by Saylor Bliss
I don’t make it far before Lisa comes barreling out the door. She looks like a momma cat protecting her young the way she charges me. Her hand snakes out, slapping me across the side of the head.
“What the fuck is your problem?” she yells. Someone down the hall pops their head out the door and watches for a minute before losing interest and going back inside.
“MY PROBLEM?” I scream back at her. I can't believe this shit.
“Yeah, asshole, your problem. I thought you cared about her. I thought you wanted to be with her. What’s wrong? Find out she's knocked up and decide it ain't worth your time?” I swear, if she had been a man in that moment, I would have knocked the shit out of her.
“No one—and I mean no one—talks about her that way. I don't give a fuck if you are her best friend. She deserves better than that,” I yell into her face.
Temporarily stunned, she doesn't reply right away. “Then what the hell are you doing running away?” she asks.
My face is red. I can feel the blood rushing to the surface. “You saw her. She's upset. She's fucking crying. She doesn't want the baby,” I reply.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks, her voice a mixture of shock and incredulity, and for the first time, I wonder if maybe I was wrong.
Maybe I misinterpreted the way Skila was acting, but I saw her reaction. I saw her tears, and for fuck’s sake, she fainted, fucking flat out fainted when I told her. I'm not wrong. I can't be. Lisa isn’t done laying into me yet. I'd like to just walk away, but call me a sucker, because I want to hear what she has to say.
“Men are truly some of the most stupid, pigheaded bastards in the world,” she mumbles to herself, running her hands through her hair and walking in circles, pacing back and forth.
“She was CRYING because her emotions are running wild. How can you even think Skila wouldn't want the baby? Do you know her at all? All she's ever wanted is to be a mother, but the doctors told her she wouldn't ever be able to carry one. She had a bad accident horseback riding several years ago, and the surgery destroyed her insides. Of course she wants the baby.”
Every word she says hits me harder than the last. How many times am I going to fuck up before I learn my lesson, before I stop and think shit through instead of just acting out?
“Fuck.” I have nothing else to say. That one word completely covers it all. I feel like a complete ass. I wish I could rewind time fifteen minutes and do it all over again.
“Yeah, fuck. Now take your sorry ass back in there and try not to fuck up this time.”
Go back? I can’t go back. Can I? Will she even talk to me? I mean—I don't question it anymore, not that I can with her best friend standing here with her hands on her hips. She looks like a pit bull, ready to attack. I walk back into the apartment.
Skila is sitting on the kitchen counter with one hand over her belly, the other still holding onto the phone. She looks lost and afraid, yet the touch on her stomach is light and reverent. She holds her hand against her, almost like she’s afraid to move it, that if she did, the baby would disappear. Walking up to her, I wrap my arms around her and kiss her.
Slowly, she comes back to life in my arms and responds to my touch. I kiss her again and again, apologizing for every mistake I've made and every mistake I’m sure I’ll make in the future. I don't touch her anywhere but her mouth. I don't try to pull her sheet off or run my hands down her body. I just kiss her. Five minutes, twenty, two, I don't know how much time passes before she pulls back and lays her head against my chest.
“I’m going to be a Mommy,” she whispers into my shirt.
“I know, Sky. I know, and I have no doubt you will be fucking amazing, and I hope . . . if you’ll have me, that I’ll get to be a daddy. I know you haven’t known me long at all, and from what I know of you and Camryn, you have no reason to trust any of us Price fools, but I want to do right by you and the baby. I can’t explain why. Even before I knew you were pregnant, I was drawn to you. You’re different, baby. You make me want to be a better person than the mess of a man I have been these last few months—hell, these last few years. I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t know what it is or what to do with it right now, but I want to spend my days by your side trying to figure it out.” She tenses in my arms and lifts her head, searching my eyes for the truth. I gaze back at her and rub my hand against her small baby bump.
“Will you, Sky? Will you let me be this little bugger’s daddy?” I ask her. She nods her head, and the smile that crosses her face steals my breath away. I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. I lift her, sheet and all, and carry her back to her room, where I spend the next hour making sweet love to her.
Chapter Twenty
Skila
"Hey, where you going?" he asks hoarsely.
"I'm going to make breakfast."
"Ok," he replies, rolling over and pulling the covers above his head.
I search the cabinets, looking for pancake mix and coffee, but I find nothing, so I decide to mix my own.
I think back to how my Nana used to make them. I light the burner and pull some eggs from the refrigerator. The batter is lumpier than I recall, so I stir more vigorously. I can't help but laugh at myself. I've never been the best cook. I pour the batter in the pan and search for a spatula. I turn the pancakes, and the urge to pee hits. I turn down the burner and dash to the bathroom. I finish and open the door, only to be met by billowing smoke as the loud, screeching sound of the smoke alarm reminds me of how badly I suck.
"Well, damn." I mutter, running to the stove, yanking the pan from the burner, and turning on the water.
"Sky? Is everything ok?" Kip asks, running into the kitchen, coughing from smoke inhalation. I figure at this point I have two options. I can either fall into a ball of tears and melt on the spot, or I can suck it up and make the best of an already bad situation. Running toward Kip, I grab his arm and drag him away from the kitchen.
“Run, Kip.” I scream pulling behind me.
“Why are we running?" he yells back at me. I stop in the hallway and open the linen closet door, hiding both of our bodies behind it.
“There’s a fire breathing dragon in the kitchen. Didn’t you see all the smoke? Shh. He’ll hear you,” I say and then rush down the hall. Kip follows closely behind me. When we near the bathroom, my legs are swept out from under me and I’m suddenly lifted in strong arms that cradle me on each side of my body. He makes a turn for the bathroom, and after entering, he kicks the door closed before setting me on the counter.
“What are we doing in the bathroom?”
“Dragons are terrified of water. Didn’t you know?” You’ll be safe in here while I go tame the beast, my lady.”
“Why, thank you, Sir Kip.” He laughs before capturing my lips with his own. I don’t want him to ever stop kissing me, but he pulls away and runs to turn on the shower.
“Stay in your tower, my princess. I will fetch you when the beast is no more.”
“Be safe.”
My shower is amazing. I spend the next ten minutes letting the hot water wash away the remnants of our lovemaking, and then I climb from the warm, steamy room and make my way back to the kitchen. I’m surprised to see that the smoke is cleared away and the kitchen is cleaner than before I started cooking.
“Are you hungry?”
I nod and pull up a bar stool to observe. The way he moves around the kitchen is like a symphony of graceful movements, much like when he’s on the court. "What are you making?" I ask, looking at the various ingredients he's pulled out.
"French toast and dragon bacon. I figured you can't go wrong with bacon,” he replies with a wink. The smoldering remnants and burned smell of my disasters quickly dissipate into the smell of bacon and cinnamon. It’s almost orgasmic, in a sense.
"Where did you learn to cook like that?"
"Well, my grandmother took us in after our parents died, and I was always watching her cook. Nothing was ever simple. She was always experimenting with recipe
s. After I got to be about fourteen, I started helping and have been cooking ever since."
“It smells wonderful." He smiles, handing me a plate and sitting on the counter next to me.
The first bite is exquisite. "Oh my God," I mutter. "It’s so good."
He smiles and lightly elbows me in the ribs. "What can I say? I'm multitalented.”
I nod and shovel another forkful into my mouth. "Mmm."
"Those sounds are familiar," he says, trying to hide the grin playing at his lips.
"Oh hush," I reply, covering my mouth.
"You know it's bad manners to talk with your mouth full." I nod and flip him the bird.
"Now, that can surely be arranged." I can feel the blood beginning to flush my cheeks. Swallowing my bite, I level my best resting bitch face at him.
“Save it, Buster, or you won’t be getting anything of the sort for a while.”
He shoves a bite of French toast in his mouth and mimics zipping his lips tight. I nearly choke, I’m laughing at him so hard.
Chapter
Kiptyn
"Sky?" I ask as she's slipping on her shoes.
"I know this is supposed to be a brunch and movie date, but I kind of had a different idea. You game?"
"Well, that depends on what you have in mind," she replies with a suspicious look on her face.
"It’s a bit of a surprise. Do you trust me?"
"I suppose. Am I at least dressed appropriately?"
"You're perfect. I mean, you're dressed perfectly." She nods and stands, smoothing the skirt of her dress.
"Let’s go then." I nod and take her hand. She smiles and shakes her head, following my lead.
She sits in the passenger seat, facing forward with a half-smile on her face. When I pull into the parking lot at the local VA nursing home, I feel her staring at me.
"What?" I ask.
"This is the surprise?" she asks.
"Yeah. I thought this might be good for us, you know, with Camryn and all." She bites her lip and nods slowly.
"Do you know anyone here?"
"I know a few of them, but Mr. Jackson is my favorite. He was always around when Cam and I were growing up. I think he had a bit of a crush on my grandmother."
She reaches for the door handle and pauses for a moment. "Do you come here a lot?"
"Not as much as I'd like."
She draws in a deep breath and opens the door. Instinctively, I jump out and rush to her side. "What a gentleman," she says, bringing her hand to mine.
"I try."
"Well, keep it up. The nice guy stuff looks good on you."
"Ahh, Mr. Price! So good to see you again. Mr. Jackson will be pleased to see you," says Phyllis, the front desk clerk.
"And who is this lovely young thing?"
"Hi, Phyllis. This is Skila."
"Nice to meet you," Skila says, reaching her hand out to Phyllis.
"Oh no. We don't handshake here. We hug," Phyllis replies, coming around the desk and hugging her tightly.
"You know, young man, I had a love once. She was a sight. Much like that young lady over there," he says, pointing to Skila. "Petite and curvy, with eyes of onyx. Every time I close my eyes, even after all these years, I can still see her. Such a breathtaking beauty. But . . ." he pauses with a hitch in his breath, "In my time, it was frowned upon."
"What was frowned upon?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"My folks called it mingling with . . . well, I'll be polite—African Americans. The other term always offended me, and I'd cringe whenever my father would use it,” he says, shaking his head in disgust. I understand that feeling perfectly well.
"You see, my parents were very straight-laced and rather preachy. I didn't want to disappoint them, so I ended what could have been the greatest love I've ever known." The tears beginning to pool in his eyes make my heart ache for him. He wipes away the tears with a worn old handkerchief embroidered with the initials, TWS. I assume those to be hers, the way he takes such care not to fray the fragile yellow fabric.
"You want to hear the whole story? I remember it like it was only yesterday."
"Yes," I reply as I look over at Skila brushing a woman's hair into place. She isn’t paying any attention to me or Mr. Jackson. All her attention is focused on the elderly lady in front of her.
"November 5, 1943. It was just after dusk when we were attacked with no warning or anything. A couple of my buddies and I were in our barracks playing cards when the first wave hit.
The chaos hit like a wildfire. Everything happened so fast, it’s hard to remember all the details up until Gerald was hit and fell. I panicked, and with the sudden strength of Adonis, I threw him over my shoulder and rushed him to the infirmary. That’s when it happened. I saw her. Her name was Theresa, and she had to be a direct descendant of Aphrodite. She was stunning.
Reality hit me, and I knew Gerald needed immediate attention, so I turned away and ran to what was once the lobby. At the time, it was being used as an emergency room of sorts. I got him in the right hands and watched over him while they worked on him. He was lucky. The shrapnel missed his heart by only a couple of inches. Imagine my surprise when my Aphrodite was appointed his nurse. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She rebuffed me at first, but I think my charm finally worked," he says with a laugh.
His eyes light up every time he says her name, and his misty eyes show me the kind of love that only comes once in a lifetime. He looks at me and smiles. "Don't let people get in the way of your happiness. I did, and I've regretted it for so many years. Even after I married, I always thought about her."
I look over at Skila again, and she turns to smile at me. "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Jackson." He nods with a knowing glint in his eyes. I walk up to Skila and wrap my arms around her without so much as a word. She leans her head back and reaches up to softly touch the side of my face.
"I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you are, and that no matter what anyone says, I'm not letting you get away."
She laughs and turns to face me.
"You know, I had my doubts about you, but I think if you keep this up, they may start fading." She hugs me and I close my eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckles and home.
A few more hours at the Veterans’ home and we leave, hand in hand, with a new sense of who we are and what we want from life.
Chapter Twenty-One
Skila
The last few weeks have been nothing short of amazing. Tonight is the last playoff game of the season, and the winner of this game goes on to the NBA finals in June. I’m covering the game for the Los Angeles Daily Home again. Since turning in my exclusive piece on Kiptyn Price, Ames has pretty much given me free reign. He no longer breathes down my neck, babysitting me. It’s a welcome relief.
Before we head to the stadium, we have a doctor’s appointment. It’s the first appointment for the baby, and I am beyond nervous. The butterflies in my stomach won’t settle down to save my life.
Stepping from the claw foot tub in Kip’s master suite, I study my growing body in the full-length mirrors lining the walls. My baby bump has been growing steadily. Even now, it looks bigger than it was just yesterday. Running my hands along the stretched skin, I imagine meeting my beautiful baby, holding his soft body in my arms, and kissing his sweet head. Excited doesn't come close to describing the way I feel.
Kiptyn walks in the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang low enough on his hips that I can see his sexy ‘V’. I imagine tracing it with my lips. Slowly.
“Feel better?” he asks, coming to stand beside me. He fills his hands with lotion, and after rubbing them together to warm it, he places his hands on my belly. Every morning, he does the same thing, coating every inch of my body in cocoa butter to help with dry skin and stretch marks.
He drops down on his knees and runs his hands along my legs, up, up, up until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His fingers run along my swollen lips, teasing me. My head drops back, and a l
oud moan escapes. His touch doesn't linger long, and before I know it, he’s done. He leans forward, pressing his lips against the baby.
“You be good to your momma today. Daddy will be watching,” he says before kissing every inch of my stomach.
God, I just want to melt on the spot. I love hearing him talk to the baby. Hearing him say the word Daddy turns me into a puddle of liquid. I want to hear it over and over and over. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Of course, our relationship isn't perfect by any means, but I'm happy, happier than I have ever been in my life.
Only one thing could make it better, but I’m not pushing. If he decides he wants to be with me long-term, then he will tell me. I know his wanting to be a father to my baby has more to do with the fact that he’s his brother’s child. I’m not stupid. I know if it had been a stranger’s baby, then Kiptyn would have been out the door in a heartbeat. It doesn’t upset me. I’m happy, content knowing that my child won’t grow up without a father the way I did.
I confess, most nights I lie in bed wondering if he will still want me once I have the baby, if he is only staying with me to be certain I'm well taken care of and that the baby has all he needs. I practically moved in here the week after I found out. At nine o'clock that morning, I called the doctor’s office and made an appointment.
They couldn’t get me in for two weeks since I’m a new patient, and the anxiety over that fourteen days has quadrupled. I’ve bought a dozen more pregnancy tests and taken one almost every day since Kip first told me. I keep worrying that I’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream.
Part of me is worried they’ve made a mistake. I just know I’ll walk in the door and they’ll shamefully let me know that there was an error in the bloodwork. “You're not pregnant, Miss Parker.” I dread hearing those words. All my life, I had been told I couldn’t conceive, that there was no way my uterus would carry a child after the accident. I can’t tell you how many different opinions I had gotten, praying someone would give me a small ray of hope.
