Knocked Up

by Stacey Lynn

  “You couldn’t—”

  “Nope. Not until about eighth grade, I couldn’t read shit except small words I could memorize, but Irvin helped me out, had me write shit out and he figured out I was writing half my letters backwards or upside down. Eventually, he took me to some doctors and we discovered I have dyslexia.”

  I drop the bomb and wait for the look of pity but all Cara does is blink rapidly. “You met Dan in college.”

  “Yup.”

  “But—”

  “Still sucks to read, I’m not going to lie. Takes me three times as long as anyone else, but that’s why I majored in art and then switched to tattooing. Not a lot of reading required, and when I do scripts on people, I have to think of the letters as art drawings and not an actual word. I haven’t messed up yet.” I flash her a grin, belying my own unease with this. “Stella’s from my old neighborhood. I grew up with her, and she’s a fucking whiz with numbers and definitely better with words than I am. I wouldn’t be able to run the business without her.”

  “Wow, I mean, I want to say I’m sorry you have to deal with all that.” Her brow scrunches. “Although that doesn’t sound right either. Mostly I’m just really impressed with what you’ve been able to make of yourself even with your disability. I mean, you live in one of the most expensive buildings in Portland, for crying out loud. I’d say you’ve done okay by yourself.”

  “Irvin bought this place for me.” Damn. A lump lodges in my throat and I push it down. Then I push away my food. “Not really.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I rarely talk about Irvin with anyone anymore, except for occasionally with Stella. Somehow, Irvin became the dad or uncle to the fucked-up kids in our hood. Stella and I are two of the few who took to him like he tried to take to all of us, trying to save us from the shit his son went through.

  “He died when I was still in college. Man lived in this crappy, falling-apart two-bedroom home as long as I knew him. Had no clue he’d done some major investing over the years. Man died a multimillionaire and lived like a pauper.” I drop my head and squeeze my eyes closed. I can’t even look at her. “He and I used to sit outside on his crumbling front porch and he’d ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always told him I had no clue, but I’d point across the river, and tell him, ‘I just want to live high. See what it’s like to live in the sky.’ ”

  “Braxton—” Her voice sounds broken and so uncertain.

  I lift my head and grin. “He gave me all he had. I gave half to Stella and she reinvested all of it into MadInk. But when I heard I was the beneficiary to all this damn money I never knew the man had, the lawyer had given me a note he’d written. All it said was, ‘You better put this to use, so you can live high in the sky, or I’ll haunt your white ass.’ ”

  I chuckle, because the man was always rough, always giving me shit, but fuck…he was a good man. The best man I’ve ever known.

  I shove off from the table, needing space, but before I can stand, Cara is in front of me, scrambling onto my lap and straddling me. She throws her arms around me and yanks me to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice isn’t only broken, she’s crying. “I’m so sorry you lost such a good man, but I’m certain he’d be so proud of you.”

  She holds me tight. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her tighter. Settling my chin on her shoulder, I grit my teeth. Both of us don’t need to fall to tears.

  “I lost Jimmy,” she says, after minutes of us holding each other. “My brother.”

  “Yeah?” My hand drifts up her back. I brush hair to the other side of her shoulder and continue running my hand up and down her back, settling her. She’s gripping me tighter like she needs to cling to me to be able to talk.

  “Yeah. He died just over a year ago, but he was sick for years before then.” She clears her throat and says, “Leukemia.”

  “Shit, Cara. I’m sorry.”

  She pulls back, but I still hold her firmly in case she’s planning on running, but instead, she wipes tears off her cheeks. “We were twins. He was older by five minutes, but you’d have thought I had never been born at all with all the attention he got and how little I did. Made him so mad, all the time, the way my parents would expect so much from both of us, but they only ever praised him or acted like he was the only one who could do anything. The day of his funeral, my mom looked right through me, like I wasn’t there, shook her head, and said, ‘I don’t know how I’ll live without my child,’ like she didn’t even realize her other one was standing right in front of her.”

  “You kidding me?”

  “No.” She blinks harshly and opens her eyes. They’re swirling with emotion, pain, and anger, but I see a spark of determination in them too. “I moved out that day. Quit school. Found my apartment and I decided, screw them. I was only going to law school because it’s what we were supposed to do and I never wanted it in the first place, but I kept thinking if I tried hard enough I could make them love me.”

  Jesus. My mom was a drug addict who eventually overdosed, but if we were comparing the two, I’d almost say Cara’s mom is worse. “You shouldn’t have to make her love you, Cara. She’s your mom.”

  “I know. That’s what Jimmy always said to me. When he went to hospice, he made me promise I’d get out of there, and I’d live my life. I tried telling him they’d need me, but when Mom said that to me, I knew, like always, Jimmy was right.”

  “I’m proud of you for finding the strength to do that, Cara.”

  Her smile goes soft and with more tears swimming in her eyes, she whispers, “I don’t think anyone’s ever been proud of me except for Jimmy and Jenna.”

  “I am.” I slide my hands to her cheeks, brushing away her tears as I hold her close to me, letting her see how serious I am. “We both came from shit lives, Cara, but we both had people in our lives who were there for us, and I swear to you, right now, I will make sure our child has the best of everything. I don’t care how hard it is, how much work it takes, how much it costs or how little, our child will have everything we didn’t, including two parents who are always there, who will always love him or her—boy or girl.” I grin at her. She blushes and it’s so damn cute I press my lips to hers softly, slowly, soaking in the taste of her and the feel of her.

  I don’t push it farther. I don’t take her like I want to, and when she relaxes in my hold, falls into the kiss, I pull back.

  Then we spend more time talking about Irvin and Jimmy, laughing over stories while we finish our breakfast and clean up.

  It’s the best morning I’ve ever had in my life, until Cara places the last plate she’s cleaning into the cupboard and turns to me.

  “I should get going.”

  “What?”

  “I’m feeling the best I have in weeks, and I haven’t painted in a while. I’d like to try today.”

  Oh. Not exactly like I can stop her.

  “Sure. Yeah.” Hell if I wanted her to leave though. I like her here, in my home, us talking about heavy shit without it seeming heavy. No one outside a small circle of people knows about my dyslexia. I hate the assumption I’m stupid that comes with it, but Cara just took it all in stride, it never changing the way she looks at me.

  Except that’s not really true either, knowing what I’ve struggled with, it’s like her gaze on me is fiercer, more determined to make something good work with me, and that’s the only reason why I’m so willing to take her home now instead of spend all day with her on the couch, eating whatever she wants and can keep down, resting with a remote in one hand and her body wrapped in my other arm.

  She’ll be back.

  We can do this.

  “Let me show you something first.”

  “What?”

  “Come on.” I take the towel out of her hand a
nd toss it to the counter. I hold her hand while we walk down the hall into a completely empty room that holds nothing other than a white couch and a drafting table. I come in here sometimes when I want silence to draw tattoo designs, but I haven’t had a real use for the room until now. Now I know exactly what it’d be perfect for.

  She inhales a quick breath as we enter, and her gaze immediately goes to the wall of windows that overlook the river. It’s my Hail Mary pass, one last chance to get her to see things my way. “Move in with me and you can paint in here.”

  “Tempting,” she says teasingly. By the way her eyes gloss over and the lingering look she gives as I walk her out of the room, I think it is tempting her.

  I’m totally cool with using all the tools at my disposal to have her stay in my house.

  Chapter 15

  Cara

  It’s a replay of almost three weeks ago as I rush down the street to MadInk. My stomach is rolling, from the MAX and the nausea that’s been plaguing me all day. I’m nervous, hands sweating, stumbling on the small heels I shouldn’t have even bothered slipping into, but they were the first pair I could find when I made my decision.

  It’s been two weeks since Braxton took me home. Two weeks where we’ve had long conversations at night, him occasionally stopping by, bringing me dinner and putting on a television show that I inevitably fall asleep to within ten minutes of it starting. Two weeks where he then wakes me up, and I groggily get ready for bed while he prepares the pull-out sofa. Two weeks where he kisses me tenderly, tells me good night, rests his palm on my stomach and says good night in a way that makes my insides flip and flop in a delicious way as he speaks to our baby. Two weeks where I feel myself falling for him more and more every time we spend time together. He’s been caring and kind. I catch his lingering glances on not only my slowly growing stomach and swollen breasts in a way that isn’t simply protective, yet he hasn’t done anything more than kiss me tenderly and take care of me.

  My hormones are off the charts insane on the days I don’t feel like puking every minute of the day, which, in all honesty, has been quite rare. Even with the antinausea meds, I’ve still been puking almost nonstop from the time I wake up to late afternoon, and today, I believe I’ve finally figured out the cause.

  The food trucks that are parked from morning to afternoon in the parking lot behind my apartment. I don’t even have the windows open and don’t need to in order to inhale the mixture of chicken and tacos and seafood and beef and the gyros…good Lord, just the thought of the smell of lamb almost sends me careening down the alley outside MadInk.

  I push through and settle myself for a brief moment before I pull open the door and enter Braxton’s tattoo parlor.

  The bell rings obnoxiously, but this time, I don’t hesitate, walking quickly to where Stella is perched in the same spot she sat the last time I was here.

  “Hi, Stella. I’m Cara.”

  “Know who you are, sugar.” She snaps her gum while smiling. “Also know when you want to make a mess, you go all out. Took me hours to get the smell out of Braxton’s office last time you were here.”

  She winks like she’s teasing me, but I’m not feeling it today. If I’m not lucky, we’re going to have a repeat. How humiliating would that be? Plus, the shining ring she has pierced through her upper eyebrow is blinding me, sparkling and flashing whenever she moves her head.

  “Uh, is he here? I need to speak to him.”

  “Yep. He’s finishing up a client though. He’ll be out in a few minutes. Want to sit and wait?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I wring my hands together. I haven’t told Braxton about the puking. I’ve been letting him think it’s becoming more rare because I know the minute I tell him the truth he’s going to insist on me moving in with him again.

  He’s mentioned it a couple of times in passing, but he hasn’t pressed anything.

  But I’m sick of being sick, and at this point, I’ll try anything. I’m desperate, and while my midwife assured me I’ll start feeling better around fourteen weeks, which is next week, I highly doubt it will happen unless I get out of my apartment.

  I’m also too nervous to sit like Stella suggested. I’m so tired I might pass out. My gaze is drawn to the glass cases Stella is perched behind and I look at all the metal rings and bars, where there are also sets of colored balls on the ends. There are hoops with jewels on them, which I assume are for belly rings, tiny jeweled pieces that look like standard ear piercings. And then there are other metal loops with balls on them that remind me of a bull with a ring through it’s nose. Stella has something similar in hers.

  “You have anything pierced?” she asks, leaning forward.

  “Uh, no.” My cheeks heat though, because I once heard about this certain kind of personal piercing and I’ve always been curious.

  “Ah, but you want something pierced.”

  She must see me blushing. It’s probably hard to miss.

  I shrug, and keep looking at the bits and bobbles, my chest burning every second.

  “Oh, come on, tell me what you’re thinking about. A girl like you, I’d imagine a belly button ring.”

  I lift my head. “What do you mean, a girl like me?”

  “You know.” She throws her arm out and waves her hand in a circle motion in front of me. “Classy. Probably well-mannered and polite and all that shit.”

  I laugh, but I’m stunned, at not only how well she can read me but why it seems to irritate her. “Is that bad?”

  “I don’t really care as long as you’re good to Brax, but that don’t mean I think you’re good for him.”

  The heat inflaming my skin is replaced with a chill so quickly I shiver. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because he might live in a high-rise and he might have money, but that don’t mean you two come from the same world. You’re someone who went slumming, saw a hottie with inked arms and went for a walk on the dark side and now you’re faced with the consequences of it. Don’t mean you won’t wake up someday and decide to go back to the life you’re supposed to have and when you do, I doubt you’ll be wanting to parade Braxton around country club galas when you make that walk.”

  I can’t even process the things she’s saying and the vile way she’s saying them. I was just dreaming of a clit piercing, for crying out loud, and now I’m having to defend my choice to be with Braxton?

  But have I even made that choice yet? I certainly haven’t told him.

  Ugh. This is a mess.

  Still, it gives her absolutely no right to talk to me like this. Lowering my voice, I lean forward, curling my hands around the glass counter. “Braxton told me about Irvin.” At that declaration, Stella’s jaw drops. I don’t care why it surprises her. “He’s told me how you two clung to that man, and I’m sorry for your loss. Irvin sounds like an incredible man. He’s also told me about the…difficulties…he’s had in school and how he not only thinks he can’t run this business without you, but how important you are to him. I’m guessing he wouldn’t like the things you’re saying to me right now.”

  “You gonna tell him?”

  “No.” I push back and drop my hands to the side. “You might not like me, but you also don’t know anything about me to make the judgments you’re making right now. And I don’t really care. I still like the fact that it sounds like even though Braxton grew up in a really shitty situation, I’m glad he has someone looking out for him.”

  She reminds me of Jimmy. I can only imagine how big of a dick he’d be to Braxton right now if the roles were reversed and he were alive. God, I miss my brother. I’d also take him to task for being a dick as I know Braxton would to Stella if he knew what she was saying.

  There’s no point in causing trouble between them for the sake of trouble.

  “Thank you so much!” A giggling feminine voic
e calls and snags my attention from Stella, who’s glaring at me.

  “You’re welcome.” It’s Braxton’s voice that follows her and soon, a bombshell of a woman is walking through the doorway. I stumble back a step at the sight of them.

  And all my confidence from defending what Stella spewed all over me unravels to the floor.

  This woman is a Marilyn Monroe look-alike with a rocker bent. She has curling platinum-blond hair and a body filled out with gorgeous curves. She has a tattoo sleeve up one arm covered in brightly colored flowers and vines. They haven’t seen me gawking at them yet and my jaw drops to the floor as she pulls out her shirt from her chest and shoves it down past her boob. All over her large breast is a white bandage.

  She grins up at Braxton and giggles again. “I can’t believe you just did this for me. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  My hands curl into fists as I watch her literally shoving her breasts into his face. And…that means he just had his hands all over her chest. Probably her stomach, her ribs. Who knows where he had to touch this woman who’s inked like him and has a few piercings like Stella. She is someone who looks much more like they belong with Braxton than me.

  Shit.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Braxton says. His hands are in his pockets. His eyes are on hers. In fact, I don’t think he’s looked down at her boob once since she yanked it out for him. “Stella here will—” He looks to Stella, catches me, and pauses, and as he continues speaking, his eyes don’t move from me. “Stella will finish up with your aftercare instructions. Thanks again for coming in.”

  “You’re so welcome,” she croons.

  And I no longer care about her. I’m already walking to Braxton, intent on doing something I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.

  I’m not entirely sure if it’s because of the crap Stella said, the strange burning sensation in me at the sight of this woman that makes me want to set her on fire, or if it’s just because Braxton looks completely freaking edible right now with his black hair, his unshaven scruff lining the front of his throat, the ink on said throat and down his forearms, exposed beneath his navy blue T-shirt.