by Bijou Hunter
“I thought you and Moot said you hadn’t found this guy,” I say and reach over to caress Cricket’s head. “Wouldn’t that be the end of it?”
“Well this guy could be smart enough to hide whenever he sees us. It’s not like Moot is very low-key in a town like White Horse.”
Frowning, I don’t get his point, so Cricket whispers, “Tattoos.”
Nodding, I shrug. “You’re low-key.”
“It’s true.”
“But you just show up and walk around,” Cricket says while playing on her tablet. “Of course, you’ll look suspicious. Plus, a lot of people know your face. What we need is for someone like Poet to go undercover.”
“He has tattoos too. Would he go as a junkie?”
I frown at his comment, but Cricket answers before I can. “No, he needs to dress as a househusband. It’s cool out, so wear long sleeves to hide your tats. Take one of my dogs for a walk and act like a schlub. No one will suspect anything.”
“I don’t know how to be a schlub.”
“To get into character, walk like you’ve got a stick straight up the butt. If anyone talks to you, share with them recipes you know for my breast milk. Cheese, yogurt, other gross shit. Oh, and how you buried your kids’ placentas to give back to Mother Earth.”
“That sounds fricking awesome. First, though, I have a question about Pickles’s story.”
“You don’t believe him?” Chipper asks, clearly not buying the story from Cricket’s charge.
“Pickles said he saw the dealer in the middle of the day. Well, who goes to the park at that time? Moms, lame dads, and little kids, right? So, who’s buying Garbage’s drugs?”
“Teenagers?” Cricket suggests.
“They’re in school.”
“Huh, so who?”
“No one, Cricket,” I explain while still caressing her head. “No one walks into a park full of uppity dicks to buy drugs in the middle of the fricking day. If it were later in the day or even earlier, maybe it’d make sense. This park sounds upscale, though. In my experience, upscale people get their drugs from compliant doctors. Plus, these uppity types are nosy and think it’s their civic duty to rat out everyone else. What kind of dealer would set up shop in a park like that?”
“Pickles wouldn’t lie to me.”
“You said he has mental issues. Maybe he thinks it really happened. I don’t know him, but that makes more sense than a freaky-looking loser hanging out in a hoity-toity park in full view of neighborhood watch types.”
“So I tell Hayes what?” Chipper asks.
Cricket pouts on the couch for a minute before shrugging. “Tell him the tip didn’t pan out.”
“This is good news, right?” I ask when she looks ready to cry. “Hayes doesn’t have to get into a pissing match with the Brotherhood.”
“True. I know he was worried about fighting with the club,” she mumbles, fighting tears. “I don’t want Pickles to be hallucinating. It makes me worry about him out there.”
“The man knows how to handle himself,” Chipper says. “He’s dealt with his schizophrenia for longer than we’ve been alive. He got this thing wrong, but that doesn’t mean he’s in trouble. He looked happy when I drove past him today. I saw him chatting with that perv who wears the goofy Scottish hat.”
Cricket exhales loudly. “I guess this is good, and you figured it out without dressing like a schlub. A win-win.”
Kneeling next to the couch, I kiss her forehead. “I can go check on Pickles if you want.”
“No, he’s fine. It’s me that’s the problem. I think of him as a child, but he’s not. He’s sick, but he’s still a man. I have to start thinking of him that way.”
“You’re sweet to care about him.”
“I’m glad no one named Garbage is stinking up our parks.”
Chipper stands up and heads for the kitchen. “And I’m glad I don’t have to watch Hayes show off his dick to the Rutgers twins.”
Cricket and I share a smile. “Thank you, Poet, for having my back even with business.”
“Anything that matters to you matters to me. I will always have your back.”
“And I’ll have yours as long as it doesn’t involve getting up and moving around.”
Kissing her head, I rest my ass on the ground next to the couch. She smiles wider with every kiss I give her—on her forehead and then the cheek and then the other cheek and finally her lips. By the time Chipper offers to pick us up Chinese takeout, my woman no longer worries about her weight or Pickles’s made-up bad guy. She only sees me and my fabulous lips.
CRICKET
Like most afternoons since embracing bed rest, I veg on the couch with a pillow shoved between my legs. In between watching way too much TV, I nap and dream of swimming. Later, I’ll shuffle my ass down the hall for a bath before climbing into bed for the night.
Earlier, Poet and Chipper offered to take the dogs into the vet for their vaccinations, so Bianca Bella wouldn’t need to corral them. I imagine them dodging Lobo’s excited wagging tail. He might be the only dog that loves the vet. Mostly, he digs the way the techs coo over him. As Chipper points out, the ladies love a well-hung fella.
“How are you feeling?” Bianca Bella asks while warming her chilled body next to the kiva fireplace.
I rub my belly where the babies tango. A foot to the ribcage and a headbutt to the bladder later, I sigh. “They’re happy, so I’m happy.”
“You sound very convincing.”
“Whenever I’m miserable, I think of Poet and me in the sitting area of my room. We’re each holding a baby in our arms. I’m breastfeeding one, and he’s bottle feeding the other. ‘Gilligan’s Island’ is on the TV. The dogs are nuzzling my feet that I can see when I stand up. I really like that thought.”
“Only a month or so more.”
“I want to cook them as long as possible. I mean not for like a year or anything, but I don’t want them coming too soon.”
“The doctor didn’t seem worried on the video you showed me.”
“He wasn’t. Said I was healthy overall, but he worried about my blood pressure. Just stay off my feet, cut my salt intake, and think happy thoughts until Murphy and Minnow are ready to come out.”
Bianca Bella settles into a chair across from me and smiles in a way that makes me worry. “I’ve been thinking about after the babies are born.”
“You’re worried about the noise,” I blurt out. “Or the dirty diaper smells.”
“No, but you know how I like cruises.”
“Yeah,” I say warily.
“There’s one leaving for a six-month journey, and I’m thinking that might be a good idea for me.”
“Why?” I ask, already tearing up. “Is it Poet? Do you need me to keep him locked away more?”
“Don’t cry. Once the babies are born, his family will be here a lot and you’ll need the room for them to sleep.”
“I’ll stick them in hotels.”
“That defeats the purpose of them coming to help you.”
“I don’t want you to leave me.”
“I know, but you don’t need me living here. Not now with Poet and the babies. You have a family now.”
“Bianca Bella,” I blubber. “My only female friend ever.”
“What about Chevelle?”
“She left me too,” I sob.
Caressing my head, she tries to explain. “I’ve wanted to travel for a while, but you don’t like to be alone and you can’t be away from your family for months at a time. Now you have Poet, and his family, and you always have your family. You don’t need me to live here with you.”
“You’ll miss the babies growing up.”
“No, I won’t. You’ll send me a million pictures and videos and I’ll be back by the time they start doing fun stuff like crawling and destroying your house.”
When I say nothing, Bianca Bella climbs into the bed and hugs me. “I thought about waiting until the babies were born to tell you, but it’d be so last minute
and you’d have no time to prepare. This way, my room will be ready for the in-laws to bunk over.”
I hate Bianca Bella for having needs that don’t revolve around me. She should really have given those up years ago, but the chick is stubborn.
I love that about her. I love everything about her including her willingness to vacate the house so I can move in a support staff to help me when I bring home the babies. I’ll be in pain and overwhelmed and there’ll be crying and so many shitty diapers. The dogs will be crazy and I’ll be crazy and Poet won’t ask for help because he’s a man and needs to prove he has super big balls. The house will be fucking madness, and I’ll need room for Court and Justice and whoever else wants to help.
“What kind of places will you visit on your cruise?” I ask when I stop worrying about my feelings long enough to think of hers.
“It starts in Miami and then it heads to Central America and Hawaii and Asia. Then it’s up toward Dubai and Egypt before reaching Europe. I’ll see a little of lots of places, and I won’t have to clean my room or cook for myself.”
“You’ll be by yourself.”
“My mom wants to come. Dad will be traveling a lot for work and probably banging a few walking blowup dolls. She needs to get away from Nashville and see the world. It’ll be good for us. I’ve been way too attached to her lately, and this time together should fix that.”
Smiling at her snark, I just want to hold onto Bianca Bella forever. We’ve been together nearly every day for two years. I can’t imagine going too long without seeing her, but I have no doubt she’ll love me more by the time she returns. After all, someone will have to fill the role of her mother once they’re at each other’s throats again.
16—CRICKET
The day my twins are born, I wake up feeling awful. I can’t get out of bed without Poet’s help. For the first time in my pregnancy, I’m truly fucking nauseous. I sit on the toilet, thinking I’ll puke and crap. Bianca Bella makes me tea to settle my stomach. Poet runs me a bath when I complain about my back hurting. Neither helps me feel better. Candy calls the doctor’s office, and they suggest I head to the hospital to get checked out.
I don’t panic, though. This is my third visit to the hospital’s delivery ward in my eighth month. Each time I start contractions, I’m given meds to stop them and sent home. This time around, I’m not even contracting, so I expect to be tossed out within a few hours.
Instead, I find myself balled forward; remaining very still while an anesthesiologist pokes my spine for an epidural. Today is the day for Poet and me to meet our babies face-to-face.
“I’m excited,” I tell Poet as he slips on the medical gown to prepare for the operating room. “I really want to see their faces. Do you want to see their faces?”
Poet gives me one of his great smiles and takes my hand. “Yeah, Cricket, I want to see them. Hold them too. We’ll take them home and sit together, each with a baby in our arms.”
“Are you sure about their names? I could be crazy to like Minnow. We can change them.”
“I already think of our babies as Minnow and Murphy. Those are their names.”
Exhaling softly, I focus on the doctor’s words about how I soon won’t feel anything from the chest down. He tells me he’ll be at my side in case I need more medication. Everything is fine. All is well in the world, and not just because the scary giant man is watching him right now.
Candy gives me a hug before I’m wheeled into the operating room. “I love you so much,” she whispers.
Hayes hugs me next and whispers, “If these doctors fuck with you, I will end them.”
Bianca Bella pushes past my dad to take my hand. She opens her mouth twice to say something and then clamps it shut. Turning to Hayes, she looks ready to cry, so the big bastard wraps an arm around her shoulders and walks her out the door. Candy follows them after a little wave.
Before following our parents, Cap shuffles over to the bed and gives me an awkward smile. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”
“You and me both,” I say, squeezing his hand.
It seems only a minute passes between his words of comfort and the nurse pushing my bed toward the operating room. Behind me, Poet and Chipper follow. I remain calm, knowing even with this unplanned delivery, I’m surrounded by professionals along with armed men. Nothing to be worried about, I’m sure.
In the operating room, Poet sits next to me so he can keep me calm. Chipper stands farther back, videotaping me until he has cute babies to film. The anesthesiologist sits near my head, checking vitals and other crap I don’t care about. He attempts to be comforting, but I want to focus on Poet and think happy thoughts.
What doesn’t make me happy is how I can’t wiggle my toes. If an emergency, I’d be helpless. I can’t run or fight. I’m a defenseless lump.
Now only focused on how my body no longer responds to commands, I can’t think of a single happy thought in the entire fucking world. My breathing increases as I jump headfirst into batshit crazy mode.
“I need to get up,” I tell Poet who caresses my hand tenderly. Not immediately getting my wish, I turn my head to Chipper. “Help me get out of here. I need to get away.”
“Chill,” Chipper whispers. “You’re making a scene.”
I know on some level he’s trying to be funny to calm me, but I’m too panicked to give a shit. Nausea follows the panic, and I mumble how I’m about to puke. A nurse holds a small, plastic container next to my mouth while I puke up water since I haven’t eaten since midnight.
“Chipper, give me your gun,” I whisper once the dry heaves end. “I need to get out of here.”
My brother looks at Poet who only holds my hand. Before I can freak out any further, the anesthesiologist injects a drug into my IV.
“I have to get out of here,” I beg Poet.
“Cricket,” the anesthesiologist says behind my head. “Count down from ten, and you should feel calmer.”
“I’m not doing an impression of the fucking Count from ‘Sesame Street,’ you...” The medicine slithers through my veins, stealing away the panic and nausea until I’m chiller than a bottle of cheap shelf tequila can provide. “Did you watch that show when you were little?” I ask Poet who still holds my hand.
“Yeah, lovey, I did. Our babies will too when they're older.”
“You look so silly with that bouffant cap on your head,” I giggle. “Bouffant is such a weird word, isn’t it?”
Poet smiles at my drugged tranquility. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“You’re a good man,” I say before turning to Chipper. “Come closer, brother. I need to talk to you.”
Chipper stops filming long enough to bend down, so our faces are inches apart.
“Promise you’ll watch Poet’s back if something happens to me. Don’t let anyone hurt him or push him around. Help him take care of the babies, and, Chipper, this is most important,” I say, wanting him closer. “If I die, he’ll take them to West Virginia and raise them there, and you need to visit all the time. Visit so much that they’ll grow up knowing the proper use of the ‘F’ word. Please promise you won’t let my babies grow up saying ‘frick.’”
“I promise, Cricket, now just be cool and let them shiv these babies free of your oven so I can get some solid pics for Mom and Hayes.”
“Okay, you take those pictures, and Bianca Bella will put them in my frame.”
Feeling like the operation happens a million miles away, I smile at Poet and admire his handsome face framed by the goofy bouffant. He never takes his eyes off me. Not once. Even when the first baby cries and Chipper announces it’s covered in oven goo. I can’t stop smiling at my man. His eyes shine with warmth in the sterile room. I can’t imagine loving another man and know I’ve found my one chance at lifelong romance with this perfect creature.
When a baby cries again, somewhere in my brain, I recognize the sound belongs to another baby.
“Are they done?” I ask. “Are our babies out?”
“Who came out first?” I babble, still focused on Poet.
“Ball sack.”
“Really?” I mumble. “I assumed the girl would take charge and free herself first.”
“I think the girl got some of your drugs because she’s super chill. The boy looks pissed. He might want to go back inside.”
Poet snorts before regaining his composure. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m drugged and paralyzed in a room full of strangers, my two favorite men, and my babies. So, I’m okay, but I’ve been better.”
“You look beautiful.”
“I know. I can see myself in your eyes.”
Poet doesn’t want to frown, but he can’t help it. I probably sound insane. I feel a little insane, but I’m also excited because soon I’ll see my babies in non-womb/mutant form.
Chipper disappears for a few minutes to film his niece and nephew. I don’t see him go, but I feel the emptiness behind me when he’s gone. I don’t worry. Poet will protect me. It’s what I couldn’t see when I panicked earlier. He’s in charge of the room, keeping watch over me and the babies.
Never have I trusted anyone more.
POET
I don’t cry like a bitch when I first see my kids. Or even when I hold them later in Cricket’s recovery room. I’m so freaked out by the suddenness of our being at the hospital and then Cricket’s panic in the operating room that I don’t truly relax for hours. I’m a fricking rock through all chaos of the surgery where my woman is cut open, and my babies take their first breaths. Hell, even when my dad and Justice drive in from Tumbling Rock and arrive a few hours after their birth, I don’t crack. Though my dad pushes me close when he tells me how I’ve done a damn fine job and my kids are lucky to have me as their father. Yeah, my inner cool impresses me.
