Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds Book 2)

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Persy and I went shopping for this board. It’s perfect to track the bump size and changes she is going through.”

  “Hashtag-bump-watch,” Persy sings.

  “We’re not posting this on social media,” Nyx warns her.

  “Fine. Let me take a couple more shots of you and you can choose your favorite one. We’ll print it and start a scrapbook.”

  “We officially entered into the second trimester,” she announces.

  I pull her to my arms and hug her tight. “Congratulations. Do you want to go out to celebrate?”

  “If by out, you mean the beach, yes. I’m about to change into my swimsuit and rub sunscreen all over my body. I have a date with your swimming pool.”

  “I’m leaving at three to meet my mom,” I remind her.

  She frowns. “You want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’m just giving you a heads up.”

  “I’ll come if you want me to.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me, but I think it’s best if I go alone.”

  She squeezes my hand. “We’ll be here.”

  Thirty-Five

  Nate

  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my mother in person. Twenty-nine years to be exact. When I arrive at the restaurant, the hostess walks me to a booth in the far corner, as Marcia requested. Five minutes later, the hostess walks to the table, a tall woman wearing a pair of big sunglasses walks right beside her.

  She has dark hair cut into a bob barely brushing her shoulders. Her black dress is a tad on the formal side for a cup of coffee on a Saturday afternoon. I can’t recall how she used to dress back when I was younger.

  “Nathaniel,” she confirms.

  I nod once as I watch her take off her sunglasses. She doesn’t look like a woman in her sixties. More like late forties.

  She looks at me and smiles. “You look exactly the same way you do on the internet.”

  “Thank you for meeting me,” I say, pointing toward the bench.

  “I was surprised when I received your assistant’s call. Are you okay?” she asks, concerned. She tries to reach my hand, but I frown and move it away.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Well, I think that you wouldn’t call to ask for money,” she states. “According to Jim, my husband, you and Ford are wealthy. Another possibility is that maybe you need a kidney and—”

  “Let me stop you there,” I say.

  The waitress approaches the table and says, “Hi, I’m Tiffany, and I’ll be your server. Are you ready to order?”

  “Just water for me,” I request, while my mother says, “I’ll have a latte.”

  So, that’s where Ford got his nasty habit of adding frothy milk to his coffee.

  “Well, there has to be a reason you called me,” she says when Tiffany is out of earshot. “Unless you’re filing for bankruptcy and you need help. I’m sorry to tell you that unlike you, we live with a pretty tight budget.”

  “I don’t remember much about you, but I do remember you spoke a lot,” I say, trying to stop her because she hasn’t let me say shit.

  “Your dad was the quiet one. You and Langford were also quiet. How is he doing?”

  “Ford?”

  She nods. “He… When my kids were in elementary school, there was this boy who reminded me a lot of him.”

  I glare at her. “If you’re about to spill some shit that is going to piss me off, don’t do it,” I warn her.

  “So, you’re still protective of him,” she looks around. “Why is he not here?”

  “Because he’s the practical one,” I respond. “He moved on with his life, unlike me. I’m still wondering what happened to you. Why did you leave us?”

  “Of course, the inquisitive one,” she states, looking at her hands for several beats. “That was my other guess.”

  She finally looks up and stares at me. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m smart enough to keep up. Why don’t you try me?”

  “How much did your father tell you?”

  “My father’s version isn’t up for discussion,” I say. She doesn’t need to know that he doesn’t talk about her. Once she left, her pictures disappeared, and we never mentioned her again.

  She nods. “He’s a difficult man,” she leads with the best-known fact about my father. “As an only child, his parents raised him to believe that he was perfect. The rest of us had to worship him, and for years I did. I…I saw him as a deity until one day I woke up and realized he was a man with flaws and I had become one of his groupies. I lived to serve him and his children.”

  “We were your children too.”

  “I was Chuck Chadwick’s wife. The Chadwick twins’ mother. What happened to Ursula Lindt?” she argues. “He was a mama's boy. I didn’t sign up to be his mother, yet I was there picking up after him, dealing with his absence, because playing golf was all that mattered to him.”

  “I remember you fighting a lot about that, even throwing things at him.”

  She fixes her hair, lifts her chin, and says, “You can’t judge me. You have no idea how hard it was to be with him. I met Jim, and…he showed me that life can be different.”

  “I lived with Dad. If you believed that being with him was unbearable, why did you leave us with him?”

  “There’s no gray area for him. Either I stayed with him or I wouldn’t be allowed to be around him again.”

  “Why didn’t you take us with you?” I ask, frustrated.

  “You’re going to judge me,” she states.

  “Probably,” I agree with her. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but so far I’m not hearing anything that sounds remotely close to a grain of remorse.”

  “What were you expecting?” she asks.

  “My…I have this friend who is a lawyer, and she said, ‘What if she lost custody of you during the divorce,’” I explain. “It gave me some hope. It pissed me off that you wouldn’t fight for us, but knowing Dad…”

  I release a humorless laughter. “He’s harsh and hard-headed. It’s fucking hard to get him to understand that the world isn’t his playground. But with patience, you can make him see things from a different perspective. You just didn’t care about us, did you?”

  “I was sinking in that house,” she defends herself.

  “Was he abusing you?”

  “No, but…I wanted to start over with Jim,” she explains and then adds. “I regret what happened. I could’ve handled it differently, but look at you. You grew up to be a successful businessman. If I had dragged you with me, you would be a nobody.”

  I raise an eyebrow, lay my palms on the table, and lean closer to her. “Do you really think I am where I am because of my father’s money? That I would take my grandfather’s legacy over having a happy family?”

  I lift my palms as if giving up. What’s the point of having this conversation?

  She stares at my wrist and reads out loud, “Life is a choice.”

  I read it too, twice. This reminds me of not only Nyx, but last week when we went to get these tattoos. Ford and I have been making choices throughout our entire life guided by my grandparents.

  “That’s exactly it. You have to choose because you can’t have everything,” she insists. “You either have money or you have a happy family. You can’t have it both ways. Either I had enough money to travel around the world or…I chose happiness. I’m sorry I had to shut you down to be able to reach it.”

  What she says reminds me of the Brassards. They don’t have much money, but they sacrifice everything for their children. They still do it, even when they’re all grown and independent.

  “Sometimes you can have success and happiness,” I contend. “Sometimes life is about the moments you miss with the people who matter because you were too busy piling a fortune that won’t feed your soul. You’re right, I have no idea what you felt back then, but maybe Ford and I would’ve been happier with just a pile of clothes that fit in a backpack and someone who taught u
s the real value of love.”

  Which maybe we learned from our grandparents. We just never thought about it before. Maybe my father sending us to do community service felt like cruelty, but we learned a lot from every person we’ve met since then.

  “I don’t understand,” she claims.

  “My parents were too selfish to think beyond their needs,” I answer. “I’ve lived wondering what is wrong with me. I should focus on my grandparents who gave us the foundation. I should focus on what I have and not what I think I need. I hope you’re happy, and if you’re not, I hope you find happiness.”

  My nights are between a nightmare, bliss, and a fantasy. I can’t sleep because of Nyx. It’s not the morning sickness as much as my mind keeps replaying everything that we do during the day. I remember her eyes twinkling and her smile brightening every room when she enters.

  Tonight though, I keep remembering how hot she looked while she sun tanned by the pool when I arrived from my chat with my mother. I wanted to kick my brother and Persy out of the house. To pull her into me. Wrap my arms around her while I kissed her slowly. She’s a beautiful goddess but unattainable for the moment.

  Instead, I explained to Ford what happened. He wasn’t surprised. Nyx was by my side comforting me, but the only thing I wanted was for her to kiss me. To let me love her and make everything go away. It didn’t happen, and like every night, I’m aroused and completely dissatisfied.

  All I can do is take a cold shower while I imagine her on my bed, by my side. Tracing her delicate curves with the tips of my fingers. As I palm my length, I think about caressing her full breasts. Sucking on her nipples until they are rock hard. I want to kneel between her legs, forcing her inner thighs to open wide apart for me.

  I grip my cock, moving my hand up and down faster, wishing it was her delicate hand holding me. Or her luscious lips sucking me dry. I want to be inside her, loving her. Her naked body pressed to mine. Lips brushing our bare skin. Teeth biting and longing kisses between us.

  As the crave for her intensifies, my hand quickens its movements. My body tenses. The thrust of my hips intensifies. The muscles in my legs strain as jets of cum spurt, washing down while I shower. The music playing on the speakers muffles my moans.

  When I come out of the shower, I hear noise coming from her bedroom. Brock barks, alerting me that she’s sick again. I hate to see her like this. If I could, I would take her place, but I can’t so I do what I can to make it better.

  “Hey,” I say, as I arrive at her bathroom and she’s already brushing her teeth. “Sorry, I feel like I’m late.”

  Her eyes look at me tenderly and she shakes her head before spitting. Once she rinses with mouthwash she finally speaks, “Sorry for waking you up.”

  “You can’t be sorry for keeping me awake,” I reword. “Why don’t I just stay with you? It’s silly for me to go back to my room when we know this is going to happen a few more times.”

  She bites her lip and nods.

  I trace my thumb along her frown and ask, “What are you thinking?”

  “Let’s call it not safe for tonight,” she mumbles, wiggling her nose. “I like you, and it’s kind of hard to stay on this side of the line. Not sure if you’ve noticed this roommate arrangement is becoming a little blurry.”

  I set one hand on her hip, the other rests gently on her shoulder. I move forward pushing away every thought of why this is stupid. My eyes lock on her mouth as I move close, and as I’m almost brushing her lips, she inhales sharply.

  We kiss, and this time is soft, tender. I crave her, but I control the desire to possess her. I just want her to feel safe and loved tonight.

  This is our routine. Well, except for the kiss. I fantasize that she’s mine. I take care of her, and at the end I tuck her under my arm and watch over her and her baby. Do I wish she was mine? Of course, but most of all, I just want her to be fine.

  Thirty-Six

  Nyx

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” Nate says while he takes the sixteenth week picture of the little terror.

  “She’s still small,” I claim, placing my hands on top of my belly.

  “You look like you ate a whole avocado and it’s stuck in there,” he jokes walking to me and kissing the baby. “Are you okay in there? Kick once for yes and twice for no.”

  I glare at him. He keeps talking to the baby and inciting her to kick for him. “Every book says that you don’t feel much movement until the baby is—”

  “Sixteen to twenty-five weeks,” he answers, kissing my lips. “If we had a baby trivia night, I might win.”

  I want to tell him that he is cheating because he has some experience, but bringing up Bronwyn might not be a good idea.

  He’s working on what he calls his emotional issues. Three weeks ago, he began with his parents. The visit with his mother left him angry. He hoped that like many parents, the one with money had taken the children away but, in her heart, she cared for her sons. He’s working on not hating her because the last thing he wants is to drag negative feelings about her. On the other hand, he helped me take Sheila down.

  She’s spending a few months in jail for stealing money from my sister.

  We still haven’t discussed our feelings. That’s frustrating and yet fine because we’re not in a good place. Still, since that day we’ve been stealing caresses and kisses. They are just lingering, not full blown erotic embraces, but I’m so horny that some nights I spend an hour with my sex toys getting myself off while I think about him.

  “What do you want to do today?” he asks, handing me the little board with the number sixteen. “Ready?”

  I nod and call Brock who runs toward me. “Sit boy.”

  He does and I hang the board, placing myself close to him so Nate can take a picture of Brock and the baby. A second later, he’s shaking his head and trying to take the board off. I help him and he huffs at me.

  “Sorry, but I promise these pictures are worth it.”

  Brock glares at me and marches toward Nate.

  “I love him, but I swear he throws tantrums as big as Simon,” I mention, and since I brought up the feline, I text Persy.

  Nyx: What are you up to today?

  Persy: I couldn’t convince Ford to take me to New York.

  Nyx: Next weekend?

  Persy: Are you and Nate still ‘friends’?

  I stare at the phone for a long time, wondering how I should respond to her. Normally, I’d tell her the truth. There’s a fire between us that threatens to consume our hearts if we’re not careful. We shouldn’t act on it, but I’m dying to be reckless and…

  “You okay?” Nate asks, and I shrug, trying to erase all those naughty thoughts that keep me distracted most of the day—and all night.

  Before I can answer his question with one of my own, Demetri walks outside the terrace.

  “Happy Saturday, D,” I greet him.

  “Ms. Nyx, as always, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he greets me. “Since you are both here, I’ll take the opportunity to remind you that Brock has a bed in the downstairs area.”

  Nate and I laugh because Brock has no regard for furniture or any other surface in this house. He’s a well trained dog, just spoiled by us.

  “It’s perfectly obvious that neither one of you care for him enough to show him how he should behave,” he snips. “Just don’t expect me to help you if you bring another dog home.”

  “How can we help you, D?” Nate asks.

  “The appointments with the realtor are set for next week,” he answers. “Also, Ms. Bronwyn Davis is downstairs, looking for you, Nate.”

  Nate takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

  “You okay if she comes upstairs?” he asks me.

  I frown, “Me?”

  He nods.

  “If you want, I can stay out here,” I suggest.

  “I want you with me as long as this doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable,” he explains.

  “Then, I’m fine.”


  Demetri nods and goes back into the house. Then I ask, “Why is she here?”

  “My lawyer served her with an eviction notice. My physical address is on there. I expected her to come by and try to persuade me to let her live there for another ten years,” he answers.

  For a moment, I want to remind him I wanted to be the one serving her with that, but then I remember that it was too long ago. Now I’m emotionally invested with him and it’d be not only unethical, but messy.

  “We should go inside because I don’t want her to mess up the peaceful atmosphere of this place,” I suggest.

  He takes my hand and when we reach the foyer, there’s a woman throwing daggers at me. Her blue eyes are darkened with fury.

  “So, this is why you want me out?” she snaps without even greeting us. “You are leaving your child homeless because you decided to play family again?”

  “Lower your tone or I’ll have Demetri escort you out of the building,” Nate warns her.

  She huffs and punches him with a very low blow, “Who knows, that kid might not be yours either.”

  He glares at her.

  “You have five minutes to explain your presence, Bronwyn,” he says calmly. “I recommend you use them wisely. One more shot at Nyx or the baby and you’re out.”

  “That is my house,” she claims. “Our son was born in that house and now you just expect me to leave. You gifted it to me.”

  She glares at me and throws her poison, “He’s going to set you up nicely until he’s bored of you and starts traveling,” she complains. “You are no different. One day you’ll live in this palace and the next he’ll shove you to Brooklyn. Do you know when was the last time he saw his son?”

  “When he had to find out that you lied to him and get his cheek swabbed hoping that the baby he called his wasn’t going to be taken away from him,” I answer.

  She looks at me, frozen, and then at Nate.

  “Listen,” I continue. “I’m sure the notice came unexpected, but if you need more time, your lawyer can request an extension. This isn’t about my baby or me. Not at all. This is about Nate and you moving on with your lives. This situation is…unhealthy.”