?

  “Hold on, Atticus, she does have to choose.” Logan effectively throws the ice bucket over my fantasy future. I knew it was too good to be true.

  “She does? We talked about this, Logan.” Atticus bristles with anger.

  “She has to choose names for our babies.”

  “You know your sense of humour is shit! So not funny, man.” Atticus punches Logan with enough force Logan has to step back to regain his balance. He laughs and holds his thumb and forefinger up with a tiny gap and quirks his lips when he replies.

  “Little bit funny, come on Tia what are we calling these two?”

  “Arran and Aurora.” I announce, my chest puffing with pride.

  “As in the cardigan?”

  “Two R’s, Logan.” I deflate and roll my eyes.

  “I like it, Arran Ivan, after my real dad, if that’s all right with you?” Atticus rocks the bundle in his arms and I melt at the sight.

  “I love it.”

  “And Aurora Isabel, after my mother.” Logan sits on the bed and looks adoringly at his daughter latched and sucking down her lunch.

  “Perfect.”

  One month later

  “Can you please move the sun shade?” Tia asks. She’s barely laid back on the sun lounger for a moment, fussing and worrying over everything and nothing. It’s a beautiful late summer afternoon and this morning’s physiotherapy session was particularly strenuous. An afternoon relaxing in the garden is just what the doctor would order. In his absence, I ordered it; if only she would relax.

  “It’s covering them, Tia, and they haven’t exactly started crawling, wriggling yes, moving off of the spot we placed them, not so much.”

  “Maybe move it a little closer.” She offers a soft placatory smile. “Make sure the shade covers the whole blanket. Or maybe put me right next to them, not three feet away, so I can at least move them away from the sun as it works its way across lawn.”

  “I can do that. Would you like a refill first?” I take the two empty glasses and the jug from the table beside her lounger.

  “Oh yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll check on lunch too. I think Logan is baking the bread for the sandwiches from scratch with all the time he’s taking.”

  “Make sure you tell him that with the same mocking tone and take pictures before he gives you a fat lip.” She raises a warning brow high and amused. I laugh and flash a cheeky wink her way.

  “He’s yet to land a decent punch, princess. Besides, he knows I’m only jealous. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think he could give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money.” I lean down and keep my voice deliberately low.

  “I heard that!”

  “Of course he did. Be right back.” I roll my eyes and Tia giggles. That man has ears like an elephant, and he damn well never misses a thing with all the cameras he had installed. An unnecessary security measure now his sister is dead.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, milord, could you get your arse in here and give me a hand?” he yells, tugging a long strand of his fringe in a mock bow.

  “With lunch?”

  “Lunch was ready an hour ago. I need help with the cribs.”

  “Weren’t we going to do those tonight?” I call back, irritation clipping my tone.

  “Well, I’ve started them now. They are growing fast and will be out of their Moses baskets before we know it.”

  “They are going to outgrow them by tonight?”

  “You’re funny. You know, we could continue to shout at each other across the lawn or you could just come and help.”

  “I think it’s me going to be giving him a fat lip if he keeps that sarcastic tone.” I bend to give Tia a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t be long, please.” I hate the catch in her voice, the uncertainty and fear every time she’s left alone with her own babies. She’s the best mum ever but also incredibly insecure.

  “Tia, you’ll be fine. The babies will be fine. Relax, enjoy your book, smell the roses, and I’ll go and help Bob the Builder. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, just—”

  “You worry too much.” I cut off a conversation we’ve had a hundred different ways.

  “So would you if you were this helpless.” Her shoulders drop, and I can feel the frustration rolling off of her in sizeable waves.

  “You’re not helpless Tia; you’re stubborn.”

  “Stubborn?”

  “Part of your brain is stubbornly refusing to listen to the part that knows you can walk.” I try and keep the tone of the conversation light because I know how much this is affecting her. She needs to stay positive and really believe she will get better. L
ogan and I can help but this ball is in her court now.

  “Yeah, dumbass brain.” Her lips curve to one side in a half hearted smile but it’s better than nothing.

  “We’ll get there princess.” I kiss her on the top of her head and sprint over to the house. Logan has disappeared inside, and I follow the sound of footsteps to his study.

  “Where’s the cribs?” I look around at the array of screens and zero piles of crib paraphernalia.

  “In the boxes in the nursery, we said we’d do them tonight.” Logan looks confused by my question, which interestingly, makes two of us.

  “So why did you call me in here. You know she doesn’t like to be left alone with the babies.” I walk over to his desk.

  “Look, look at this.” He turns the screen of his laptop to face me.

  “What am I looking at exactly?”

  “Watch.” He enlarges the image to full size, and the CCTV image of Tia in our bed fills the screen. The covers are pulled right back, and she’s sitting upright and seems to be sitting on her hands. She starts to pull her knees up, at least a few inches off the bed and drops them flat. She does this again once more before she relaxes back against the pillows.

  “What the hell?” I move the cursor back and watch the recording one more time.

  “She’s been doing this for the last few days. It was a little movement at first, and I wasn’t sure she was actually doing it because her hands were always resting on her thighs or knees. She could’ve been making the movement with her hands, but this…”

  “She moved by herself?” I finish his sentence with my own question.

  “Yep.”

  “Why hasn’t she said something?”

  “At a guess, she’s probably worried it might not be much more than this and doesn’t want to get our hopes up.” Logan points to the screen, and I although I can understand the sentiment, she’s crazy to keep this to herself.

  “That would kind of make sense I guess. It’s still crazy that she’d want to keep this quiet.” I shake my head with a mix of excitement and sheer disbelief. “So what now?”

  “Now we wait until she’s ready to share. I just wanted you to—”