by Tarin Lex
Nothing is ever really okay, isn’t it. Not forever. Moments are transient—fickle. Moments don’t make promises.
If anything it’s all too good to be true.
Four
Krae
“How sure are you that I’m the father?” I have to ask. I don’t mean it to be offensive but I have to ask.
Candice takes it in stride. “I haven’t been with anyone else in, gosh, a year? It’s not like me at all to do that kind of thing, y’know. It has to be you.”
I believe her. “It was a fun night, wasn’t it?”
Her cheeks turn pink, adorably, and she smiles into her Diet Coke. “Yeah. It was.”
The server comes by to refill our glasses. “Your dinner’s almost ready. Can I get you more bread?”
“Please.” I hand her the basket and she skitters off.
“Thanks,” Candice says, shyly. I proffer a grin. I can’t believe how beautiful she is right now. I had so many questions. She’s in her second trimester, still feeling morning sickness which I learn is a misnomer for intense wooziness and fatigue that lasts ’round the clock. She’s not wearing maternity clothes yet but there’s a noticeable bump. It’s cute, even kind of…sexy. Pregnancy isn’t a kink I typically go for, but with Candice, I could. I want to.
“We should get to know each other,” I prompt. “Sure we’ve talked. But I don’t even know how old you are.”
“Twenty-four.”
“I’m thirty-three.”
“Oh,” she says. “Nine years.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” She does look young, but not young young. Now I wonder if she thinks I look old.
“No, it doesn’t matter. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One brother. His name’s Drake. His wife, Harlow, she’s the one who made the flowers for you.”
“Do they have children?”
“Triplets,” I tell her. “Just over a year old. Crazy stage, but damn, I love those little monsters.” Her face lights up when I say that. “What about you, any siblings?”
“No. Only child.” Candice’s gaze goes askance, and she seems relieved by the distraction when the server comes back with more bread along with our meals. “Mm. This all looks so delicious,” Candice says.
I eye her garlic butter shrimp scampi and linguini tossed in white wine and lemon with red pepper flakes, and my mouth waters. Suddenly my usual chicken alfredo seems…uninspiring.
“Nice choice, babe. That does look good.”
“Yours too. Want to share it with me?” she offers, sweetly. “After a while we can trade plates.”
A few months ago I wasn’t willing to trade phone numbers with a woman. Now I’ve got the most gorgeous girl across from me, pregnant with my baby, asking if I’d like to trade plates.
“Hell, yeah,” I say to that.
“Cheers.”
We dive in, quiet except for the clang of silverware and the yummy sounds Candice makes with each savory-looking bite.
“Alright, I’m ready.” I lift my plate toward her, and we swap. “How long have you worked at the pub?” I ask, getting back to our question-and-answer.
“Six years.”
“Six years? Wow. That’s dedication.”
“It’s necessity. I don’t have a lot of other options.”
“Sure you do. You’re beautiful…”
She pulls a face. I’m not sure if it’s my comment or the alfredo that’s offended her. “Are you suggesting I become a hooker instead?” Ah, maybe it’s both.
“No. No. Of course not.” Christ, why would I say that? “I wasn’t suggesting anything. I was just saying. Just…observing, the fact that you’re beautiful.”
A beat of silence makes my heart slowly climb up to my throat. “Well,” she says finally, grinning a little. “Thanks. You’re…cute too.”
I sigh, relieved. “Do you at least enjoy working there, Candice?”
“Not particularly.” She shrugs, drowning a creamy bite with a swig of her Diet Coke. “What about you, Krae? I have no idea what you do for a living. Were you in Manchester for work?”
“I was. I had a bout two days after we…got together.” My gaze falls from her face toward her swollen belly, pausing for a glimpse of her nice, full tits. Two days after we made a baby.
“A bout of what?”
“A bout. Like, a fight. I’m a fighter.” I watch her face slowly change into an expression I haven’t seen there before. I can’t make it out. “You’ve heard of Fit to Fight?”
“No…”
“Mixed martial arts?”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“Joking? No, babe. I’m a freestyle wrestler, I train with some of the best right here in Texas. Including my brother.”
“Drake,” she says flatly.
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll be familiar with the terminology in no time.” I pause for a few satiating bites of the scampi. “Before Junior arrives.”
“Junior?” she echoes.
I shrug. “You’re right, it could be a girl, I realize that. I’m anxious to find out, aren’t you?” I ask around a mouthful of glorious shrimp. “Even so. There’s tons of badass female fighters now. To think, I could be training a future title holder in just a couple of years—”
“Stop!” Candice forcefully drops her utensil, and when I finally stop carrying on senselessly and look up at her, I’m met with narrowed eyes and her lips set in a fine, hard line. “I know what Fit to Fight is,” she hisses. “I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re a fighter. It’s so barbaric. It’s so, so—” She makes a face that’s half disgust, half something else. Something that’s borderline…hate.
“Barbaric?” I repeat, incredulous. “You’re kidding.” And it’s my turn to assertively set down my fork. “Fewer things require the discipline, the focus, the years of work. Hard, hard fucking work to get where I’m at!” my voice raising with every word.
“That’s fine! Fine! Good for you!” Candice says, punctuating the syllables. She’s not the first woman I’ve ever argued with. But she’s the first Brit. And as irritated as I am by what she’s saying right now, I admit I’m a little unnerved by her. She’s got fire in her that’s different from anything I’ve been up against before.
“It is good for me, Candice. Yeah it’s a crazy life sometimes. But I love it. I worked hard, I had a vision of my future and I reached out and fucking took it. So yeah.”
“Well I’m glad you’re happy. But no one is teaching my child to fight.”
Heat rushes up to the roof of my head when she says that. She doesn’t want me sharing my passion with my kid? That’s more than disappointing. That makes me feel all kinds of… suck.
“That’s my child too,” I grind out, just as the server sidles up to our table and hands me the check, warily. “Fuck,” I growl. “Fuck,” shaking my head. “This was a mistake.”
A heavy silence comes over us, I snatch the book and shove my AMEX into the holder, slam it shut and then finally look over into Candice’s eyes again. Those pretty orbs are shining with tears. My heart cracks. I’m still angry as hell. But geez. I shouldn’t have said that. Of all things. I shouldn’t have fucking said that.
It’s no surprise when Candice quietly clutches her purse and stands up. She smooths a hand down her shirt, to her hip, never peeling her gaze off me. The look in her blue eyes says everything. Don’t get up. Don’t follow me. She mops her tears with the back of her hand.
“You’re right, Krae. This was a mistake.”
Amazingly composed, Candice turns away, with her chin up high, and marches out of the restaurant.
Five
Candice
I catch a Lyft back to his condo, punch in the code and climb inside through the second-story kitchen window. I have nowhere else to go, but I pack up the few items I’d unpacked earlier except my origami papers. I sprawl them out on the guest bed, and fold, and fold.
A boat to take me far away.
A ladybird. For luck.
For love.
A crown. Because I’ll never let another man take me down. Not even Krae. I fold the corners over the pleats, and my chest folds over my heart. A protective shield. A barricade.
By the time he comes home the guest bedroom looks like a weird little zoo. Rabbits, butterflies, hummingbirds, swans. A narwhal that took me three tries to get it right.
“Ladybug. How’d you get in?” Krae says, amicably. He doesn’t seem surprised I’m here.
“I jumped over the balcony,” I answer without looking up. I give a half-shrug. “Then I came in through the window over the kitchen sink.”
“Impressive.”
“I wish you’d told me sooner,” I tell him, my fingers working mindlessly on a cute fox for the baby to look at. “I never would’ve…” I let my voice trail off. In hindsight I know it’s a lie. I don’t regret any choice I’ve ever made now that I have a baby inside me. I never knew how badly I wanted to be a mum until I saw that second faint blue line appear. Now there’s nothing I’d do differently to alter the course.
“Why do you hate it so much, Candice?”
“It’s barbaric.”
“You said that already.”
“That’s how I feel.”
“Why?” he presses. Finally I look up at him.
“You hurt people—for sport.”
“Sometimes I get hurt too.”
“So you’re a masochist?” I challenge.
“No. I don’t get off on getting hurt. I don’t get off on hurting people either, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
“You’re the mother of my child,” he says in a low voice, rough like gravel. “That child is mine—and so are you.”
My heart wobbles in my chest when he makes that declaration. His words from the pub resound in my head. They’ll fall in love and are meant to be together forever.
With long breaths meant to steel my nerves, I finish the fox, sharpening the creases so his ears and feet stay pointed. I set him on the nightstand next to the pillow I’m leaning against.
“I was with a fighter once,” I admit. “Two of them actually. Not like you, not a professional. He was a bully, they both were.”
Krae is silent even as I stop speaking to gather the rest of my thoughts. He comes to sit next to me on the bed. Not so close we’re touching. But close enough I breathe in his heady scent. Close enough whatever gravitational force he’s harnessing lassos my heart and makes me want him to stay right there. Makes me wish I could fall against him.
This man should’ve come with a trigger warning.
“Somebody hurt you?” Krae says, a kind of possessiveness mixed with vengeance in his tone.
“He was strong, and handsome, like you. He had a certain… charm. But he reserved that charm for strangers. I made the mistake of getting close.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Krae bites out.
“That’s not what he’d say, always before he beat me,” I murmur. I slide my gaze over to Krae’s face, hesitant to look him in the eye until now.
“I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t fight for what it does for them. I fight for what it does for me. And when I tell you I never, ever lay a hand on a woman, I mean it,” he says, never taking his eyes off mine. He looks mad but that ire isn’t directed at me. It’s rage he’s holding inside of himself. Toward someone else. Toward them.
“When I tell you I never strike in anger, I mean it, babe,” Krae says adamantly.
“And when I tell you that you never have to be afraid of me, that our child will never have to be afraid—I mean it.
“And when I tell you that you will never get hurt like that again—I mean it.
“And. When. I. Tell. You,” he punctuates, darkly, “if I ever come face to face with whoever did those things to you I will hurt them tenfold—that’s a promise.”
“Well…” I whisper, “one of them is locked up.”
“Good,” he barks.
“The other one is my father.”
Hot tears spring to my eyes when I make that confession out loud. I never told another soul. I kept that trauma locked inside and buried deep, deeper than where I could ever feel it hurting me again.
Until now.
Krae scoots closer and pulls me into his arms. I lay my head against his chest, where I can feel his heart pounding out of it. I sob, quietly. It’s enough.
“You’re safe with me,” Krae soothes. His voice made edgy with possession, and hatred I don’t imagine he’ll ever let go of. “Both of you are safe now.”
Six
Krae
I wasn’t going to let her go back. I’d bought a one-way ticket, intent to keep her and our unborn child here with me even before I knew the rest.
Now that I know, there’s no way in fuck I’m sending her back to Manchester. Any roots she’d had over there—a couple of close friends, her favorite bookstore and chocolatier—can come to us. Her girlfriends can visit anytime they want, I’ll buy ’em a ticket. I mean that. Candice can order books and chocolate to her heart’s content.
Long as she stays right here where I can keep an eye on her.
Where I can keep her.
We haven’t slept together since she arrived a week ago. It’s killing me to resist her, day in, day out, but it’s what we need to do right now. Talk, without distractions. Get to know each other’s quirks. Find a new rhythm, together.
And she needs to trust me. She needs to feel safe and know that every word I said was true.
My coaches aren’t complaining, in fact they hope I stay abstinent for a while longer. For the sake of my performance. Turns out Candice torturing me for days on end does something very good to my strength and stamina.
Though it does a number on my cock.
We found a midwife just outside of Austin city limits and scheduled an appointment. We’re sitting in the waiting room now, waiting for the woman to call us back for Candice’s first ultrasound. There’s a chance we’ll find out if it’s a boy or girl in the sonogram, but the midwife said it’s still early for that, no promises.
I wrap my arm over Candice, and she rests her cheek on my shoulder. I watch her massage her hands together, interlace and untangle her fingers, then rub them over each other again.
“Why’re you nervous?” I ask. I can tell she’s yearning for her papers.
“Not nervous,” she says. “Excited.”
“The midwife said it’s still ear—”
“I know.”
“Candice Walker?” Midwife Teri strides toward us, and we stand up. She greets Candice with a warm hug. “You must be Dad,” she says to me.
Dad. It’s jarring the first time someone calls me that. But I like it a lot. “Yes, I’m Krae, nice to meet you.” We shake hands.
“Come on back.”
The birthing center feels more home than hospital. Candice lies down and Midwife Teri puts warmed jelly over her bump. My eyes fix to the large monitor, but nothing shows up before I hear a steady beep… beep… beep…
“Is that its heart?” I ask.
“That’s Mama’s heartbeat.” She hits a couple of other keys and a faster beep-beep-beep-beep overlays Candice’s rhythm. Midwife Teri smiles warmly. “That’s your baby’s.”
My heart swells like a balloon, speeding up to get in sync. Beep-beep-beep-beep. I could listen to that rapid-fire pulse of life forever.
Tears glisten in Candice’s eyes. I have to sit down. I take her hand and the baby appears on the monitor, looking fuzzy but practically all the way formed. Humanlike. Moving around in there.
“Can you feel that?” I ask Candice, amazed.
“Sometimes… I think so.”
“You’ll start to feel baby’s movements more and more over the next few weeks,” Midwife Teri says. “Everything looks perfect. You’re feeling well, Mama?”
“Yes,” Candice whispers, staring in awe at the image.
<
br /> “Do you two want to know the sex?”
“It’s not too early?” Candice and I trade wide-eyed looks of excitement.
“Baby’s in a good position, so we’re lucky. If you want me to tell you… or would you rather it be a surprise?”
“It’s already a surprise!” Candice giggles. She looks at me for confirmation and I eagerly nod. “Yes. We wanna know.”
Midwife Teri presses a button and the little printer comes to life, delivering our baby’s very first picture.
“Congratulations, Mom and Dad. You’re having a girl.”
#
It’s been two months since I’ve known I was going to be a dad, but for whatever reason the second I learn that we’re having a girl, something primal goes off in my chest. My girls. I need to keep them safe. I need to make certain of it.
Very carefully and mindfully, I start teaching Candice a few basic self-defense techniques back at my condo. She was more enthusiastic for me to coach her than I thought she’d be. Considering how our first martial-arts-related conversation went down. Maybe the same primal emotion rocked through Candice too. Or maybe we understand each other better now.
She’s in good shape, stronger than she looks and surprisingly flexible, but she’s still pregnant, I can’t get rough or spar with her for practice. But I can lay a foundation we can build upon later.
“Even after I have the baby, I’ll never be strong enough to take down a man,” Candice laments. “If someone comes after me…”
“I will do everything in my power to make sure that never happens, Love,” I tell her softly. “I’m not asking you to try and overpower an aggressor. Instead I want you to know how to disengage from them—and then run.”
“Okay.”
I demonstrate ways Candice can take control if ever a bigger, stronger person comes into her personal space or worse, actually grabs hold of her by her wrists, hair, or the back of her neck. It’s instinct to jerk away from the attacker, but not good instinct. The mere thought of anyone going after one of my girls infuriates me to no end. I have to work past that to make sure she’s prepared if it happens. It’s more motivation than I need, or care for.
