Inevitably Yours (Imagine Ink Book 4)

by Verlene Landon

  Walker threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just the messenger, you know Erika will attack me with a million questions when I hit the door. How does she really look? Were her ankles swollen? Does she have bags under her eyes? Is she taking her vitamins? And you know if I don’t have the answers, she’ll have my nuts in a vise.”

  The laugh that bubbled up from Gus took her by surprise. It was true. Erika was intense, to say the least. There were lists all over the house to prove the point. She had made Gus a list for everything, practically scheduling her bathroom trips for optimum efficiency during pregnancy.

  “Well, you can report back to the List Dictator of the Florida Panhandle that I look marvelous. And make sure you say it just like that, in that Billy Crystal voice, too. My ankles are slightly swollen, but not to the point they indicate any medical issue other than what we are already aware of. Remind her I have always had bags under my eyes. I take my vitamins according to the list she made me, which is still attached to the refrigerator with a pizza magnet, exactly where she left it. Oh, and I have dropped caffeine completely and plan to continue for three months or so post-partum when I can hopefully pump enough milk from my udders to feed this Wellington/Ramirez child for months.”

  The humor in her voice cut the tension that had somehow managed to build to an almost suffocating level. That was typical whenever she and John were in the same room. It always created tension; it just shifted from sexual to strained since the pregnancy announcement.

  After sending the guys to the den to rearrange her gym equipment that didn’t need to be rearranged, she turned her attention to Stacy. Crossing her arms and resting them on the top of her belly, Gus asked her friend the question she needed answered, “And how, pray tell, is any of this helping me achieve my ultimate goal. Go ahead, Miss Know-It-All, enlighten me with your wisdom.”

  Stacy launched herself at Gus, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “Woohoo, way to grow a pair, Pixie. I can see I’m rubbing off on you. You almost said fuck, I can feel it, it’s only a matter of time.”

  Rolling her eyes, but smiling too, Gus embraced her friend with equal enthusiasm.

  “You rubbing off on me? I beg to differ, counselor; you hugged me; that is huge. No prompting, no obligated return embrace, just you, all you, in the moment. You threw yourself into my arms because you wanted to. Admit it, it’s the other way around.” Stacy disengaged, went to the refrigerator, and grabbed the OJ, then poured them each a glass.

  “Okay, fine, there is mutual rubbing. Ooo, Pixie, that sounds deliciously dirty.” When Gus didn’t blush as she would’ve before meeting Stacy, she realized her mistake before she pointed it out.

  Raising her glass in a toast, Stacy continued, “See, mutual rubbing, resulting in reciprocal transference. Happy?” Stacy swigged her juice and indicated Gus should do the same. When the glass remained untouched, Stacy looked confused.

  “I can’t really stomach OJ much anymore; it gives me heartburn. I just bought it out of habit and hoped that maybe I’ll hit a phase where it won’t raise a fire in my gut. I haven’t yet.” Stacy’s shoulders slumped. Gus reached for her. “What’s wrong, hon?”

  “It’s just another way I’m lacking in the whole woman department. I have an amazing man and an awesome teenage daughter that I love more than life itself, but I don’t even know the basics of pregnancy. Of course, orange juice would give you heartburn. Women should know these things. I—”

  “Seriously, you are turning in your ovaries over orange juice? What’s this really about, Stace? You’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so why now?”

  “You’re right, Pixie. The thing is, I know I’m being ridiculous, but all y’all are so…motherly…for lack of a better term. You’re artificially knocked up, but knocked up all the same—”

  “Geez, you make it sound so...beautiful.”

  Stacy rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean—you’re knocked up, Walker and Erika have Willow, even Tori and Michael are actively trying to become parents.” At Gus’ questioning look, Stacy elaborated, “Oh yeah, and they have no qualms sharing all the details of their practice runs. I swear, as much as those two claim to be fucking, her uterus should have a quicker turnover rate than a by-the-hour hotel near the airport.”

  Gus contained her amusement, hoping Stacy would get to the point quickly, so she could get back to her problem at hand. Apparently, pregnancy not only caused her jealousy to flare, but it made her selfish, too.

  “It’s just that…I don’t want Macy to feel like she isn’t enough for us, which I don’t think she will or that being her step-mom isn’t fulfilling or that we want to replace—”

  “But you and Dax want to try for a baby?”

  “Yes, well, no. I mean, I told Dax no, but the truth is, I want it more than anything, I just, don’t know how.”

  “Well, start with lingerie—”

  A snort-laugh interrupted Gus. “That’s not what I mean, you smart ass bitch. I mean, I don’t know how to do the whole baby-momma thing. I’ve only ever had to come in and deal with a teenager. And so, I keep putting Dax off. And yes, before you say it, I know Macy would be thrilled at the idea. She is the most well-adjusted kid I know, hell, I know adults that aren’t as stable as she is. Really, I’m afraid I just don’t have that tender mom gene needed to have a baby. So, I guess I am using her as an excuse not to try.”

  Augusta Rain Thorne shocked herself at the words that flew from her mouth in anger. “That’s fucking bullshit, Stacy, and we both know it. You have a bigger heart than anyone I know; you just pretend you're a hard-assed bitch. You’ve had to for so long, you’ve finally convinced yourself it’s fucking true. Listen to me, and you listen good. The Stacy I know doesn’t fear anything. She takes every challenge that comes her way and crushes it. If she wants to have a baby, she will, and no one will tell her otherwise. The Stacy I know will always find a way to have her cake and eat it too.”

  When Gus took a pause to breathe a second round of hormone-fueled dragon fire at her friend, she let Stacy’s shock register. As it did, her hands flew to her mouth, and she mirrored Stacy’s reaction at the curse-laden rant she just spewed.

  Stacy slow-clapped and whistled while Gus let her embarrassment settle over her like a cloak. She was not happy with her potty mouth, and she wasn’t thrilled to have lain into a friend who needed her compassion.

  “Way to go, Pixie. No one else could say that to me and get away with it. Plus, no one else has a chance of it sinking in, either. But I hope that helps you realize, when I say we are more alike than you think, we are. And I am not talking about your language. Nice f-bombing by the way—well-spaced, perfect inflection, and precisely delivered.”

  Stacy took Gus’ hands and looked her in the eye. “You talk about my heart, my determination, and need to protect myself, yet you don’t see those exact qualities in yourself. We’re the same, you and me. Two sides of the same coin, so to speak, we just don different masks to hide the same damn things.”

  As the truth of Stacy’s words washed over Gus, it renewed her determination to go for what she wanted in life.

  “Then, oh great and powerful shoe goddess, how do I take the mask off and get John to see me?”

  “I’m not sure anymore, Pixie. My brother is as hard-headed as they come, with good reasons, of course, but those are his stories to tell, not mine. He values honesty above all else, so this furniture ploy would never work for him. He would see it as dishonest. You need to get him alone, look him in the eye and tell him how you feel, and then point-blank ask him if he wants you the same way you do him. Or you could write him a do-you-think-I’m-pretty note. Check yes or no.”

  They shared a much-needed laugh, and Gus felt a little lighter than before, but the “his stories to tell” weighed on her. Everyone had stories, but it was the way Stacy said it that made her wonder if they were the kind of things that would be insurmountable.

  Walker and Michael returned with the new horse mats for the gym
floor. They laid them out and began the process of rearranging the equipment on top of it, and John had to admit Michael was right.

  He straightened and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Good call on the flooring. Just as shock absorbing as the foam flooring they sell for gyms.” Of course, Michael would know best; exercise was one of his areas of expertise.

  Michael puffed up at the compliment. “Yep, and at less than half the cost.” He added a hop to demonstrate the pride he had in his stamp on Gus’ room.

  John paused for a moment to enjoy Michael’s genuine happiness. It had been a long time coming. There was a connection between the two men that wasn’t present with the others. Michael reminded John of his brother, Troy—the brother he raised like a son, only to lose way too soon. You never get over losing someone you love, but when their suffering is so unbearable they take their own life, then, even making peace with it sometimes seemed impossible.

  Looking at Michael now gave him hope. There were parallels between Michael and Troy’s lives. They had both been raped by a woman, and no one understood the impact of it. Troy’s attacker accused him of the crime, and he was convicted and incarcerated. It was too much for the man who was barely an adult, and he ended his life in a dirty cell before his nineteenth birthday.

  Michael, however, was finally flourishing—happy, healthy—and that was the calm John latched onto. With the tenth anniversary of Troy’s death looming, Michael finding his way out of the darkness was allowing John to come to peace with his brother’s death. He couldn’t explain how or why—he was sure Gus or Tori could—but he couldn’t. John just knew it was a good thing, and he could use a good thing in his life about now.

  That contemplation ushered in thoughts of Augusta. Before he could throw himself a pity party, Walker interjected some much-needed levity into John’s darkening mood.

  “So, Big Dax, what do you say we close the door and let your brothers here in on your little secret?” John had started to chuckle by the time Walker said “so.” It was the same thing every time they got in a room together.

  John had always known his sister was many things, traditional was most certainly not one. It seemed Stacy found her perfect match in Dax. He was about as far as you could get from typical too, just in a different way. One thing they were in total agreement on was the social convention of marriage. They were as married as any two people he knew, just without the legality of it. But they took the commitment to the extreme and decided on what they called “claiming tattoos.”

  He shuddered every single time he thought about his sister’s. It was nothing a brother ever wanted to dwell on for sure, but to each their own. According to Stacy, Dax tattooed exact replicas of his ears on her upper, inner thighs. Not that John had caught more than a glimpse, or would want to, because as far as he was concerned, his sister only existed from the neck up. Though Dax never tired of teasing him about Stacy being so much more.

  Knowing Stacy, her claiming mark on Dax would make his look like child’s play. As of now, only Stacy, Dax, and Walker—by default of being the artist—knew what Dax’s tattoo was. And Walker hadn’t shut up about it in the months since he did the work. He was always dropping hints and trying to get Dax to drop trou. That, at least, gave a clue to the region, so it had to be hilarious considering the couple.

  “You might as well show them on your terms, big guy, or else Walker will bust out the pictures and project them on the wall at the next Reid family barbecue.” Stacy’s voice from the door captured everyone’s attention. Everyone except John. His interest wasn’t on the woman leaning against the door jamb with her arms folded over her chest, it was on the glowing woman behind her to the left.

  Augusta was a vision of maternal bliss, intriguing innocence, and womanly wiles all wrapped up in a petite package. She dyed her short golden locks a shocking magenta with purple tips before the pregnancy, which had now faded to a soft pink and lavender. It wasn’t something John would normally find attractive, but on Augusta, it just added to the illusion that she was a pixie, as his sister called her.

  John’s mind drifted further down the rabbit hole. He realized he had never found a color to describe her eyes, even to himself. He just closed his lids and saw it, but if anyone were to ask, he would have been lost. The same was true with her skin, her lips, her…everything. It seemed her hair was the only thing he could detail with words, everything else was just burned into his mind in Technicolor clarity.

  When she gifted him a timid smile, he realized he was staring, and it seemed the other occupants of the room were content to stand silently by while he did so. Asses.

  “Donald Trump’s bad comb-over. If it will finally shut you guys up, then fine, but then we’re done.” Dax’s ire seemed faked. His words said anger; his face said pride. Yep, perfect match for Stacy.

  “Excuse me, did he just say—” Augusta’s soft, lyrical voice inquired.

  Stacy waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, this month it’s politicians, last month was fictional law enforcement, next month, who knows. Okay, babe, show ‘em.”

  John’s eyes were glued on Augusta. When she averted her gaze and started snickering, he took that opportunity to appreciate the movement of her growing breasts without anyone noticing him leering. Almost immediately, the room erupted.

  Stacy was clapping her hands like a child on Christmas morning. John ripped his attention from the hall and turned it toward the gym. In the middle stood Dax, jeans around his ankles, shirt lifted up, and embarrassment apparent, even under all that facial hair.

  Right there on his right ass cheek, in photo-realism, were two strips of bacon. John turned toward his sister and raised an eyebrow. When she finally noticed, she took on an air of innocence, complete with shrugged shoulders and open expression. “What, I love the fuck out of that ass.”

  Chalk it up to Gus’ presence diverting the blood from his brain, but it took him a moment to put it all together. Growing up dinfast—cooking breakfast for dinner—meant love, a way of taking care of each other. It was one of the memories of their parents that had endured all these years. It was also how Stacy was first able to express her true feelings to Dax. So, when she said she loved his ass, she showed it with bacon.

  When all this finally clicked in John’s brain, he joined the hilarity, which was still in full swing. Walker was holding his side and spoke between bouts of laughter, “Thank fuck you finally caved, bro. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep that to myself.”

  Dax pulled his pants up—thank God, since he was commando. I’ll take things I didn’t need to know about my sister’s man for five hundred, Alex.

  “Go ahead and yuck it up.” After re-dressing, he went to Stacy and kissed her cheek. The glow in her eyes did John’s heart good. She found her happiness, and he suffered a moment of weakness brought on by it. If Stacy could find a happily ever after with her anti-relationship stance, then maybe I can too.

  John’s attention returned to Augusta, as it always did. Letting his mind wander freely to the possibilities put a flutter in his gut, until his gaze landed on her rounded belly. The flutter transformed into a lead weight, sinking his momentary hope and poisoning his blood.

  Dax was still speaking, but John barely heard. “My woman loves me, and if a little bacon on my ass makes her happy, then she can tattoo a whole breakfast platter on there, for all I care.” Then they started making out like their ship was going down.

  John shifted his gaze up. His eyes collided with Augusta’s since she was staring at him intently. A sad, borderline horrified look overtook her hazel eyes. That, coupled with the protective hold she engaged around her belly, told him she had been staring for a while and was misunderstanding, yet again, his disappointment at her condition.

  John opened his mouth to explain, but it was so dry, not even a squeak exited. Augusta gave him a sad smile and managed to stoop down, while steadying herself with a hand to the wall, to pick up Lynyrd, who was circling her legs. When she regained her feet, she turned
toward the kitchen.

  He sneezed and followed her down the hall. Bacon, Dax’s ass, gym equipment…all of it faded into the background. Augusta was hurting, and it was his fault. He was afraid he’d continue to cause her pain until he could get a grip on his feelings about this pregnancy. Maybe he would have to make himself scarce until she brought the baby into this world and then find a way to let it all go.

  Right, like that is ever going to happen. If I could forget it, I’d have done so by now and saved us all a whole helluva lotta heartache.

  John’s eyes were already watering and the occasional sneeze interrupted the relative calm of that end of the house. The fact he wasn’t rapid-fire sneezing and his eyes hadn’t swollen shut yet was a testament to his immunotherapy working. But his allergies weren’t completely suppressed, so he spoke to Augusta’s back without fear of startling her.

  “Where’s Skynyrd?” John hated to admit his fondness for that asshole cat, but he couldn’t help himself. Of course, his affection was based on the introduction to him rather than the cat’s glowing personality. He watched Augusta feed Lynyrd and speak to him as if he were a baby. His heart traveled back in time to that first moment she had looked at him with that sparkle in her eyes—a look that John now recognized, though he refused to use the word.

  Augusta had called him frantic after hitting a stray cat during a storm. He showed up, and between the two of them, managed to get the damn thing to the vet, despite his allergy and brand new leather interior. The passenger seat, door panel, and console were replaced after that. Between the blood and the scratches, there was no salvaging them, but it was worth it. Augusta wouldn’t let the cat out of her sight ever since. That…thing was a terror to everyone except her. With her, he was a genuine pussy cat. She has that effect on males, even me.

  That was the night John noticed she looked at him the same way she did the cat, like she recognized something loveable and redeemable that no one else could see. John believed once she saw that part of someone, she would never give up until she rescued them. But the hurt in her eyes he witnessed moments ago made him question if that were still true.