“What…”
Linc’s phone made a ding-dong sound, indicating that he had a voicemail from the same number that had called earlier.
“Why do you have the hospital calling you?” I questioned, showing him the phone.
Linc frowned. “That’s the hospital?”
I nodded. “All numbers at the hospital start with 315.” I pointed out. “And they’ve left you like seven voicemails over the last two months.”
He shrugged.
“Just listen to it, Jesus,” Hoax growled.
“I just figured that it was more reporters. I nearly blocked the number, honestly. But my agent…”
The phone rang in his hand, and he sighed. “My agent/publicist says I should keep them in case we need to use them for harassment charges. Speaking of…”
He pressed the answer button, and then put the phone on speaker as he placed it on his thigh.
“Hello, Elouise,” Linc drawled, sounding tired.
“I think we can spin it so that you two were role-playing,” Elouise began without preamble. “But, although you were able to find someone to get all the photos off the Internet, people aren’t likely to forget that it happened. I’ll just spin it so that an overzealous reporter took an anonymous tip that you were at a certain hotel, and took it upon themselves to break in. The manager was fired, as well as two housekeepers. It was a tragedy. But, you also have to pay them loss of wages until they find a new job. I gave them six months to do it. That okay?”
I closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes,” I answered instantly. “I’ll do anything.”
Anything to make it to where my relationship with Conleigh stayed healthy, and I didn’t have to bring charges against Tara.
I wouldn’t be sending that woman to jail.
I also wouldn’t be sitting by so that Tantor and her father could continue to use her.
Surprisingly, her biggest advocate was Liner, who was suspiciously absent tonight from the club dinner that we had just finished.
“That’s good.” Elouise yawned. “I’m going to bed now. Don’t do anything stupid tonight so that I’m allowed to get a full night’s sleep. I haven’t been able to do that in at least two months.”
Then she was gone, leaving the room around me quiet.
Since it was, I went ahead and listened to the latest voicemail that the so-called hospital had left just moments before.
I pressed play and then speaker and waited.
“Mr. and Mrs. James, this is Linda Haywood with Good Shepherd Laboratory. I’m calling to inform you of your test results. I’ve tried to reach you multiple times over the last couple of months, and this will be my final attempt to make contact. There was a positive on the pregnancy test, and the hormone levels ranged in the…”
I missed what else she said because my brain was hyper-focused on one word.
Pregnant.
“Well, shit,” Hoax murmured. “My head doesn’t hurt anymore. Imagine that.”
I felt the ring in my pocket burning a hole in the fabric and wondered if she would think that I was asking her to marry me just because she was pregnant.
But I felt so much joy at the thought of her carrying my child inside of her that I wasn’t too worried.
And I couldn’t stop myself from doing what I did next.
I dropped down to my knee and stared into Conleigh’s wide-eyed face.
Shoving my hand into my pocket, I took the ring out and placed it on her knee.
“I was going to do this later, but I didn’t want you to think that I went out and got it really quick just because you were pregnant…” I looked into her eyes. “Conleigh Reins, I love you with all of my heart. Will you marry me?”
Wade made a gagging sound, and Hoax started to cough.
I shot them both a glare and when I looked back at Conleigh, it was to see her slipping the ring on her finger as calm as could be.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Epilogue
Are you fine being hugged while you pee? That’s a question you should ask yourself before having kids.
-Conleigh to Linc
Linc
I was busting ass to get to the auditorium on time.
I was late.
So. Fucking. Late.
Sweat dripped down my face, and I was fairly sure I looked like I’d just come straight from practice—which I had.
I just made it to the auditorium doors when I heard the wailing scream of what had to be my child coming from the opposite direction.
Frowning, I moved until I saw my wife leaning over a trash can, our four-month-old child in her arms as she lost her lunch—likely for the hundredth time.
I came up behind her and easily scooped my child into my arms.
Then I placed my other hand on Conleigh’s back.
“You okay?”
She moaned and leaned up, her eyes finding mine, face green.
“I’ve been better.”
I held my mouth closed tight to keep the smile from breaking free. If she saw me smile, she’d kill me.
“Our girl up yet?” I asked.
Conleigh wiped at her mouth and shrugged. “I left just as they were taking the stage. That was about a minute and a half ago. Sasha looks so cute in her little tutu.”
I took Conleigh’s hand. “Let’s go.”
She came, her head leaning against my bicep as she shuffled behind me and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I hate you’ under her breath.
I snorted and looked down at our other daughter, Mila.
She was an exact replica of Conleigh in every way, while Sasha was mine.
I wondered idly what the third one that we were having would look like, and I couldn’t decide which kiddo was cuter.
“Oh,” Conleigh whispered. “Get a picture!”
I handed Mila over just as the music started, then pulled my phone out and opened up the camera.
Mila started to cry again, and I looked over just in time to see Conleigh go green in the face just as she was about to gain her seat.
The handoff happened fast, and I found myself with an armful of hiccupping—but no longer crying since she had her daddy—baby in my arms, and Conleigh running out of the auditorium with her hands covering her mouth.
So, I might have knocked her up again.
I kind of liked her that way, though.
All of our children were going to be very close in age, and there was something to say about Conleigh, barefoot and pregnant, cooking me breakfast that I just fucking loved.
The music got louder as the lights on the stage got brighter, and that was when I saw my girl.
Sasha, my little tiny ballerina, was on the stage, and she was not happy.
Her teacher was trying to get her to perform, yet whenever the teacher would move on to the next step she’d look away.
My girl was exactly like her mama. There was no performance gene in her entire little body.
Each time the teacher would move, she’d turn her little face the other way, the same glaring pout on her cute mug that hadn’t shifted since I’d gotten there.
Knowing that Sasha would be sad if she didn’t perform her routine like we’d practiced so many times at home, I stood up and turned to the man at my side.
“Take her.”
I tried to hand the baby off to Bayou, but the moment that I even acted like I was going to let go of her, Mila started to scream.
Sighing, I did what any daddy in that situation would do.
I took her with me to the front and waved at Sasha when her pouting face found me.
“Dance!” I whisper-yelled at her.
Sasha shook her head vehemently.
That’s when I knew what I would have to do next.
I hopped up on stage—I mean, it was only family and friends there anyway, what would it hurt? —and helped my daughter do her dan
ce.
Only, what I didn’t realize, was that the press had followed me in. Oh, and of course, they’d gotten the entire thing on tape.
My daughter and I were an international dancing phenomenon by the next morning, and we hadn’t even realized that we were performing for the world.
My daughter could care less.
I only prayed that Conleigh wouldn’t disembowel me when she found out.
She didn’t, but only because I’d made a damn fool of myself in the process.
***
Later that night, after our children were in bed, I found my wayward woman on the back patio, swaying on the porch swing.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking over Conleigh’s shoulder.
“Looking at patio furniture on Wayfair,” she answered, looking back at me. “Why?”
I grinned. “You can’t shop for furniture off the internet. What if you get it here, and it sucks? What if it’s so uncomfortable that you refuse to sit on it?”
She frowned. “That’s…ludicrous. All couches are the same.”
My brows rose. “Um, no they’re not.”
She lifted her nose up at me. “I bought that one online.”
She pointed to the piece of shit that looked like my dog—and I didn’t even have a dog—took a shit on it. It was that outlandish.
“Did you know it was going to be that particular shade of brown?” I questioned.
She pursed her lips. “No. But…since I was new here, and I didn’t know anyone, I got the one I wanted because they had free delivery and setup. I thought that it was a normal brown.”
I chuckled. “That wouldn’t have happened if you’d have gone to an actual store. And, just sayin’, most stores have free delivery, too.”
If you asked for it, anyway. They weren’t going to advertise that it was free if you didn’t ask.
“Interesting.” She paused. “But I didn’t know of any stores in the area that sold patio furniture besides Lowe’s, and I don’t want to buy cheap shit that’s going to take fifteen years for me to put together and will most likely fall apart by the end of summer. I want stuff that’s going to last. Stuff that’ll still be good next summer, and the summer after that, and the summer after that.”
I lifted a strand of her hair and absently started to play with it.
She sighed and leaned her head back, her eyes closing as she groaned. “I love my hair being played with.”
I filed that little tidbit of information into my memory bank and started to mess around by braiding a few strands. “You could learn how to French braid, and then do my hair for me every morning. I hate ponytails, they make my head hurt by the end of the day.”
I made a mental note to look up YouTube videos on how to French braid later as well.
If it meant being with her more, then I’d do it in a heartbeat.
“I’ll get right on that,” I teased. “But, from what I’ve heard, French braiding takes small, nimble fingers—and that’s something I don’t have.”
She gently extracted her hair from my hand and examined the braid. “It looks really good to me and let me tell you something. Your fingers are nimble. I’ve seen you throw a football. Catch a bad snap. That takes skills. Your fingers are works of art. I damn well know that if you wanted to, you could make beautiful braids.”
She was teasing—at least partially—but I had a feeling that she really meant what she said.
Not to mention the blush on her face also indicated what she was thinking my fingers could also do—like what I’d done the previous night.
“The girls asleep?” she asked.
I rounded the swing and took a seat next to her, pulling her in close and twisting my head so that I could drop a kiss on her forehead.
“Yes,” I answered, eyes closing. “They’ve been asleep for about twenty minutes now. I was watching them sleep.”
She snorted. “I think you watch them sleep more than you sleep yourself.”
That was true.
I did watch them sleep quite a bit.
“Did you get the house cleaned up to your standards?” I teased.
She sighed. “Our parents will be here tomorrow for Sasha’s birthday. I can’t have a dirty house when they come over.”
I refused to point out that we’d had the cleaning lady come and clean it twice this week, once because it was her normal day to do it, and once because Conleigh had seen a smudge of dirt on a baseboard and called her back out to clean all over again.
Needless to say, Conleigh was a taskmaster when she was pregnant, and I had no one to blame but myself for that one.
“If this baby is a girl,” Conleigh yawned. “We’re getting a bigger house.”
I snorted.
We were still in the same house that we’d started at in the beginning—my three-bedroom two-bath non-fancy home. But, she was right. If this one was a girl—which I somehow knew it would be—then we needed a bigger house. A boy would be comfortable in the office that we’d turned into a small baby room, but a girl would need room. Something that I already figured out when their closets filled up with their clothes.
But it wasn’t just Conleigh buying the dresses—GOD, so many dresses!—it was my stepmother and Conleigh’s mother as well. Hell, even my dad bought the girls things!
“I’ve been telling you for two years now that we needed a new place, but you were adamant that we hang out in this one until we outgrew it,” I teased.
Her head shook as she laughed. “It has sentimental value.”
It did.
That I agreed with.
“You know,” Conleigh said around another yawn as she typed something into the search engine on the computer. “You have more hits with Sasha than you did with that little baby you held as I took her blood. Did you see?”
Then Conleigh pulled the YouTube video up and showed me, embarrassing me all over again.
“God, I look like a dweeb.”
I’d been wearing my shorts hiked up because I couldn’t get down far enough to show Sasha how to do the movements correctly without doing so, and I had my long socks from practice on that came halfway up my shins.
That, and our daughter had thrown up on me halfway through the performance.
But, the world loved it.
“At least they got something good this time,” I muttered. “It could be like when you gave birth to Mila and that paparazzi got a big ol’ vagina shot.”
Luckily the club members—Hoax being the main one—had caught the reporter before he could do anything with the picture.
The only one to see the shot had been me when I’d deleted it from the camera and destroyed the camera card for good measure.
She pinched me in the chest. “Shut up.”
I did, but only because I wanted to kiss her.
“I love you, Conleigh James.”
She sighed. “I love you, too, Lincoln James. Even though you have weird camera guys following me around and taking crotch shots.”
I laughed. “He paid for that.”
And he did.
I’d kicked his ass, and Hoax had helped me.
It’d been the last time that a reporter had tried to take any such shots of my wife and kids since.
And I hoped it stayed that way.
If it didn’t, I’d just make another example out of the next photographer that thought he could violate my privacy like that all over again.
Because in the end, I’d do anything to protect my family, even risk prison time.
What’s Next?
Listen, Pitch
Book 3 in The There’s No Crying in Baseball Series
Chapter 1
My hobbies include putting on my pajamas as soon as I get home.
-Henley’s secret thoughts
Henley
I put the finishing touches on my turkey sandwich and was about to take the first delicious bite when the music started next door
.
I stared in utter horror at the wall that separated my duplex from the one next door. It vibrated and I started running.
This could not be happening. This could not be happening. This could not be happening.
I kept chanting to myself as I ran, staring wide-eyed at the door, and then the sidewalk, followed shortly by the grass, as I rounded the small dividing fence that separated my yard from my neighbor.
I hadn’t actually met this neighbor. In fact, I hadn’t really met any of my neighbors. I worked nights, and normally when people were out during the day, I was sleeping. I didn’t bother to switch to days when I wasn’t working—what would be the point?
I was a mail sorter at the post office, and worked every night of the week, and was off on weekends.
Every night but this night.
I lived with my sister. My sister was the woman that paid the bills—at least for the duplex, seeing as it was hers.
Although I made a pretty penny at fifteen dollars an hour, I wasn’t making big money like my big sister, Alana. Alana was a nurse at the hospital and worked the night shift. When she was working, which was only three days a week, my mother watched her child.
Only, this week, my mother had the flu. Incidentally, Alana’s daughter, Autumn, gave it to her.
We had two of the four females in our family down for the count, and nobody else could watch Autumn but me and my sister. Since my sister had already called in three times this week, I’d told her that I would call in seeing as her shift supervisor was an asshole and liked to make everything about him.
Though, now would be the time to mention that her shift supervisor was her ex-husband. Her baby daddy. Oh, and the reason that she had the job in the first place.
Regardless, her ex should’ve understood. In fact, he should’ve fucking helped.
Did he? No. Why? Because he was a titty baby and refused to be around her when she was sick.
Which was honestly quite comical seeing as he worked at the goddamn hospital with sick patients.
The noise from the party had me almost covering my ears due to the pitch. It was so loud that I could feel it in my bones.
I was different than the majority of human population. I processed things differently compared to everyone else.
Absentmindedly, I reached up and started to fiddle with the speech processor that was being partially hidden by my hair.
Talkin' Trash (The Bear Bottom Guardians MC Book 2) Page 21
