by W Winters
“Seth, I’m pregnant and—” I want to get it all out. All at once. It’s my intention, my plan. It’s the only way I see it getting through to him, the gravity of it all.
He cuts me off before I can say anything else. “You’re pregnant?” Shock lights in his red-rimmed eyes. His light blues shine back at me as they change to reflect nothing but happiness. I’m lost in those eyes. A gaze I have dreamed about for so, so long. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be so selfish, but I don’t press on when he interrupts me. I let him have that happiness. One of us should truly be happy.
His smile presses against my belly as he leans down, capturing all of me in his response. “You’re pregnant,” he says, no longer a question. The words resonate with gratitude. With his eyes closed, his lips pressed to my stomach, I lose it. I cry like I have never cried in my entire life.
“That’s why?” he asks me even through the smile on his face. “Babygirl, I’d say don’t cry, but that’s why? That’s why you’re so emotional?” he questions although the way he says it, it sounds like he’s convinced himself.
He’s so happy and lost in it, that I nod my head and breathe, “Yes.”
One lie. One lie. I can live with one lie to keep him here with me, holding me, happy and at peace. One of us should have it. His expression is filled with relief more than anything, but his smile never leaves. His handsome and perfect smile.
“I hope it’s a boy,” he tells me, wiping the corners of his eyes with the palm of his hand. “I don’t know what to do with a girl, so…” he trails off and sucks in a calming breath. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him like this. So overwhelmed with happiness. “I’ll be a good dad,” he says quickly when his smile vanishes. “I swear it to you.”
His pale eyes lose their shine for a moment and he asks, “Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
“No, no. I just…” I would say anything to make him smile again. “It was just so early. I—”
I don’t have time to finish because he cuts me off with a searing kiss. Stealing all my fear and giving me a moment with him that I thought days ago, would only be a dream. He only breaks the kiss to tell me he loves me and our baby and that we’re going to be fine. Better than fine.
“We have to get so much stuff,” Seth says as if he’s just realizing everything that comes along with a baby.
My heart is wretched as he looks down the hall, already planning. “We can use the guest room. It’s big enough for all his furniture and toys. All that… the diapers.”
“His?” I joke because it makes me smile and that keeps me from crying. “It’s far too early to know.” Although the look on my face must be torn between the two.
“I thought I lost you,” Seth breathes out. “I’m so happy right now. I don’t know how I could be happier.” There’s only sincerity from him. No fear, no anger, no worries in the least. “Oh my God, I love you so much and now we’re having a baby.”
“I love you too,” I tell him back and both love and hurt radiate through me.
“I promise I’ll be good for you two. I swear to it,” he whispers against my lips and I kiss him as hard as I can, holding him close to me before telling him I know he will.
As he lifts me into his lap, one thigh in each of his strong hands, I squeal in genuine giddiness. In this moment, I pretend. I pretend that I’m not sick. I don’t do it for him; I do it for me.
Because I want this so badly. That other version of us I saw in this room the first time he brought me here, they would be doing this. Right here, exactly as we are. I want that. I want that other life where we can have our happily ever after. A real one with all the bells and whistles.
“I love you so much,” I whisper in the dip of his throat and he’s quick to capture my lips in a kiss before telling me, “I love you more.”
Impossible.
Seth
I leave Laura where she is in the bed, feeling on top of the world. She’s sound asleep after hours of me worshipping her body.
Of all the scenarios I’d imagined, her being pregnant never occurred to me. Not once did I think that she was keeping that from me.
She said she wanted to be sure before telling me. She wanted the baby to be healthy and live past those first twelve weeks. She shouldn’t have had to carry that burden alone.
Never. She never has to carry the weight of anything alone.
The only reason I’m leaving her now is because Declan said his news couldn’t wait.
Whatever it is, whatever he found, it couldn’t wait.
The entire drive to the estate, I think about how I’ve never even held a baby. Not a little thing.
I hope it’s a boy. Although a little girl with Laura’s eyes would make the world stop. Shit, my heart feels like it’s exploding. I went from one extreme to the other, feeling like I was trapped in hell to being lost in heaven.
I can’t stop smiling. Even when I reach the estate, I can’t stop it. That’s why I sit there for longer than I should, and the only reason I get out of my car is because Declan comes out and walks toward me.
“Hey, sorry it took so long,” I start to tell him. Laura wants to keep it a secret, but how could I not tell everyone?
The look on Declan’s face is what finally rights me, what grounds me to the paved drive of this place and the merciless world I live in. He’s deathly pale and there’s not a hint of humor on his face.
“It’s the PO Boxes.” Declan starts talking before I can say another word. He’s got papers in his hands and he looks down to read one before getting frustrated. “Get in,” he says as he gestures to the car and pulls the handle of the passenger side before I can even unlock it.
The car beeps softly, the headlights flashing and by the time I’m sitting in the driver seat, he’s turned on the interior light above our heads.
“It’s been too long, do you blame me for what happened?” He reads the first line of the paper in his hand. It’s not folded but there are creases that show on the sheet.
“What is this?” I question him before he can read the next.
“Letters,” he says and shakes them in his hand. “Walsh didn’t lie to you. He’s been talking to Marcus. Marcus is the one who knew and told him.”
Blood drains from my face and I snatch the photocopies as Declan tells me, “Two weeks ago Walsh went to the PO Box.” He finally sits back in his seat but he stares blankly ahead as I read the lines of letters. Some in Marcus’s handwriting, others in a different style.
One starts Old Friend, the other No Longer Friend. Marcus refers to Walsh as No Longer Friend.
There are dozens in my hand but before I can ask, Declan tells me, “There are hundreds. He stores them there, but none postmarked from two weeks ago. He must have taken it with him to reply.”
“This is how he knew about Laura and me? It’s how he found out about us?”
Declan nods somberly and says, “It has to be. He photocopies the one he sends to Marcus and keeps them together. He’s been doing it for years. It looks like Marcus used to give him information.”
“What? Marcus is an informant?” No fucking way. My head spins with scenarios, including one where the FBI allowed him to get away with murder in order to keep tabs on other men in this world. Men like us.
“No, it’s in riddles. Like he was toying with Walsh and they developed a rapport. Marcus handed over men he wanted to get caught.”
It’s all in riddles and ciphers and we need more time for the rest, but we’ve already deciphered one code. Birds are protected, dogs are men to be killed.
He grabs the papers and flicks through them before picking one and reading.
“It’s heard I’ll lose you soon. Are you traveling far from the woods? The dogs are barking in a way that tells me you’ll leave them alone to roam. Tell me that can’t be true.”
He flicks to another page, the light casting down on his face and illuminating the letters.
“No, no, I’ve only given them the idea, I’m moving the
luggage. You know sometimes you must let mutts play in order to determine the breed.”
He only reads small passages of long letters. “He’s not going anywhere,” Declan tells me, his head still shaking as he swallows. “He’s letting the men beneath him think he is in order to see what they’ll do.”
“How do you know?” I question although the puzzle pieces of what he read line up, one after the other.
“It doesn’t make sense otherwise. You know Marcus. You know his riddles and the way he fucks with people. He must’ve sent Walsh a letter years ago and Walsh found a way to write back.”
“We’ve only been through a dozen from the last month, but they talk about us, Seth. They call us birds until months ago. This one,” he says and points to a page, tapping it and making it crinkle in the silent cabin, “this one has to be Carter.”
He reads the first halfway down the page. I know it’s Walsh’s writing. It’s a line that’s highlighted and I can already see the page beneath it has a highlighted line as well.
“I thought you said that bird was a friend? What did the thing do to warrant such hostility?”
“The Beast of a bird went after another, taking a small female. It flies so low; it must think it is truly a dog. I cannot have it in my woods. I told you, only birds must stay.” Moving to the page after, he reads, “I see the list of numbered dogs has changed, what did the one do to have vanished?”
“Numbered dogs?” I question, stopping him from continuing.
“There are numbers at the bottom of every letter, they have to be how Marcus identifies names to Walsh. We haven’t figured them out yet, but between the two letters Marcus sent to Walsh, one set of numbers disappeared.”
“Carter’s numbers?” I surmise. He nods and then continues, switching out the page and it’s another from Marcus. “The female belonged to him; you know birds have good memories. It appears they have mated.” He pauses, looking up at me to say, “He took her, Carter took Aria and it put him on Marcus’s list. But he took it back.”
The wealth of information in those letters is dangerous.
“How many have you gone through?” I ask him and then add, “How did you get these?”
“We broke in after closing, picked the lock, and took copies. It took hours and I don’t think Walsh knows, but Marcus does.”
“How do you know he knows?”
“He left a letter on Carter’s car at The Red Room. He was there. He addressed it, Beast.” Declan swallows before telling me, “He said to tell you to bring Walsh to him.” He glances at the house then back to me before closing his eyes. “It’s inside. You can read it… he calls you King,” he says and brings his palms to his eyes. “He said you would be the one to show Walsh to him. That it’s time the two of them met.”
Declan’s expression is devoid of anything but concern. I’m intimately familiar with his expression. It’s the look you give someone when they’ve been sentenced to die.
“Is that all he said?” He nods once. “Walsh wants to meet Marcus. Marcus wants us to bring Walsh to him. I need to read the note, but I am fine doing it.”
“Seth,” Declan warns, “I don’t trust it. We have information on him, we have intel no one else has ever known. I don’t think he’s going to let you walk away. He could have told Walsh to meet him.” He raises his voice when I shake my head. “He could do this on his own!”
“He likes to see if we’ll listen. You know that. He likes to give a demand and have it met.” This is the last piece of the puzzle for me. I bring Walsh to Marcus, I follow through on my word, and then I leave. I let it all go. For Laura and my baby. This is my way out.
“I have to do this,” I say, cutting him off as he rambles on about not trusting Marcus.
“Marcus has been focused on you. I don’t like it. I don’t like a damn—”
“He has, and now he can have me.”
“You could be walking to your death,” he tells me evenly although his voice cracks. He swallows so harshly I know he believes every bit of what he told me.
“I could be ending this,” I answer him in the same tone. “I need all this shit with them to end. When does he want to meet?”
“Tonight.”
Laura
“Where are you going?” I woke up to an empty bed. Just as my hand reached out to test if the sheets were still warm, I heard him in the room over.
I don’t tell him I saw the guns. Seth usually leaves with one on his waistband, but he grabbed two more today. He doesn’t think I pay attention but I do. His bruises and scrapes have all but healed, and I get the feeling he’s on his way to get fresh ones.
“Nowhere important, Babygirl. I’ll be back soon. Within hours.”
“How many times have you told me that?” I question him, crossing my arms and leaning against the threshold where the hall meets the living room.
With his boots tied up, he leans back on the sofa. Blue jeans, boots, and a button-down white shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows. The tats on his right arm show and it gets me all worked up.
“Come here,” he says then spreads his legs and pats them. It’s easy enough to go to him; it’s what I want more than anything. “It’s late.” I murmur the protest against his chest as I breathe him in.
Whatever he smells like, I’ll never grow tired of it.
“I know and I’m sorry, I have to do this tonight but then I’m staying in with you. We can be lazy together at night. Shit, we can be lazy together in the morning too.” A charming smile meets me when I look up at him. “I want to be lazy with you,” he tells me and I have to laugh. My shoulders jostle against his chest and I scoot in closer to him, one hand on my belly.
“I’m sorry it has to be tonight. Of all freaking nights,” he says, sounding as exasperated as I feel. “Don’t be mad at me.” He brushes my hair back behind my ear. “I just have something to wrap up,” he answers so casually, but there’s this gut feeling I can’t shake.
Something inside of me is screaming to tell him not to go tonight. I close my eyes and when I open them, the lick of the flames in the fireplace stares back at me. It’s got to be the fear of loss. That and the guilt that I still haven’t told him about my heart. The surgery isn’t guaranteed. I just want to have the baby first.
The first doctor gave me a year. I can have this baby before then. Is it so wrong to keep this secret? Judging by the swell of emotion in my throat and the dreadful feeling that stirs inside the pit of my stomach, yes. Yes, it is wrong.
“Seth,” I say and I almost ask him not to go tonight. I’m so close to blurting out that I need him to stay because I have to tell him something that’s been killing me.
“Babygirl,” he says and his voice is so calming as he repositions me on the sofa so I’m no longer on his lap. The weight of his body rests on his knee that’s beside me and it makes the cushion tilt, bringing me into his body. “You don’t have to be worried. One more night and after that I’m telling Jase I want to ease out of it all.”
“What?” My eyes widen with shock. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” I know who this man is and what his life is. You can’t leave the life. I’d never ask him to. “You can’t just—”
“You didn’t have to,” he stresses and settles down next to me. “I can’t leave, you’re right… but I can back off. Sebastian is Carter’s right-hand man. They get it and with everything going on, it’s better anyway for me to lay low.”
“What’s going on?” I ask him breathlessly, adrenaline picking up. I don’t like any of this. Nothing feels right.
“Nothing you have to worry about,” he tells me as he leans his forehead against mine. “I promise.”
“You make lots of promises,” I whisper with my eyes closed and my hands on his at my shoulders.
“And I’m keeping every one of them. All you have to do is promise you’ll be here when I get back.”
“I promise,” I answer wholeheartedly. It seems hollow in my chest though. Something’s wrong. I can fe
el it. As if I may not be here. My heart ticks and then thuds. “Seth,” I say and close my eyes, ready to tell him.
“I mean it, Laura. I want to have stability. I can run the bar; I can be here more. I’ll be a good dad.”
There’s so much hope in his voice and it’s more than soothing, it’s addictive. Just the idea of him holding our baby... I want to hear him say it again and again. My breath stills and I lean forward, capturing his lips with mine and surprising myself as much as him.
He smiles when he whispers, “That’s my girl.”
After telling me to go to bed, he says he loves me again. I love hearing it. For years I pretended he’d say it, and now I have it. I make sure the last thing he hears before he leaves is, “I love you too.”
I can’t bring myself to get off the sofa, but the room has a chill. So I search for a throw, but Seth doesn’t have one. I decide I should hire movers tomorrow as I stare at the flowers on the coffee table that obstruct my view of the fire. The first batch I received are beautiful. The size of the bouquet is ridiculous. But damn are they beautiful. There’s a mix of white and pink flowers but what really makes it are the pale blue velvet leaves. I keep wanting to touch them. They’re soft and feminine and smell divine. They’re the only feminine touch in this place.
I’m busy tallying a list in my head of everything to do tomorrow so I can square it away and make a new list for the baby when I drift off, my hand on my stomach.
Sleep doesn’t last long though, because of my phone ringing. I leave it out in the kitchen so I can sleep easy and of course I’d fall asleep here, early in the morning to be woken up at 7:00 a.m. I hustle to the phone charging on the counter and nearly trip from my sleep-induced gracelessness.
