The Bad Boys

by Sosie Frost

  I woke up this morning dreaming of Nate, and it wasn’t a fear about the pregnancy or panic about telling him. It was a vision of us, snuggling, together.

  That was worth protecting.

  I stopped on the way home to grab our pizza, though I couldn’t eat the greasy, sloppy mess. I’d ordered a Hawaiian specifically for the pineapple to eat, but Lindsey was onto me. She knew I hated her favorite type of pie.

  “You’re not getting out of arts and crafts.” Lindsey took her dinner with a suspicious glance. “Don’t even try it.”

  “Just wanted to be nice.”

  She waved a pair of scissors at me, but we had two dozen paper bouquets to make. Every Pinterest page had different instructions for the flowers, and she didn’t have time to stop and nag. The project demanded all of her concentration, which was good. The pregnancy was bad for my mood swings, and even worse for hiding how I felt. My emotions weren’t on my sleeve anymore—they were tucked inside a glove I’d use to slap people who riled me up.

  I managed to avoid her inquisition, but she still puttered around me as she nibbled on the pizza. She and Bryce stopped to eat. I kept trying to turn tissue paper into roses to avoid questions.

  “Something’s different about you…” Lindsey said.

  I folded the paper and made a cut. “I’m a little tired of paper crafts.”

  “No, it’s not that. You’re…more…” She snapped her fingers at Bryce. “What’s the word I want?”

  Bryce didn’t respond well to a Prescott woman’s glare. He knew better than to cross me.

  “She looks fine,” he said.

  “No, there’s something.” Lindsey tapped her chin with her ring finger. “You’re calmer.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked. The scissors didn’t work. I reached for the X-Acto knife to properly frill the leaves.

  “It’s not you. You’ve been super crazy these past couple weeks.”

  I arched an eyebrow. Lindsey huffed.

  “Okay,” she said. “I know some of it is my fault.”

  I smirked. “Some.”

  “Still…” Lindsey leaned close. “Something’s different…”

  I trimmed a bit of the tissue paper from the blossom of the flower. It wasn’t the prettiest, but tucked into a bouquet, it’d look very fluffy and pink.

  Lindsey’s voice echoed through the house. “Oh, my god. You had sex!”

  I flinched. The X-Acto knife sliced my palm.

  We all screamed, though neither of us as shrill as Bryce.

  I leapt to my feet as the blood dripped everywhere. Crimson droplets stained three of our premade flowers and all the white tissue paper. Lindsey howled like she had been cut, and Mom raced in from the kitchen, covered in flour.

  “Who had sex?” She pointed at me with a finger coated in chocolate chip cookie dough. “Mandy, I told you. Ain’t nothing unnatural about your momma getting some. It’s how you got here, sweet thing, and I don’t see you complaining—”

  “Mom, move!”

  I pushed past her to the kitchen, dripping the entire way. Lindsey hurried after me and tossed me a clean tea-towel to sop up the blood. Mom lingered behind, fanning Bryce with her apron.

  “Lord, have mercy,” Mom said. “Mandy, are you that much of a klutz? What happened? Why are you bleeding all over my floors?”

  I’d have to apologize later for the inconvenience of my laceration. I leaned over the sink, but rinsing the wound made it bleed harder. It wasn’t a small cut, sliced right through the sensitive skin between my thumb and forefinger. I wrapped it tight in the towel.

  Lindsey poked at me. “Does it hurt?”

  “Ow! Stop!”

  “That’s pretty deep.” She made a face. “You might need stitches.”

  Mom padded across the kitchen and yanked on my hand. She looked at the cut and hmphed. “Sure, she can go to the hospital…and waste her money. Not like her Daddy gives her good health insurance at that hand-me-down job of hers.”

  Lindsey stomped her foot. “Well, I can’t have a bridesmaid with a giant bandage on her hand for pictures! Or worse…an oozing, festering, puss-filled wound! We can’t Photoshop staph infections out of the photos, Mom!”

  That did it. Now I felt woozy. I clutched the sink and swallowed, hard. If I got sick, at least no one would blame me. I did love the free excuses.

  I pointed to Bryce. “Rick’s working tonight. We’ll go to the hospital. He can patch me up.”

  Bryce refused to look at me, blocking me out of his vision with his raised palm. “I’ll give you a lift to the ER. Just…cover that up.”

  Lindsey busted into gear, grabbing my purse and pushing me out the door. She paged Rick, but when he called to ask about the emergency, she grabbed the phone from me and hysterically screamed for help.

  Rick knew better. He texted me on the sly. I one-handedly told him I was fine, but if he wanted to meet us in the ER, I’d love to have someone relatively competent in my corner.

  We got to the hospital, but Bryce couldn’t leave the air-conditioned car for fear of a complete panic attack. I thanked him as Lindsey hauled me inside the ER, screaming to any nurse who would listen about her destroyed paper flower bouquets and the maid-of-honor nearly slicing a finger off. At least she got us into a room pretty quick.

  Rick found us after only a couple of minutes. He immediately ordered Lindsey to sit down and shut up—in the way only a lifelong friend could tame the beast. He patted the bed for me. I hopped up, and his eyebrow arched.

  “Good thing it’s slow tonight.” He stuck the blood pressure cuff on me and shook his head. “Linds, are you demanding blood tributes from your bridesmaids?”

  “For your information.” Lindsey pouted in the chair. “This accident is going to cost us the whole night. I don’t have enough white tissue paper for the rest of the bouquets, and we’re way behind for the wedding preparations.”

  Rick wasn’t listening. He looked at me. “Wow…how much blood did you lose? Your blood pressure is low. And your heart rate is a bit…high.”

  Uh-oh.

  I shrugged and lied. “I must just be stressed.”

  This was a problem I hadn’t thought about. Rick charted the numbers, and I kicked myself for being stupid enough to come to a hospital.

  I had discovered I was pregnant before my missed period and confirming test. Lindsey forced her bridesmaids to wear Fitbits, and, like a total dork, I was the only one who liked the cool little device. At first I’d thought the readings were wrong or the result of a busted component, but troubleshooting forums detailed the common causes for altered vitals.

  Early pregnancy raised a woman’s heart rate.

  Whoops.

  Rick tucked his stethoscope around his neck. He checked the wound, careful to keep the bloody rag far from his pristine coat.

  “Bet people don’t normally bleed on your rounds,” I said.

  “We generally try to prevent hearts from bleeding in the cath lab. This does look pretty nasty. We should do a couple stitches. Let me clean you up and get you sewed together. I’ll have someone write you a script for antibiotics.”

  He wheeled a chair over and had a nurse help set out the supplies. Lindsey sighed and grabbed her phone. Rick pounded on the computer to enter my information.

  “Birthday?” he asked.

  My mouth dropped open. “You jerk.”

  “Kidding.” He winked. “August…?”

  “Don’t make me wipe blood on you.”

  “Thirteenth. On any meds?”

  “Nope.” I flinched. “Well, a vitamin.”

  “One-a-day?”

  Sure. That was close enough. The pre-natal vitamins were taken once a day. I nodded.

  “I’ll whoop your butt if you’re taking drugs. Alcohol?”

  “I wish.”

  He chuckled. “Pregnant or thinking of becoming pregnant?”

  He meant it as a joke, but I stiffened. The world faded in that instant, and I stared at my best frien
d. He probably deserved to hear the truth regardless of his medical degree or willingness to stitch me up.

  But Lindsey was right behind me. The lights got too bright, and the blood and panic and truth twisted in my stomach.

  I couldn’t lie.

  Not this time.

  Lindsey couldn’t see my lips moving from where she sat. I shook my head no.

  But I mouthed the words I hadn’t admitted to anyone yet.

  “Yes.”

  Rick didn’t scream, throw a fit, or Hulk-smash and rip off his scrubs to murder Nate. His eyebrow twitched, but he nodded to Lindsey.

  “Hey, Linds. Go get my idiot brother. Tell him to buy me a sandwich from the cafeteria. I haven’t eaten all day.”

  Lindsey was already texting Bryce. She didn’t watch where she was going and nearly bashed into me. She waved a hand.

  “I’m making him take me to the craft store for more tissue paper. We’ll bring you a sandwich when we pick up the walking wounded over here.”

  I didn’t answer, and I don’t think Lindsey was listening. Rick closed the door behind her.

  God, I hated that ominous click almost as much as I loathed the buzzing florescent lights. It was the first time I was with a doctor and a friend for this discussion, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  Rick sat. He pulled off his pager and set it on the counter.

  “You’re pregnant?” His voice weakened, defeated and shocked.

  Just how Nate would probably sound.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Who…” He answered that question easily. His jaw clenched. “Son of a…how far along are you?”

  “About…eleven weeks.”

  “Eleven weeks?”

  The entire ER heard. I shushed him.

  “How could you…you’ve known for two months and didn’t tell anyone? Does Nate know?”

  It sounded crazier when he said it aloud.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  I pointed at the door. “Lindsey’s wedding? My parents’ divorce? It wasn’t the time to tell them.”

  “I know they’re fucking self-absorbed, but Jesus, even they’ll notice you popping out a baby.”

  At least the blood pressure cuff came off. I’d have popped the glass on that sucker.

  I took a breath to calm myself, but that didn’t seem possible. Having a male best friend wasn’t always easy. He never tried to listen or understand. Rick always wanted to fix things.

  Well, this was one thing he couldn’t fix.

  “My family doesn’t need any more drama,” I said. “I was going to tell them after the wedding…once I hit the second trimester and the pregnancy wasn’t as risky. Then Lindsey would be normal again, Mom wouldn’t be worried about the party, and they wouldn’t stroke out when they heard the news.”

  Rick crossed his arms. “And Nate?”

  “…He doesn’t know yet.”

  “When are you going to tell him?”

  “I already tried. A couple weeks ago. But then he told me about this brewery he wanted to open in California. He was already scheduling visits to the property. I panicked. I didn’t want to take that dream away from him. So I waited, and I hoped I’d find a better moment to tell him.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “The timing’s always off.”

  “How can it be off? The timing is always right for something this big.”

  “After the wedding. When we can actually sit down and talk and figure things out without worrying about dress fittings and dances and caterers.”

  “You’re making excuses.”

  “I’m thinking objectively.”

  “No, you’re hiding it. Please, tell me you’ve been to a doctor.”

  “Of course I have—”

  “Then why? Why haven’t you told anyone?”

  “Because I’m terrified!”

  I said it too loud and covered my mouth with my hands. I blinked away tears and cradled my belly instead, something I hadn’t really done, a simple comfort I couldn’t believe I denied myself.

  “I’m scared, Rick.” My voice wavered. The rest of my body trembled too. “I’m really scared. I don’t know what Nate is going to say. I don’t know how my family is going to react. I don’t know what will happen because I…I want the baby. It’s scary, and I have no clue what I’m doing, but it’s like…me and the baby are in it together. I have this little buddy who is keeping me calm because I know I can’t get upset and risk hurting her. Or him. I have to be strong, and I’m doing the best I can.”

  Rick rubbed his face. He took my good hand and nodded.

  “Okay. I understand. It’s only three weeks until the wedding. You really want to keep it quiet until then?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. We will.” He shook his head. “But Nate can handle it. He should hear it.”

  “I know.” I nibbled on my lip. “I don’t want to keep it from him anymore. We’ve been getting…closer. Very close. I feel like there’s something between us—and don’t say I’m imagining it, and don’t say it’s because I’m pregnant and want there to be a spark. It’s real.” I lowered my gaze. “I’m afraid I’ll screw it up if I tell him about the baby.”

  “He has a right to know.”

  I nodded.

  Rick exhaled. “Nate’s a commitment-phobe, but he’s not a total asshole. He’ll step up.”

  But I didn’t want him to step-up. I wanted him to be there with me, every step of the way.

  But Rick was right. He deserved to know. The only way I could make anything happen between us, to even have a chance at making something work, was if I revealed the truth.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “When?”

  I wasn’t working on anyone’s schedule but my own…or the baby’s. That little bugger woke me up every night at three AM to go to the bathroom and had me throw up at noon on the dot.

  “I’ll tell him soon,” I said. “But I need you to keep quiet. You’re the only one who knows.”

  He sighed, cleaning up and donning his gloves to start my stitches.

  “You better name me godfather,” he said.

  “You got it.”

  I offered my hand and looked away as he got close with the needle. My cell rang the instant he pricked my skin. I glanced at the screen.

  “It’s Lindsey,” I said. “If I don’t take this, she’ll freak.”

  He shrugged. “Put it on speakerphone. I don’t want you moving. I haven’t done a stitch in years.”

  “What?”

  “Answer your sister.”

  I didn’t get a chance to say hello. Lindsey freaked out, yelling so shrilly the tiny speakers popped.

  “Mandy, you are not going to believe this! Great Aunt Mildred died! We’re so totally screwed!”

  16

  Nate

  The emergency wedding meeting began the instant Mandy and Lindsey returned from the hospital at eleven at night.

  They hadn’t scrubbed the blood out of the living room carpet yet…or told me why it looked like the set of a slasher movie.

  Why the fuck were they at the hospital?

  “So, I busted my ass to get over here…” I tried to catch up. “I had to call my bartender on his day off to cover the pub because your great aunt died, and that means the wedding is…?”

  “Ruined!” Lindsey curled into a ball on the couch. Bryce cradled her to his chest, and her mom stroked her hand. “It’s all ruined.”

  It was the first time Lindsey cried any legitimate tears for her wedding. She wasn’t mourning any mis-printed invitations or off-beat dance moves. This crisis actually seemed to worry her.

  And the family.

  And Mandy.

  Mandy shuffled from the couch and tried to put on a smile. “Tell you what. I’ll go make us some coffee, and we’ll brainstorm. We’ll figure it out.”

  Lindsey sobbed into Bryce’s shoulder. Even he looked distressed.

  What
the hell was going on?

  I followed Mandy to the kitchen, but I had forgotten how damn awkward she got around me when her family was close. She bumbled making the coffee and avoided looking directly at me.

  God damn it. How many times did I have to fuck this girl before she dropped her guard? I’d do it as often as it took, but I wished she just meet me halfway once and act…

  I didn’t even know how I wanted her to act. Calmer? Relaxed? Like she wasn’t so afraid of what she might say or how quickly her legs would spread so near me.

  I was used to women presenting themselves to me tits or ass first. Every word out of their mouths was something fake and flirty, and that had been fine for one fun night. Mandy wasn’t like those cheap and easy dates. I knew the real her, the one who came out when we laid in a bed, embraced on the couch, or pleasured each other under the stars.

  I liked that girl. What did I have to do to convince her to be that girl with me?

  “What happened to your hand?” I asked.

  Mandy measured out the coffee grounds. She peeked inside the pot, grimaced, and rushed the entire contraption to the sink for a good rinsing.

  “Well…” She dared to look at me. I loved the little peek of those almond eyes. “I tried to help Lindsey with some crafts.”

  “And?”

  “I lost.”

  “Lost what?”

  She smirked. “Rick said I was lucky I didn’t lose the use of my thumb.”

  “Jesus!”

  I reached for her hand to check the bandage.

  I didn’t know why I did it.

  I had no idea what I expected.

  I cradled her hand, savored its warmth, and I didn’t let her pull it from me.

  Touching her jolted me more than the god-awful coffee she brewed. Her heat sliced through me just as sharp as whatever she used to take her finger nearly off.

  Mandy’s eyes widened, but she pretended her breathing hadn’t shifted when I touched her.

  It had.

  So had mine.

  This intimacy wasn’t something that happened to me. Ever. But I liked it. I liked that she caused it. And I liked that she denied feeling it too, if only because life offered me a new challenge.