“Oh, fuck. Why don’t you just fucking call her if you can’t-”
“I don’t need to fucking call her!” Caleb loses his cool and shouts at Tristan, his heated words causing me to jump.
What in the fuck is going on?
“That’s what I’ve been trying to fucking tell you,” he gestures angrily with his hands. “I fucking seen her…” his voice lowers with his head.
“When?” Tristan raises his eyebrow.
“When I went out to Vegas a couple months back.” he says. “She’s… she’s fucked up.” He slowly raises his head. “I fucked her up…”
Huh? Who’s Katie?
“What the fuck do you mean, you fucked her up?”
Caleb chokes on his breath. Shaking his head, he pushes off the desk.
“I don’t know!”
It stays silent for a while. I’m almost getting ready to pretend I was just looking through the house ’til Caleb speaks up.
“She’s still there, I fucking know it.” He pinches his eyebrows together, looking lost. “But I…”
“So what the fuck are you saying?” Tristan’s voice jerks Caleb out of his trance.
“I’m fucking saying that the Katie I remember wouldn’t unbutton the fucking top button of her cardigan and now… Now, she fucking bares all of herself for the fucking sake of green!” He yells the last part.
What? Is she a stripper? Tristan’s face remains impassive when Caleb slouches in the chair in front of him, cradling his head. It’s hard to pick up what he’s saying.
“Watching her up on that stage, she was alive, but when I found her eyes, they were dead.”
“Did you get a hold of her afterwards?” Tristan asks, cocking his head to the side.
“I couldn’t. I think she fucking saw me. When she disappeared offstage, I tracked down the owner but she bailed before her shift was over. She uses the name Iris when she dances. But I couldn’t find out shit.”
Tristan’s eyes scan across Caleb’s pained features. Blowing out a breath, he looks over to the side.
“Maybe you should try harder,” he says.
Caleb huffs and shakes his head.
“I fucking tried! I’m even heading there when I’m done with your baby shower. I can’t stop fucking thinking about her.”
Tristan grins when Caleb says ʻhis’ baby shower. A deep laugh comes from his throat.
“Well, it’s good to see you got your fucking priorities together.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Caleb interrupts, clearly pissed at the tone of Tristan’s voice.
Tristan’s face hardens as he looks over at his friend.
“It means, why the fuck are you here when you should be getting your ass to Vegas?”
My heart stops. Holy fuck. Some may not be able to see the romance in that shit, but Caleb does. His grin creeps across his face as he stares back at his friend. Slowly he nods his head.
“Oh, there you are!” Frankie cheers behind me, causing me to jump. Tristan’s and Caleb’s heads turn toward the doorway.
“Oh, hey, boys.” Frankie wiggles his fingers. “It’s game time.”
He smiles as he hooks his arm through mine and spins me around, heading for the stairs. Tristan quirks an eyebrow up, probably wondering what the hell I was doing standing in the doorway.
“So funny,” Frankie taps his fingertips against my elbow. “Lux has someone from the University here with some equipment.”
He starts giggling like crazy. What?
“Just wait,” he laughs again and glances back.
Following the direction of his stare, my eyes fall back on Tristan, who is a couple steps behind Caleb as they follow us out to the patio where everyone is gathered. Roger and Tiffany are with a couple guys that must be here because Lux and Tristan know them. Ryan is in the Jacuzzi by himself, drinking as he watches everyone around him. Over to the right is this gurney with a machine that looks like some kind of medical equipment.
A middle aged woman dressed in a simple pants suit pulls up a chair beside it. This piques my interest. Lux steps out from behind the bar that’s next to it and laces his fingers in front of him, grinning ear to ear. The look on his face tells you he has something planned.
“Sophia!” he nods as he steps in and wraps his arms around me. He gives me a light hug and a peck on the cheek. “You ready?”
“For what?” I laugh back at the look on his face.
Lux’s eyes scan the crowd.
“Anyone interested in ten thousand dollars?” he yells.
Of course Roger is the first to reply as some of the other guys laugh or whistle. Lux grins at him, shaking his head.
“No one is that desperate. You wouldn’t be game for this anyway, Roger. You’re too pussy.”
Laughs erupt at hearing Lux actually say ʻpussy’. It’s funny when he gets like this because ninety nine percent of the fucking time he is well spoken and professional.
“You are what you eat,” Roger yells back.
I roll my eyes at his lame comeback. Gawd, I still fucking love him. Tristan steps up behind me and circles his arms around my waist. Placing my hands on top of his, I hold him to me as we watch Lux continue on.
“Anyone willing to experience what Sophia has to go through?” He raises his eyebrow and continues.“Make it out and I have ten grand here in cash for the winner.”
He turns to his right and gestures with his hand to the woman.
“This here is Monica. Monica is certified RN and will be controlling this here. This simple device delivers an artificial version of labor that will let you experience what Sophia will have to go through. It will only be minutes, but whoever wants to try will have to complete all three stages of labor without asking for an epidural.”
Holy shit! My eyes widen as the nurse pulls out these suction cup thingies that I remember seeing as a kid that they put all over E.T. Aw, my, that’s still a sad movie when you think about it. Fuck! Hormones…
Frankie steps off to the side of me and lifts his hand.
“I’ll try,” he grins.
Lux beams over at him. Knowing right away that he most likely won’t make it, he waves him down. Frankie steps up to the machine with his hands out to his sides, bent at the wrist. His tropical floral print pants sway in the breeze.
Spinning around, he takes a seat on the gurney and crosses his sandal-clad ankles together. Monica smirks at him, her eyes clearly knowing something that he doesn’t as Frankie stares off into the sky, oblivious. He giggles here and there as she raises his shirt up, placing those things on him.
Frankie brings up his left hand and strokes his fingers through his silky locks as the blond reflects the California light, his bracelets falling down his wrist when he does.
“Ooh, that tickles,” he says when Monica places one of those pads on the back side of his torso.
She steps back and grins down at Frankie, who is stretching out on the gurney with his hands behind his head and his ankles crossed.
“Are you ready?” she asks, taking a seat. She picks up what looks like a remote when she does.
“You go, girl,” Frankie chirps back.
Watching her, I’m all of a sudden afraid for Frankie, seeing her smirk turn mischievous. Her thumb hits the remote a few times and Frankie twitches.
“Oh, my,” he giggles, but winces at the end.
The guys step in closer as they watch Frankie begin labor. Roger, with Tiffany tucked under his arm, steps off to the side, watching with a drink in his hand. Frankie puts up with it pretty good, trying to laugh it off, but then Monica’s thumb presses down again a few more times and Frankie’s eyes bulge. Less than a minute later, his arms start flailing.
“Okay, that’s good,” he cries through his laughter, but you can tell he’s covering up.
A minute later, he can’t take it anymore.
“Fuck! Get it off!” he screeches as the pain intensifies.
He tries to rip the suction cups off of him, but can’t
grasp them.
Frankie immediately lets go and his hands reach for his lower back.
“AHH!!!!” he screams as he grits his teeth.
Tristan’s laugh rumbles through his chest and over my back, peeking over my shoulder at him, I see he’s watching Frankie make a spectacle of himself. I’m not scared. Frankie reacted the same way when he had a hangnail, so I’m not too worried, watching him now.
“Take it off!” he taps out beside him.
“You need something?” Monica hints at the safe word for him.
“Fuck! Epidural!” Frankie cries.
I’m laughing so hard that I’m fucking glad I didn’t drink anything earlier. Monica’s thumb presses once on something that instantly stops Frankie’s torture. His body falls limply onto the gurney. When she unhooks him, he stumbles toward me.
“Good luck girl,” he says sadly, shaking his head.
“Anyone else like to try?” Lux speaks up from the sidelines.
Roger raises his drink in the air with his free hand.
“I’ll do ‘er.”
Lux smiles knowingly and waves his hand in front of him, gesturing for Roger to step forward. Roger leaves Tiffany’s side and hands her his drink, then runs his hands over the sides of his head, tightening his ponytail. When Monica is done placing those cups over Roger’s lower abdomen and sides, she takes her seat again with remote in hand,
“Are you ready?” she asks.
Roger curls his hands into fists.
“Fuck, yeah!”
“All right then,” she says coolly.
Pressing her thumb down a few times, she starts Roger on stage one. He does pretty good. It’s almost boring, although every once and a while he makes a face that looks like he has to fart or something.
“Frankie. What the fuck?” he says, still looking up.
Monica glances up at me, grinning and hitting the button again. Roger winces but stays quiet at least for a minute before he hisses.
“Shit…” His hands cover his stomach and he winces again. “Fuck!”
“What does it feel like, Roger?” Matt laughs off to the side of me.
“Feels like I gotta take a shit!” he cries when Monica presses down again. “Fuck! Shit!”
Oh, my God. I’ve seen Roger hammer his thumb by accident and even fall out of a moving vehicle and laugh. But watching his face screw up in pain as his moans grow louder? Shit. Now I’m scared.
He turns on his side and curls into a ball, which seems to make things better, but when Monica presses the button down again to activate stage three, Roger loses it.
“FUCK THAT! EP!” he screams. “Fucking epidural!”
Just like that, Monica’s thumb presses down and Roger instantly relaxes. Sweat breaks across his face as he shakes his head.
“Sophie, I am so fucking sorry,” he says, pointing at me.
My heart drops as Roger stands, refusing to take back his drink when Tiffany tries to offer it to him. Roger turning down a drink? Shit. I’m fucking terrified.
“Well, that’s two that can’t do it,” Lux says with an evil grin. “Anyone brave enough to try, I got the ten grand right here.”
Lux pulls two fat wads out of the inside pocket of his khakis. Oohs and ahhs sound out behind me.
“Fuck. I will.”
Caleb steps in, grinning back at Tristan and me.
“You sure?” Lux raises his eyebrow in question.
Caleb just ignores him and heads over to the gurney. Monica blushes when she raises his shirt and nothing but tatted abs flex beneath her fingers. When she’s done hooking him up, she doesn’t hesitate before starting up.
Caleb does stage one with fucking ease, cracking jokes at the guys. Monica can’t stand it. She gives him a brief glare and hits the button again. Caleb goes from laying down to sitting up on the gurney, but a smart-ass grin dances on his face.
I glance over to Monica. She hates it. His teeth clench every now and then, but he still keeps up. Then she presses down again. Fuck. Caleb is going into stage three. His face gets red and his jaw tightens even more, the intensity causing sweat to break out on his forehead. Caleb still keeps his mouth closed, though. What a fucking madman!
“Fuck, yeah!” someone screams behind me.
Lux walks up to Monica as Caleb takes the shocks.
“I’ll be damned,” he says, glancing down at his watch. “One more minute. Hit it, Monica.”
She nods her head at him then presses down again. A painful groan escapes Caleb’s closed lips as he tightens his fists at his sides. His eyes focused on the ground, he silently suffers through it. Holy shit!
“That’s it!” Lux throws both arms up. “Congrats, Caleb. It’s a boy!” he laughs.
Caleb instantly relaxes when Monica’s thumb presses down on the remote again.
“Fuck, dude,” Roger says.
“That’s just fucking crazy.” Frankie says under his breath, snapping his fingers.
What the fuck? I’m the one that’s gonna be having the real baby. All they’ve pretty much done is just freak me the fuck out even more. Good fucking thing I’m heading home. I need my mom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tristan
The jet’s tires screech across the tarmac when we land at Detroit Metro. Sophia leans over with her hand resting above her belly, peeking out at the runway and smiling. Every time she comes through here, she always lights up. I noticed that back when we first toured.
I stretch my arms out the best I fucking can. We’re flying commercial and I even have one of those fucking exit seats, but shit is still tight. I remember Sophia telling me she wanted to stop somewhere before heading north to her parents.
“Where we going?” I ask her.
Her smiles fades when she glances at me.
“Royal Oak.”
I should’ve known when she said Royal Oak. When we drive up, I park outside the gates. Sophia stays still, only speaking when giving directions. Again, I was fucking stupid, but now seeing the cemetery, I remember this. Coming here before. She’s going to Cory.
Her hands run circles over our baby. She’s wearing her dad’s Cowboys from Hell Pantera t-shirt that used to be baggy on her but fits snugly. Spring here is gray and wet. Not too cold, but damp as fuck.
Sophia raises her index finger, telling me where to turn then holding up her palm for me to stop. My eyes instantly scan to the left, and there it is, but it looks so fucking different than the last time. The space seemed more open before. Now, more headstones line each side and the small tree that was planted has already grown thicker and a few feet taller. Sophia opens the car door carrying that same box I always see here or there, and heads over to Cory’s grave.
What the fuck do I do? I decide to just wait in the car. I don’t know. Maybe she wants alone time and shit. But when she walks up to his headstone, my girl just stands there, her long, brown hair whipping in a cyclone around her. Opening the door, I notice Sophia’s lips moving as she squats, her belly getting in her way as she tries to sink to the ground. She grabs hold of the headstone for support.
She sets the box down to the side of her and opens it, pulling out a small, leather pouch. Taking out a pinch of what looks like tobacco, her eyes close tightly as her lips begin to move. She’s praying. Curious, I step in closer. I know Sophia’s native, but I usually catch her doing the sign of the cross or something when she thinks she’s alone. This is different. When she opens her eyes, a tear glides down her high cheekbones as she looks up at the gray sky. Then, looking down, she empties her hand over Cory’s grave then just sits there for a few more minutes.
I stand back, not wanting to get too close. Not out of awkwardness, but out of respect. Sophia needs to have time with him. Before, I would have just rolled my eyes at this, but after being with her… I’m so fucking grateful that I can be here, a part of this with her.
I would be a fucking wreck if I lost one of my friends. But her face lights up, she’s not in grief. The way she looks
at this moment, with her eyes closed and smiling, reminds me of when I partied with Dollar Settlement back when we first started touring. She’s connecting with him.
My eyes roam over her as I watch my beautiful native girl kneel down. The sight of her with our child… how did I get so fucking lucky? Then, my old man’s presence grows strong and I can’t help but smile.
“You ready?” Sophia’s soft voice breaks me from my own trance.
She’s still kneeling but is wearing a small smile, her eyes wet.
Nodding at her, I walk over and help her up. Her eyes look down at Cory’s grave the entire time.
“God, I miss him,” she whimpers.
My head jerking toward hers, I watch Sophia swipe her fingers under her eyes, wiping her tears away.
“You think he knows?” she asks, glancing up at me.
Knows? Knows what? Then, I just say the first thing that comes to mind.
“He knows.” My lips curl down at her. “He’s here, my girl.”
Sophia closes her eyes and breathes in, almost as if she were trying to feel him. Smiling, she nods.
“Yeah, I know.”
We head back to the car. Wrapping my arm over her shoulders, I pull her in to me.
“Next stop, in-laws,” I say.
Sophia shakes her head and laughs.
“In-laws?”
“Yeah,” I shrug, laughing back at her.
She’s gonna marry me, damn it! Even if I have to get all “Tristan Scott” style on her tight ass, as she would call it. Helping her into the car, Sophia leans in and plugs her phone in through the AUX cord. She gives me an apologetic smile as I climb in.
“I just have to,” she says then presses play. Offspring's Gone Away starts to play.
Oh, okay.
Taking her hand in mine, I run small circles over her knuckles as I drive. She stares out the window as the lyrics take over. Fuck! If only I had the power, I would. I know my girl really needs her friend right now, and he’s not here. More tears spill from her eyes, each one ripping pieces of skin from my heart at seeing her this way.
“Tristan?” she says quietly, staring out the window.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Fuck, baby. I do, too.
Everything I Have (Everything I Want #3) Page 22
