Alone again, Jenny leaned in and asked, “How are you feeling?”
Michelle felt a blush warm her cheeks. “Am I that obvious?”
“Well, you’ve turned down a glass of wine the last two times I’ve offered.”
“Observant.”
“Uh-huh.”
Candy appeared down below, weaving his way between tables, accepting handshakes and back slaps from happy customers. He glanced up, as if he could sense her watching him, and his grin made her stomach flip.
She smiled. “I feel wonderful,” she said. “Absolutely fantastic.” And she did. She really, really did.
Forty-One
Michelle
She’d always thought of the future in a certain way. Through a naïve lens of youth, she’d seen the present as a test, something to fight through, tooth and claw, until she could arrive at the higher plane that would be the rest of her life. A young woman’s view of the world, and her place within it.
But the future, she realized, was nothing more than tomorrow, and nothing less than forever, and that higher plane didn’t feel like ascension, but the gift of another Texas sunrise and sunset, the chance to love and be loved. The future was no longer a finish line she was racing for. In so many ways, she wanted it to slow down. She wanted more of this, an eternity of it: her job, and her little cozy home, and all her surrogate brothers. And Candy. Her sweet, ferocious Derek.
And the new little life they would raise together.
~*~
Really, she thought, at nine-fifteen on Saturday night, she should have expected this. This would fall under that old Murphy’s Law thing, wouldn’t it? It felt like it would. It also felt like hell.
The back pain had started during breakfast that morning. Not unbearable, but steady and insistent, like two fists pressing firmly into the small of her back, right in those little indentations above her backside. She’d spent a half hour in Candy’s chair in the sanctuary, a pack of frozen peas wedged behind her, and finally gave up when she realized it wasn’t going to work. No sense being helpless about it, she decided, and heaved back to her feet, her belly thrusting out in front of her like a hot air balloon. A big baby, the doctor had said, smiling at her. And of course he was big, because look at his giant father. But she wasn’t big, and she’d never been this uncomfortable in her life, housing a tiny giant growing bigger by the day.
She’d spent the day in the office, going through vendor orders, returning phone calls, trying not to worry about the fact that the pain was getting worse and worse as the hands moved around the wall clock. Candy was on a run, currently riding back from Cali with all but the skeleton crew he’d left behind in Amarillo.
At three, Darla had stuck her head in the door and said, “I made sandwiches.”
Michelle smiled, but shook her head. Her stomach was trembling in a funny way, and she wasn’t hungry. “No, thanks.”
Darla frowned. “You okay, sweetheart? You look a little pale.”
“Just tired.” She pressed a hand to the mound of her belly. “Ready to meet this one.”
“Aren’t we all!” Darla said with a wide smile, and ducked back out.
She’d headed to the bar around eight, just to check in, make sure things were running smooth. She trusted her staff, she just…well, she was a control freak, maybe more of one than her husband, something he liked to remind her as often as possible. God, she missed him. He should be back soon. Within the next few hours. She realized, as she moved across the floor, that she was praying about it, in an abstract way: Bring him home safe, bring him home soon.
The pain turned visceral and ragged, sharp as daggers running through her back. And now…now…
It was nine-fifteen, and all this wet warmth was gushing down her legs, soaking her leggings, sliding down into her boots, pattering against the hardwood floor.
“Fucking fantastic,” she said through her teeth, and then the pain grabbed.
Yeah, okay, she should have stayed home. And she knew she was in trouble when she felt too bad to worry about being embarrassed, standing here in the middle of a hot nightclub spot with her water breaking all over the damn place.
Someone appeared at her elbow, and she glanced over, eyes glazed from the pain, to find Jinx giving her a look so motherly and concerned she would have laughed if she could. “What’s wrong?” he asked, right away.
“Um…my water broke.”
“It what?”
She gestured down toward her feet, and his gaze followed. It was dim, but she could tell he could see the wetness gluing her leggings to her skin.
“Oh shiiiiittttt,” he hissed. He took a huge breath and grabbed at his hair. “Okay. Okay. This is cool. This is fine. It happens, right? Biology?”
She’d never seen him like this. It was terrifying and adorable.
“Calm down.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, look at me. This is my first baby. He’s gonna take his sweet time. I’m not gonna plop him out right here on the floor.”
It was a ridiculous statement, but obviously something he’d thought of, judging by the way his shoulders relaxed a little. “Hospital, right?” he asked, expression dazed. “Yeah. We’ve got to get you to the hospital. Shit, do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No. We can take the truck.”
“Truck. Right.”
“Jinx. Do you need to sit down?”
“Probably.” He took another breath and shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. Come on.” He touched her shoulder like she was made of glass and steered her gently toward the stairs.
Walking helped; the pain and pressure were coiled so tight that it felt like she needed an outlet, and moving seemed to dispel some of the tension. Still, the stairs were a challenge. Jinx slid his arm across her shoulders, and she was grateful for the chance to lean against his side.
At the top of the stairs, he leaned over and told the hostess someone needed to get a mop down to clean up on the main floor. Her name was Eliza, and she was mid-forties, competent and young-faced, a hell of a hire. She took one look at Michelle’s expression and said, “We’ve got this. You go.” And gave Michelle an encouraging smile.
They were at the front door – one of the bouncers was holding it open for them, in fact – when one of their servers came barreling up, eyes wild. “Jinx!” she gasped. “Oh God, there you are. We’ve got a major situation in the back.”
His arm tightened around Michelle’s shoulders. “I can’t deal with it right now.”
The girl made a distressed sound in her throat. “Two guys got in this huge fight, I think maybe they were betting, I don’t know. Anyway, they started hitting each other, and their friends joined in, and Niko’s trying to break them up, but he needs help, and–”
“Shit,” Jinx swore.
A shadow detached itself from the wall and slid into view, liquid as something out of a horror movie. Fox smiled in a way that made Michelle groan. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You handle it. I’ll take Chelley to the hospital.”
Jinx was already too distracted to protest. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll call and check on you guys in a bit.”
When he stepped away, Fox took his place, arm going around Michelle’s shoulders. “Come on, niece, let’s go have a baby.”
~*~
As predicted, it was taking a long time. Her contractions were much closer together now, and the doctor had said it wouldn’t be long the last time he’d taken a peek, but four hours was a long time to be in this kind of pain, in Fox’s company no less.
In the chair beside the bed, he plucked ice chips from a cup one by one and crunched them noisily.
“Those are supposed to be for me, you know,” she said.
He tilted the cup in offering.
“Oh no. You enjoy.”
He grinned.
The next contraction hit her hard, deep rippling waves of pain that went on, and on, and on…
“Hey.” Suddenly Fox’s face was above hers for some reason. His voice sounded faraway. “Che
lle. You okay?”
Tears burned her eyes and she pressed her lips together, to keep from letting out the whimper that strained her throat.
His expression softened, all the teasing gone, and he pressed his cool palm to her forehead.
Michelle closed her eyes, swallowed, and whispered, “I want Derek.”
“I know, love, I know. He’s coming.”
~*~
Candy
Candy had five missed calls and a voicemail from Jinx when he got off his bike in front of the clubhouse. He listened to the voicemail, and his heart leapt halfway up his throat. The baby was coming. Now.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and slammed his helmet back on his head.
“What…” Gringo started to ask.
“Hospital.” And he cranked his bike again.
It was a sharp, cool night, and he leaned into the handlebars as he rode into town, the wind like a straight razor shaving across his skin. His eyes watered, and he told himself it was only the speed, just the air slipping past his nighttime goggles. He didn’t know or care if any of his brothers followed him. This wasn’t club business. This was…this was…
Maybe it was because he was as old as he was. Young fathers worried about the ways a kid would change their lives: middle of the night feedings, less partying, endless diaper changing, and money scraping. But for Candy, all he could see were the potential disasters. All his worries centered around the moment of birth itself. What if something happened to Michelle? To the baby? What if she had to have a C-section? What if it was backward – breech? He’d learned that word, and an impossible list of others, in birthing class. Because, yeah, he was forty-six, and he was secure, and he could take his girl to class and learn what he needed to learn; he didn’t have to pretend to be too much of a bro for that.
Breathing exercises and back massages cycled through his brain, and nothing could touch the worry that was clawing toward panic. He had to get there. Had to get there…
It wasn’t until he was parked and on his feet, jogging toward the hospital doors, that he realized he was shaking like a newborn foal. He actually tripped on the threshold going in, and a woman on her way out gasped and said, “Are you…?”
“Fine,” he said, and broke into a run, heading for the elevators. There was a line. He took the stairs. He almost had a heart attack when he got to the right floor, heaving and leaning against the door a moment. Fuck.
Fox was in the L&D waiting room, and grinned when he caught sight of him. “Jesus Christ, man,” he said, getting to his feet like this wasn’t the most important moment in the world. “Does someone need to get the paddles for you?”
“No.” His voice was a snarl. “Where is she? Which room?”
“This way.” Fox fell in beside him, and led him to a door painted a soft, unobtrusive yellow, like all the rest on this floor. “Hold on,” he said, when Candy started to push through. “I should tell you–”
The bottom fell out of Candy’s stomach. No. God no. He didn’t wait to listen, instead barged in, and found…
Oh.
Fox stepped in close behind him, whispering. “She’s asleep.”
And she was. There was a bassinet beside the bed, a little white-wrapped bundle in it.
“He came about an hour ago,” Fox continued. “She did beautiful.” He patted Candy’s shoulder. “He’s healthy, already been to the nursery, already eaten a little.”
His chest squeezed so hard he thought the paddles might actually be a good idea.
“Go wake her up.” Fox gave him a nudge. “She wants to see you.” Then he withdrew and pulled the door shut behind him.
His hands curled into fists and then relaxed. Again. He had no idea what to do with the worry and adrenaline still cycling through his veins. He felt lightheaded, weak. Healthy. Both of them healthy and whole. God.
He made it to the chair beside the bed and fell into it. His hand shook when he reached and smoothed Michelle’s damp, golden hair off her forehead. She had to be exhausted, but her eyes fluttered open immediately.
“Derek?”
“Yeah. Right here.”
She pushed up a little, leaning into his hand, and her heavy-lidded eyes came to his face. She smiled. It was tired, but it was radiant, warmth emanating from her skin.
“Fox said you did real good,” Candy said around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, baby doll, I wish–”
She shook her head; she didn’t want to talk about what might have been. “Have you see him?” She nodded toward the bassinet.
Only in passing. He glanced over now, and it was a fresh heart attack all over again.
“Pick him up,” Michelle prodded gently.
He got to his feet and hovered over the bassinet, hands suspended in midair. He was so tiny – okay, not tiny for a baby – but tiny compared to his big, gnarled, tooth-taking hands. And so clean, and smooth-skinned, and perfect, and…
“You picked up Jack, didn’t you?” Michelle asked.
“Yeah.” And he had. So with the utmost care, he slowly, slowly reached in and scooped up the bundle that was his son. One hand supporting his body, the other his head, such a breakable little curve settled in his palm.
He eased back into the chair, and leaned against the bed, so the baby was between them. So he could watch Michelle stroke his little forehead with a fingertip. His eyes were still closed.
Candy’s own eyes were suddenly blurry, hot and stinging.
Michelle lifted her hand and laid it on top of his head, wiggling her fingers down deep into his hair. “I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”
And that was meeting TJ for the first time.
~*~
Michelle
On the other side of the Skype connection, Tommy’s room at Baskerville Hall was its same blend of dark blues, rustic whites, and deep blood reds. Union Jack colors, the point driven home by the Union Jack curtain half-covering the window over his shoulder.
A little blurred around the edges thanks to the time delay, her uncle nevertheless looked well. And he looked good, in a blue sweater and his cut, a shock of dark hair wanting to fall across his forehead. He was growing it out a little longer now, and it suited him.
He propped his elbows on the desk and beamed straight into the webcam. “Well, let’s see him, then.”
Michelle lifted the sleeping bundle in her arms a little higher, up above the edge of the table where she was sitting, tilting him carefully so Tommy could see his small pink face.
“Oh,” Tommy said. And then: “Aww, Christ, Chelley. He’s perfect.” His smile turned soft, his blue eyes gentle. “Aren’t you proud.”
She started to thank him – because that was what you did when someone complimented the center of your entire universe. But instead, she said, “We named him Thomas.”
Tommy went still, his pixelated edges freezing. “You…what?”
“Thomas. And then John, for Jack Snow, Derek’s dad.”
He stared at her, uncomprehending. “You named him after…after me?”
“Well I don’t know any other Tommys, do I?” she tried to tease, but it came out strangled, voice choked with sudden tears.
“You…” He swallowed; she watched his throat work on the screen. “You didn’t have to,” he whispered. He rubbed suspiciously at the corner of one eye. Cleared his throat. “What are you calling him?”
“TJ.”
He reached to touch his fingertips to the screen, up near the webcam at the top. “Hi, TJ. Welcome to the family.” He took a big breath, withdrew his hand, and said, “Hold on a second.” He stood and was gone a few minutes, while Michelle rocked TJ lightly and was content just to be sitting down for the time being.
When Tommy returned, his eyes looked brighter and he was drinking a glass of water. “So,” he said, in a voice that told her he’d cleared his throat a few more times off-screen. “Is he letting you sleep?”
“Hardly. He’s as obnoxious as his father.”
“Ah,
shit. Should I let you go? You can take a nap.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather talk with you.”
His megawatt smile made another appearance, and warmth burst to life in her chest. She missed him dearly, and it made her ache with happiness to see that naming TJ after him had touched him deeply.
“What’s going on over there?” she prodded.
He pushed his hair back and said, “Well, you won’t believe this, but Albie’s actually been in touch with Devin. That’s what he says anyway.”
Michelle held her baby close and pitched toward the screen. “I’m listening.”
~*~
Jorge Ruiz
A man didn’t grow up the son of a cartel boss without developing a certain set of coping skills. Skills the average, run of the mill criminal couldn’t hope to possess. He had a flair – that’s what his padre had always said – for winning people, men and women, to his side of things. It wasn’t about money – though he’d been known to slide cash into handshakes, slick as grease – but about a natural persuasiveness. People liked to be flattered, they liked to be promised things, and they often were willing to overlook short-term rewards in favor of long-term payoffs, which Jorge had always been able to spin into tales of perfect fantasy.
When he was arrested by the ATF, he had one point in his favor: unlike his crew, he was an American citizen, born and raised in the good old US of A. That had meant that he wasn’t extradited to Mexico…but it also meant he had no crew on the inside.
Cue the flair: he’d spent the past nine or so months amassing a new following, Latino inmates who’d liked his smooth speeches in the cafeteria, and who had gladly joined on to his new crew. Now he had guys who could get him things (cigarettes, burner phones, information), and guys who could pass messages to the outside world, and bring messages back. The prison system: just another jungle in which the strongest survived…and the strongest didn’t necessarily land on the right side of the law.
Today was a normal Tuesday. His cell door slid back at nine a.m. “Paper, boss,” Fernando said, and Jorge turned to intercept it.
Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) Page 40
