Hopeful Whispers

by Bink Cummings

  “Okay!” Scarlett returns.

  Ryker tosses his empty bottle in the trash, and, as quick as a snake strike, snatches my hand. Before I get a chance to object or dig my heels in, he drags me behind him to the walk-in pantry. “What are you trying to show me?” I squeak.

  Ryker flips on the light, pulls me all the way inside, and slams the door shut. Then he attacks. Cupping my jaw in his big mitts, he takes my mouth in a punishing kiss, stealing the air from my lungs.

  Oh, god.

  I melt.

  Our bodies collide in a tangle of limbs and tongues, slamming against the door. Clawing at his shoulders, nails finding purchase, I hook my leg around his and throw caution to the wind. I need this. I deserve it. The world fades into oblivion as I lose myself in him. Moans are swallowed. My belly dips. Waves of pleasure pulse between the apex of my thighs. Ryker’s body envelopes mine in blissful heat. My bump’s cradled in his crotch, cock, hard and delicious, pressing in, just enough for me to feel the steely length, but not so much it hurts. Passionately, our teeth, lips, and tongues battle for supremacy until I can barely draw breath.

  There’s a knock on the door that vibrates through my spine. “Mom. Ryker?” It’s Scarlett.

  Shit!

  Ripping his lips from mine with a pained groan, Ryker replies in a moderately smooth tone, “We’re discussing something, beautiful. We’ll be out soon.”

  Wait a second … there’s blood dripping down Ryker’s chin, and there are speckles on his chest. Blinking slowly, my brain still floating in a rose-colored fog, the world trickles back into focus like a saline drip, releveling my endorphins. That’s when I feel it. The fiery throbbing in my bottom lip. A gush of warmth runs down my chin, landing in fat droplets on my shirt.

  A flash of concern washes over Ryker’s features. “Fuck! I broke open your lip. I’m so sorry. I shoulda known better. Hold your face, babe. I’ll get you somethin’.” Frantically, he searches the pantry for something to staunch the heavy bleeding. I cup my hand over it, coating my palm in crimson. It does no good.

  Why do facial wounds have to bleed like a stuck pig? It’s gross.

  Tearing open a new roll of paper towels, he rips off a long bit, balls it up, and presses it to the gusher. “Here.”

  Afraid the bleeding will worsen if I move my mouth to tell him it’s not a big deal, I take over, holding the wad in place instead. Pacing the small space, Ryker grumbles a string of obscenities and yanks his cell from his track pants pocket. Wait. When did he put that there?

  Tapping a few buttons, he smashes it to his ear. “Kade, get your lazy ass outta bed. Katrina needs you,” Ryker barks in the receiver.

  There’s a muffled reply.

  “I know what time it is. Leave the whore to see herself out. I broke open Kat’s lip when I kissed her.”

  Cue loads of yelling. Ryker holds the phone away from his ear to prevent damage. Too bad I can’t make out Kade’s words.

  “Calm down. I didn’t do it on purpose… I know I shouldn’t have kissed her… Have you seen her? You woulda kissed her, too, if she almost called you Daddy…”

  So that’s why he kissed me? That’s sorta sweet. Guess it’s a good thing I kind of love that we mauled each other’s mouths. The bloody lip’s a measly casualty in the heat of the moment. The claw marks on his shoulders aren’t much better. I’m sure they’ll bruise tomorrow. See, that’s the telltale sign of a damn good kiss. One that knocked my world off its axis. There’s no guilt to mull over. I needed it, and he’s the best kisser I know. It’s a win-win in my books. Although, a change of comfy cottons is definitely in order.

  “Yes, I put something to her lip, Numb Nuts… Fuck no. We’re not doin’ that. We’ll call this even… For what? Is that a joke? You tryin’ to tell me you weren’t the one sendin’ my old lady dick emojis…”

  More yelling ensues.

  Rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, Ryker yanks the phone away from his ear again. “Kade’s a tad dramatic.”

  He winks, and I force myself not to smile. They’re quite the brotherly duo. There’s no doubt emotions ride high in this family. Ryker keeps fidgeting every three seconds, tapping his fingers on his thigh, abs, arm. His leg bounces nonstop, and he keeps peeking at me with sorrowful eyes every half second to see if I’ve collapsed from blood loss. That’s not going to happen. If he doesn’t take a chill pill soon, I’ll have to step in. There’s no need to get bent, when all I’ve got is a simple bloody lip. No harm. No foul. And it doesn’t hurt much. I’ve been through worse.

  “You done?” Ryker clips when Kade’s through berating him. “Good. Listen, I gotta take my kids to school. Rosie’s here to keep an eye on Kat. But I gotta bounce, or they’ll be late… Yes. We’re even… No. You’re not givin’ me a fuckin’ black eye for wakin’ you up… I’ll give you a black eye in return… Jesus Christ, Kade. Shut up, get on the bike, and ride your lazy ass here. Katrina needs you.” Ryker ends the call, not waiting for a reply.

  Pocketing his phone, he turns to me, hands trembling. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

  I nod, knowing that he is. It was an accident. The girls have them all the time. This is no different.

  “Don’t be mad. Please.”

  I shake my head, so he knows I’m not.

  “Good.”

  Tension drains from Ryker’s frame, and he gifts me a tiny yet wary smile. Hugging my shoulders with his massive arms, he drops a smooch to my hairline, pausing to nestle his nose there. “Love you. But I gotta jet. Our girls are gonna be late. Sorry, you can’t ride with us. But Kade’ll be here soon to fix my fuck up.”

  With that, he gently shuffles me away from the door and opens it. Both kids are seated on the stools, chatting amicably until they see us exit the pantry.

  “Mom! What’s wrong?” Roxie blasts off her seat to come to my aid. It warms my already full heart.

  Knowing I can’t speak, Ryker answers for me. “I was showin’ Mom some stuff in the pantry, and she bent down to look. Hit her mouth on the shelf and busted her lip open again. That’s what was takin’ so long. We were tryin’ to stop the bleeding.” He points to his pecs and the mess smeared there. If the girls were a bit older, they’d realize Ryker probably shouldn’t have blood on his chin as well. Luckily, they buy the story hook, line, and sinker.

  Roxie lays her head on my shoulder, fingers cuffing around my upper arm. “We can’t leave her like this.”

  “Don’t worry. Kade’s on his way,” Ryker explains to pacify the children. The last thing I need is them fawning over me all day long, worried about my mouth. When all I need is for them to learn lots at school, some fresh glue for my lip, and a hot bath.

  Briefly nuzzling the side of my head to Roxie’s, I then nudge her toward Ryker, who lifts his chin, silently checking to see if I’m good. Nodding once, I give him the A-Okay. He hesitates, studying my face. A frown mars his own as he turns to get our kids out the door.

  Backpacks are slung, hugs exchanged, and the kids skip off to school without me in tow. It saddens me to see them go without me present, but something in my gut says this is good for them. That they’ll be alright. Ryker’s got this. He’s proven to be a competent father over the course of the last few days he’s been around. Which is more than I could’ve asked for since we were uprooted from Indiana. To be honest, everything, since we've arrived, has been pretty spectacular. Dinner with three of my favorite men. A big bathtub to soak in. A comfy bed. Entertaining books to occupy my mind. A nice bedroom for the girls. This move has turned out to be better than I expected. At least in the few days we’ve been here, it has. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

  Hiking my big booty up on a stool, I patiently wait for Kade to come fix my face. Perhaps I can convince him to take me into town for breakfast this morning. I’m craving a billion rashers of crunchy bacon. Not the limp, chewy kind. Only weirdos eat that. Wait. Are you one of those weirdos? Whoops. Sorry. I didn’t mean it. High five if you like bacon at all—even the floppy dick
kind. #BaconIsLife. Shhh … don’t tell my kids I’m cool enough to use hashtags. It’ll damage my uncool mom rep.

  Kat

  For nine days, I’ve slept in a wonderful bed. For nine days, my life’s been more gratifying than it has been in years. For nine days, a routine has been set. Each night, Ryker rides his Harley to the cabin to find me sitting in the living room. Where we spend personal time catching up. Me on the chair, wearing his comfy clothes. Him on the couch, lounging. Since the pantry incident, he hasn’t kissed me. Part of me wishes he would. While the logical section is grateful for the distance. I can tell he’s been slowly trying to build my trust in him and our friendship. It’s risen from the bottom of the barrel. Not much, but enough that I don’t question every motive. My frustration, heartache, and anger that’s woven its way through our sketchy past has settled. Not one hundred percent. Just enough that it doesn’t hurt so much. Actions definitely speak louder than words, and he’s proven that. Our chats are sometimes deep, other times silly, and always rewarding in some way. At least for me. I can’t speak for him. They soothe the broken fragments of my soul, polishing them so the edges don’t feel so jagged. By two a.m., I’m ready for bed. We don’t touch or hug when parting ways. A simple goodnight appeases my mind, while my heart sings a rather melancholic tune to leave him so soon. As much as it shouldn’t, the heart wants what the heart wants, and she’s been a Brent aka Ryker devotee since the beginning of time.

  On weekday mornings, our routine stays relatively the same. I wake up late. The girls are fed and ready for school by the time I wander into the kitchen. Twice now I’ve been suckered into pushup duty. Along with Rox and Scarlett. Thankfully, I haven’t missed another ride along since the lip accident that took Kade a whole three minutes to fix. That is, after he scolded me for a good ten minutes on kissing his brother and how much of a horrible idea it was. Can’t say I totally disagree. It’s complicated.

  Once the girls are taken to school, Ryker drives me home, sees me inside, then leaves. To be frank, that’s the hardest part of the day. It’s always awkward. He never knows what to say, and we’re both afraid to make eye contact. It’s your high school crush all over again, times a hundred.

  During the day hours, if I’m not grocery shopping, Rosie and I platonically Netflix and chill. Isn’t that the hipster term? We do this chillin’ while she spreads her many knives on the floor and polishes them like they’re fine silver. If it’s not TV, it’s book nerd time. I’ve devoured eight novels since we arrived in Texas. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

  In the afternoons, the bus drops the girls off at the driveway. My men come by nightly for dinner. Dad always provides the dessert. This time supplying more than necessary because his pregnant daughter’s a sweets whore. I think the pecan pie episode was an educational experience for him. Rosie, and her badass self, helps me cook. While Kade stares pathetic googly eyes at her. We eat at the table. The men wash the dishes afterward. And we do our typical carrying on until it’s time for the girls to say goodnight. Thus restarting the routine.

  I suppose the biggest change has been the weekend. Not to get into major details. No need to bore ya to death. But they’ve been amazing. On Saturday, I slept in, only when I woke up the house was devoid of Roxie. Who decided to go on a morning run through the woods with Ryker before breakfast. Rosie was up watching The Disney Channel with Scarlett when I came into the living room. It took a large glass of water, lots of back pats, Scarlett cuddles, and chocolate to calm my ass down about Rox running through the forest, where there’s killer snakes and possible bad guys. I’m under no illusion that we’re safe here. Sure, it’s been quiet. However, the illusion of silence could be the calm before the storm. I’ve watched enough shows and read enough books to deduct that this ain’t over until Dad and Bear say it’s over. Which they haven’t.

  Sometime later, when the sweaty duo decided to grace us with their presence, I had eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and sausage ready to eat. Ryker surprised us all by staying until noon and returning around midnight. Sunday was much the same.

  Now … here I am, bouncing my foot anxiously on the floor. Today we’re breaking the routine, and I’m nervous as all get out. The morning went off without a hitch. This afternoon, in thirty-five minutes to be exact, I have my first obstetrician appointment in Red Fort with a new doctor. Ryker set up the appointment and is driving me. Rosie’s staying behind just in case we don’t return before the bus gets home. Did I mention I’m a nervous wreck? What if I hate this woman doctor? I’ve used the same OB/GYN since I was sixteen. Dr. Davies is the best. I’m not a fan of change. This is a huge one. Staying in the cabin feels almost like vacation. Reality hasn’t quite sunk in yet. In thirty-four minutes, it’s going to. I hate this. Hate it so damn much I could punch something—namely Ryker. And I’ve done so well not wanting to do that the past week.

  A Harley rumble vibrates the window panes. It cuts off outside, and a minute later the back door opens. This is it. Time to leave.

  “Kat, babe, you ready?” Ryker calls, sauntering into the open living space, wearing his cut, jeans, a black long sleeve shirt, and a radiant, dimple kissed smile that reaches his eyes. Someone’s excited about the appointment. That makes one of us.

  Gracelessly using the arms of the chair to propel me to my feet, I nod, worried that if I speak, he’ll spot the lie. Too late, Ryker frowns. Meeting me midway between the mudroom and kitchen, he cups my cheeks in those big paws. The intimate touch sparks beneath his fingertips, sprouting gooseflesh down my arms. I shiver.

  “You afraid of goin’ to this new baby doc?”

  Refusing to meet his gaze, I nod timidly.

  “Aww, Tiger. There’s no need for all that.”

  Those warm hands fall away and are replaced with a hulking body engulfing mine in a hug. Sighing, I go with the flow, arms curling around his leathery middle. Ryker’s familiar scent soothes my fraying nerves a smidgen as I nuzzle my nose to his chest, finding a semblance of peace. I was calm this morning. Not sure when it changed. Perhaps shortly after he left, the meltdown began. My brain has been running amuck for hours. Rosie quit trying to appease me before lunch. All the leg bouncing was driving her batty. Not that I can blame the woman.

  Lips settle on top of my head, hot breath steaming my scalp. More tingles follow. Something pink and mushy swirls in my gut. It’s nothing.

  When I don’t reply, Ryker does. “I’d hold ya longer. But we gotta roll.”

  Clutching the back of his cut, I rapidly shake my head. Nope. We can skip it. No need to burst this relaxing vacation bubble with real life crap.

  A chuckling kiss presses to my hair, that I took time to wash, dry, and style today. For what, I dunno. “No more cold feet, Tiger. Dr. Shipley’s no Dr. Davies, but that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna take good care of you. I wouldn’t take you to her if I thought otherwise.”

  Knowing I shouldn’t ask this, I do anyway. Call me a glutton for punishment. “Is she Vanessa’s OB, too?” I mumble to his pecs.

  Ryker’s fingertips slip beneath my long trusses to stroke the base of my neck. It’s comforting, and there’s only one reason why he’d pull out these big guns. Daddy didn’t raise no fool. I calmly wait for the truth bomb to detonate.

  “Yes.”

  He hugs me a little tighter, as if that’ll ease the jarring news. Of course, he’d take me to the same motherfluffin’ doctor as his wife. I should’ve asked sooner so I could prepare, or find somebody else. I’m due in two months. There’s not a whole lot of time to shop around. And since I was forced to quit my job, I no longer have health insurance. Which I’m sure Vanessa does since she’s married to Ryker. As shitty as that may be, that’s the brutal truth I have to live with, day in and day out.

  Breaking out of his hold to save face, I tilt my head way back to make eye contact. Ryker reluctantly let's go. I can’t get too far because he keeps one hand planted on my belly to stay connected. I allow the small touch since I’m not in the mood to fight.


  “How am I paying for this?”

  “I’m paying for it.”

  This is ridiculous.

  “No. You’re not. Having a baby is expensive. Very expensive. If you hadn’t forced me to quit my job, I could afford it. My copayments were only $25 a visit, and the birth would’ve maxed my deductible for the entire year. A $5000 birth wouldn’t have been horrible. This is going to be much more.”

  “No. It won’t.” Fingertips dance across the top of my belly. It’s distracting. Irritated by him, his voice, and this entire scenario, I slap his hand away. He’s not going to snuff out my fire. I’m upset, and he doesn’t get to belittle that.

  “Care to elaborate?” I snip.

  Those beefy arms do their typical Ryker chest cross. If I were a weaker female, his penetrating regard, and air of dominance would stifle my position. Guess it’s a good thing I can grab a bull by the horns without flinching. Let’s see what ya got, Big Boy. “Ghost already spoke to Dr. Shipley. It’s been handled. Money is not an issue. She’s my daughter, too, and I take care of what’s mine,” he says.

  My animated hands get to talking alongside my mouth. “Riiight. I’m gonna skip over the part where I scold you about how well you take care of what’s supposedly yours.”

  “That sounds like a smart choice.” He’s not amused. Good. Well, neither am I.

  “Thought so. As for the money. I will find out what it cost, Ryker, and I will pay my part. I don’t wanna owe anyone anything when I leave this place.”

  Shaking his head like I’m the biggest pain in his ass, which I probably am, he then huffs, nods once, spins on his heel, and stalks out the back door, leaving me in his dust. It doesn’t take long to grab my purse from the table and meet him in the Suburban.

  On the ride to Red Fort, a local radio station plays classic hard rock. We don’t utter a single word as I stare out of the passenger side window, watching the scenery drift from green country to small-town America. Before I know it, we’re parking out front of an old, mint green two-story Victorian. There’s a fancy white sign in the yard that reads Dr. Shipley OB/GYN.