by M Never
“The only words I know in French are ménage à trois.” I try to joke, but when I giggle, my sensitive muscles contract painfully.
“Those are really the only important ones,” she jests.
London strokes my hair as I lay on my side miserably, watching trashy reality TV. I don’t know how long we wait, but another episode of the same show comes on.
“Ellie Stevens?” An older man in a white coat announces my name.
“Yes, that me.” I turn onto my back. He looks at me as if he recognizes me.
“I’m Doctor Holiday.” He introduces himself as John rolls in a machine behind him. “We never formally met, but I’m the doctor who performed your surgery the night you were shot.”
“Oh, yes. I remember hearing your name.” I struggle to sit up.
“It’s good to see you doing well.” He smiles as he pulls up a chair next to me.
“I think that is yet to be determined.”
Doctor Holiday grins slightly as he pulls up my shirt. “How’s your fiancé?”
I look at him thrown. “He’s my husband now. You know him?”
“We met briefly. Quite the intense individual.”
London snickers. “That’s one way to describe him.”
Doctor Holiday pushes on my abdomen. “Any pain?”
“A little.” I wince.
“Still bleeding?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good.” He takes a seat in the chair and plays with the knobs on the machine John rolled in. “When was the last time you had your period?”
“Last week.”
“And everything seemed normal? Normal blood flow?”
I take a moment to think back. “Actually, it was lighter than usual, and it only lasted two days.”
“Mmm hmm. A little warm.” He squirts some jelly on my lower stomach. My heart starts to palpitate.
A few seconds later, a new nurse comes in with a folder. “Labs,” she announces as she hands it to John.
“I think I already know what it’s going to say.” Doctor Holiday puts the wand of the machine against my belly and swirls it around. There’s nothing at first, but then we hear it. A strange, underwater thumping sound.
“Oh, my god!” London slaps her hand over her mouth.
“Just as I suspected. John, can you confirm?”
John flips open the folder. “Yup. Positive.”
“Positive for what?” I ask, behind the curve.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Stevens, you’re pregnant. That’s your baby’s heartbeat you’re hearing.”
“What?” I repeat again in utter shock.
“Ellie, you’re pregnant!” London erupts.
“But what about the bleeding? And my period?”
“That wasn’t your period,” Dr. Holiday explains. “You were spotting. It’s normal, and the cramping is probably just from the implantation of the fertilized egg in the lining of your uterus. My advice is make an appointment with your OB as soon as possible and try to eliminate stress during your first trimester.”
The information is a little slow to sink in.
“I’m really pregnant?”
“You heard it here first,” the mild-mannered doctor beams.
“Can I hear it one more time? Just for a second?”
The doctor glances back and forth between John and London. “Sure. Why not.”
“Give me my purse.” I motion to London. She hands it to me and I pull out my phone.
“Okay.”
Dr. Holiday puts the wand back on my stomach and the fast-paced underwater sound fills the tiny room once again, and I cry.
“HOW ARE YOU GOING TO tell Kayne?” London asks ecstatically as I wipe the jelly off my stomach and pull down my shirt.
“I have no idea.” My voice is shaky from the shock. I’m not sure I even believe it yet.
I’m actually pregnant.
“I want another one,” London abruptly discloses.
“Another one?”
“Yes, just one more.”
“Think Jett will go for it?”
She nods. “I’ve always wanted a big family. He knows that. And maybe if we hurry we can be pregnant together.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I laugh loudly. “Could you imagine the hormones?”
“I can imagine holding two little ones at the same time.” She’s practically burning up with baby fever.
“You better be careful what you wish for. You might end up with twins.”
London shrugs. “So be it.”
“You’re cra-” the chiming on the television catches my attention.
“WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM WITH A SPECIAL REPORT,” the newscaster announces. “EARLIER TODAY, OFFICIALS RECEIVED A TIP THAT TWO MISSING BOYS, JAMES ANTHONY AND RODNEY O’CONNELL, WERE BEING HELD IN A REMOTE HOME ON THE NORTH SIDE OF OAHU. THE TWO BOYS WERE REPORTED MISSING LAST THURSDAY AFTER NOT RETURNING HOME FROM A LATE SOCCER PRACTICE. THE OWNER OF THE HOME AND SUSPECTED CAPTOR IS CHARLES TINLEY. TINLEY, A REGISTERED SEX OFFENDER, WAS THE PRIME SUSPECT IN THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD JUSTIN COPELAND SEVERAL YEARS AGO, BUT NO CHARGES WERE EVER FILED. TINLEY ALSO HAS A HISTORY OF MENTAL ILLNESS AND HAS BEEN CALLED ‘A THREAT TO HIMSELF AND TO OTHERS WHEN NOT TAKING HIS MEDICATION.’”
London turns up the volume as we listen more intently to the young, pretty newscaster speak. She’s one of the anchors on the morning news show Kayne and I sometimes watch.
“EARLY THIS MORNING, A HIKER HEARD SCREAMING IN THE WOODS CLOSE TO HIS CAMPSITE. RICHARD PRICE FOLLOWED THE SOUNDS UNTIL HE CAME UPON TINLEY’S RESIDENCE. THERE, HE SAW TINLEY TORTURING ONE OF THE BOYS WITH A LIT CIGARETTE WHILE TIED TO A TREE. PRICE IMMEDIATELY CALLED AUTHORITIES. WHEN HE CONFRONTED TINLEY, TINLEY PULLED OUT A KNIFE AND RETREATED INTO THE HOUSE. PRICE MANAGED TO GET RODNEY O’CONNELL FREE, BUT WAS INFORMED THAT JAMES ANTHONY WAS STILL INSIDE THE RESIDENCE. ONCE OFFICIALS ARRIVED ON THE SCENE, TINLEY FIRED SEVERAL WARNING SHOTS AT THE OFFICERS WITH A SHOTGUN. WHEN OFFICIALS GAVE TINLEY THE OPTION TO SURRENDER, HE INFORMED THE OFFICERS HE WAS ‘IN POSSESSION OF EXPLOSIVES AND WOULD BLOW HIM AND THE BOY UP IF THEY DIDN’T LEAVE.’
DUE TO THE NATURE AND SEVERITY OF THE SITUATION, HONOLULU SWAT WAS DISPATCHED AND HAS NOW TAKEN CONTROL OF THE SCENE.”
That’s when my stomach drops. The camera flashes to a live feed of the house, surrounded by a dozen and a half men dressed in black body armor. Some holding machine guns; some holding protective shields. The image is too far away to see any facial features, but both London and I know Kayne and Jett are somewhere in the mix of the Special Weapons and Tactics Team. All we can do is watch as the men carry out what they were trained to do—defuse violent situations. We sit in a frozen state as the team surrounds the tiny rundown house while too many antagonistic words play on repeat in my mind—a history of mental illness, a threat to him and others, explosives.
The men just hold their ground, while London and I hold our breath. What are they waiting for? I lived through the raid at Mansion, and Kayne had told me the story of my attempted extraction when Michael kidnapped me, but I have never really seen him in action, so to speak. Never witnessed firsthand how he puts his life on the line until now—a history of mental illness, a threat to him and others, explosives.
My lungs cycle oxygen sluggishly as the men descend on the house, kicking the door down and crashing through windows. But nothing prepares me for what happens next.
BOOM.
“IT IS REPORTED SEVERAL OFFICERS HAVE SUSTAINED LIFE-THREATENING INJURIES.”
It feels like that sentence is stuck on repeat.
“It is reported several officers have sustained life-threatening injuries.”
“It is reported several officers have sustained life-threatening injuries.”
But they don’t say which officers. We can’t even see their faces as they’re dragged from the wreckage. What remains of the house is nothing more than a pile of destroyed wood. It’s been almost seventeen minutes since the bomb exploded.
“C
HARLES TINLEY IS REPORTED DEAD.”
Is it wrong to be thankful of that and still be resentful because he hurt people in the process? Possibly hurt my husband or one of my best friends?
I feel sick. Like I want to throw up. Neither Kayne nor Jett are answering their cell phones, which only makes my rampant thoughts run wilder.
I compulsively twist my wedding ring around my finger. A white gold band with pink diamonds and the words, ‘Ruined By Him’ etched on the inside.
Kayne has a similar engraving on his, ‘Owned By Her.’
He surprised me with the inscriptions during the ceremony. I could barely hold it together as it was—then he showed me his little surprise, and it sent me right over the edge. That moment was perfect and beautiful and magical, and I know it can never be emulated again. Our wedding was a one-of-a-kind day; the same way my husband is a one-of-a-kind man. Anomalous. Unique. Irreplaceable.
The one person I could never live without.
“It is reported several officers have sustained life-threatening injuries.”
The emergency room is in an uproar, no doubt preparing for the mass injuries about to barrel through the door. One of them possibly my husband. I clutch my stomach instinctively. This is supposed to be a happy day.
When the first gurney carrying a hurt officer rolls by my patient room, I lose the battle with my nausea and puke in the biohazard bag. My nerves just can’t take this.
“Ellie.” London holds my hair until the contents of my stomach are empty.
“I feel the same way,” she tells me as I dry heave.
“Ugh. Yuck.” I wipe my mouth.
“I know.” She moves me back to the bed and digs around in her purse.
“Here.” She pulls out a juice box.
I just stare at it. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I’m a mom. I come prepared. You’ll be the same way, carrying around a bag of tricks.” She rips off the little plastic straw, unwraps it, then stabs it in the hole.
“Thank you.” I accept the purple and red box from her, take a sip, and swish the apple-flavored liquid around in an attempt to get rid of the nasty taste in my mouth.
That’s when I hear a very distinct voice barking outside the little room. Both London and I barrel out of the alcove to find Kayne towering over my nurse, John. There’s soot smeared on his face and dirt covering his clothes, but that seems to be the extent of his injuries. Unless you count self-induced hypertension. He’s pissed.
“Kayne?” He glances over when he hears his name.
“Ellie?” I nearly knock him over when he looks directly at me.
“Where’s Jett?” London asks frantically.
“In there.” He tries to point to a room similar to mine, while I climb all over him.
“Baby, what are you doing here?”
I ignore his question. “Are you okay?” And instead ask my own. “I saw everything, the news report, the explosion . . .” My voice quivers. “They kept saying officers had life-threatening injuries but didn’t say which ones.”
My eyes tear as I cling to his shirt. If you think being married to a Dom is difficult, try being married to an ex black operative who is now part of an elite SWAT unit.
I would take the Dom any day.
“Shh, Ellie, I’m okay. Everything is okay.” He runs his hand through my hair. That should soothe me, make me feel comforted, but it somehow has the opposite effect.
“You scared the shit out of me!” I lash out, slamming both fists on his chest. “I thought you were hurt!” I hit him again, crying. “Or worse!” The third time he grabs my wrists before impact.
“Whoa, killer. I’m fine. There’s no need to beat me up,” he says humorously, before his facial expression changes. “How did you know I would be here? Did someone call you?”
“No.”
“London, then?”
“No. We were actually already here,” I confess, sniffling.
“What?” His grasp tightens. “Why?”
Oh shit, this is not the way I envisioned telling Kayne he’s going to be a daddy. Right after an explosion with a death grip around my wrists.
“I woke up bleeding this morning,” I divulge.
“What? Where?” There’s a mix of fear and anger in his eyes.
“Between my legs,” I admit softly, so only he can hear.
“And you didn’t think to call and tell me?”
“London rushed me to the hospital. I didn’t want to worry you while you were away.” Although, selfishly, in hindsight, I wish I had. That way he wouldn’t have been anywhere near a crazy man with explosives.
“So what’s wrong?” he asks concerned.
“Nothing,” I tell him truthfully.
“Ellie,” he says strictly. Like, don’t fuck around with me strict.
“I’m pregnant.” I rush the words out. They’re amazing to say.
“What?” It looks like I just slapped him.
I nod. My angry tears turning into joyful ones.
“Honest to god?”
I nod more fervently, unable to speak from the overwhelming happiness.
“Holy shit!” He hauls me into his arms and plants an exaggerated kiss right on my lips. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze with every ounce of strength I have.
“But wait.” He pulls away. “Why were you bleeding? Is something wrong?”
“No. The doctor says it’s normal in the first trimester. I just have to keep my stress level low. Which has been a bit difficult this morning.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I should have called and told you I was all right, except Jett got hit with some shrapnel and I needed to make sure he was okay.”
“Is he?”
“As far as I know, it grazed under his eye. That part of the skin bleeds profusely. I think it looks worse than it is.”
“Is that why you were yelling at the nurse? To get someone to check on him?”
“Of course.”
“Were you inside the house when the bomb went off?” I ask meekly, unsure if I want to know the answer.
“No. Several of us had gone around back to extract the other boy. He was in bad shape. Beaten up, starved, and severely dehydrated. Once he was out, that’s when the other team went in. Jett wasn’t wearing his protective eyewear and caught some flying debris.”
“Are the boys going to be okay?”
“I think so, but from what I understand, they were abused in more ways than one. We might want to send them a business card sometime down the line.”
“Oh, no.” I frown, a mash up of emotions hitting me.
“Tinley has a rap sheet a mile long, and most of it is child abuse.”
“Disgusting monster.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” I rest my head on his shoulder.
“I’m fine.” He hugs me. “It’s going to take more than a pipe bomb to get rid of me.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you. Ever.”
“You say that now.” He chuckles.
“I’ll say that always.” I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “Can we go home?
“Sure, kitten. We can take a nap right after you lick me clean.” He nuzzles my neck.
I giggle. “Insatiable.”
“It’s who I am. Love me or leave me.”
“I choose love you.”
“I can only hope.”
I roll my eyes, faithless man. “I need to grab my purse before we leave. Do you need to say good-bye to Jett?”
“Nah.” Kayne starts walking in the direction London and I bombarded him from. “London is with him. I’ll check in on him later.”
I direct Kayne into the small space I spent most of the morning in. He sets me on the ground and I grab my bag.
“Wait.” I stop him as he takes my hand to leave. “I didn’t exactly tell you I was pregnant the way I wanted to. Or hoped to. Can we sit for a second?”
“Sure.” Kayne looks confused but takes a seat on the bed anyway. I yank the curtain closed for privacy then crawl onto the mattress next to him. I pull out my phone and hand it to him.
“Am I supposed to call the baby?” he asks, even more perplexed.
“No.” I laugh as I swipe the screen and hit an app. “Just press play.”
He does, and a second later, that quickly pounding underwater sound pulsates through the air.
His eyebrows crease before understanding hits.
“Is that . . . ?” He brings the phone closer to his ear.
“The baby’s heartbeat. I wanted you to hear it when I told you.”
Kayne just sits there spellbound, listening to the rhythmic sound. “It’s the most amazing thing I have ever heard.” His voice is breathy and his eyes are glassy.
I snuggle up against him. “I think so, too.”
KAYNE STARES SILENTLY OUT THE living room window.
That’s his position of choice these days. Leaning against the glass, ominously quiet, lost in his own head.
I’m six months today; my belly has finally popped and I have given up trying to squeeze into any of my pre-pregnancy pants. Maternity it is from here on out. I wish not fitting into my clothes was my biggest problem. Kayne had been over the moon about being a father up until about a month ago; when we went for my twenty-week ultrasound and found out we were having a boy. When, for the first time, we were able to see our baby’s little feet and hands and face in a 3D picture. Everything changed after that. He retreated into himself. I know my husband, and beneath that cocky, I’ll break you in half exterior is a high-strung, excitable man who needs to exercise restraint when it comes to his emotions. They can become a Molotov cocktail if he’s not careful. Believe me, I know; I’ve been in the direct line of fire when he flies out of control.
Kayne walks a fine line every day, and lately that line seems to be getting narrower and narrower. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking about. Her, his mother, his childhood, and all the shitty things that happened to him while growing up. I’m beginning to worry that starting a family is going to have a negative effect on him. That instead of completing us, it’s going to tear us apart. I know I had reservations in the beginning, and I know I’ll always worry, but what really scares me is the thought of raising this child alone.
