It was just my luck that my kid brother would want to have a fucking coming to Jesus moment when I was in the middle of stuffing my face.
Sighing, I put my sandwich down and ripped the napkin from my shirt.
Being the oldest sucks. The younger ones always think you have all the answers when in fact you’re flying through life by the seat of your pants, leaning into the curves so you don’t lose, crash and die.
“You’re not abandoning her or the kid, okay. Just kick that thought out of your head. You’re securing a future for the three of you.”
“I know that…”
“Then why the fuck are we having this conversation?”
“I know you’re going to take care of her, make sure she and the baby have what they need, but can you do me one more favor?”
Fuck.
This kid has too much faith in me.
“Just make sure she knows she’s not alone. She’s not like us, she doesn’t come from a family like ours. Pop might not have been there all the time, but he was there whenever we needed him and our mothers, they always showed up for all three of us. Carina’s mom skipped out on her when she was a kid and all she had was her dad and that’s not saying much. I don’t want her to feel like an outcast—”
“Say no more.”
I reached out and cupped the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to mine.
“She’s part of this family now Frank, and family takes care of family.”
“Earth to Nico,” Carrie calls, pulling me back to the present as she waves a hand in front of my face. “If you want me to get dressed, you’re going to have to leave.”
“Right,” I say, snapping out of it. “I’ll be downstairs.”
“Okay.”
I turn to leave but stop and glance over my shoulder at her.
“Green Eyes?”
“Yeah?”
“Things are never as bad as we think they are, there is always someone, somewhere, who is worse off.”
-Eight-
Carina
Nico forgot to mention Lauren was stopping by with her three kids and her husband. Not that I mind, I like the company and he was right, Alanis was getting a little played out. However, he also failed to note why he suggested I wear something comfy so you can imagine my surprise when I came downstairs to find Riggs and Lauren rolling out yoga mats in the living room.
“Um…what is all this?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from their two oldest boys who seem to be building a fort under the dining room table. I look to Riggs and the baby strapped to his chest in what looks like a sling. “Are you wearing your baby?”
“Oh, hi, Carina, we’re just getting everything ready,” Lauren says, stepping over a toy haphazardly lying on the floor to give me a hug. “Nico called and asked me if I could come over and show you some of the things I did to keep me energized during pregnancy.”
“Energized?” I admonish. “I’m energized.”
“Yeah, Energizer batteries called, they want you as their spokesmodel.”
I jump at the sound of Nico’s voice. Turning to him, I roll my eyes and drop my hands to my hips. However, I don’t get a chance to mouth off because he winks at me.
“Lauren swears yoga kept her sane during the last two pregnancies and I figured you could use a hobby.”
“I told you I have plenty of hobbies.”
“Right, the romance novels. Give me a list of books you want; I’ll grab them while I’m out.”
Picturing him scouring the shelves of the romance section at Barnes and Noble is comical and too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Surprise me,” I say. “Anything equivalent to E.L. James will work.”
“That’s an author?”
“Sure is.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
Oh, God. I almost feel guilty…
Almost.
I really wish I could be a fly on the wall.
“Nope, that should keep me energized.”
“I didn’t say energized,” he hisses. “I asked her to give you some pointers. She wanted to bring a baby food cookbook and a breast bump too, but I told her the yoga was enough activity for one day. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“Mouthy.”
“Yeah, so you said.”
His eyes lower, slowly raking over me, taking in my outfit. When he said comfy, I decided maternity leggings were the obvious choice. I paired them with a simple tunic that hugged my little bump and called it a day. Well, I brushed my hair too. That was a major accomplishment since I was starting to resemble medusa.
“You look nice,” he says.
I try to hide the look of surprise from my features as he lifts his chin and gives me a smile. An unfamiliar warmth spreads through my body. It’s the kind of feeling you get when someone close to you gives you a hug, or maybe a subtle look letting you know you have an ally in this world.
It’s comforting, but it’s also strange to think of Nico as my ally. I think that’s partly because we got off to such a rocky start. There’s also that sandwich he tried to kill me with. Yeah, it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that seeing as how I have sworn off vinegar for the rest of my life and I’m a big fan of salt and vinegar potato chips or I was until he tried to poison me with his ‘liquid gold’.
“Oh Eric, get off the table! Robert, you can’t swing from the chandelier…Riggs!” Lauren shrieks, snapping me out of my trance.
Nico and I both turn around and sure as shit the kid is swinging from the chandelier. I’ll repeat that there is a kid swinging from the chandelier in the dining room.
“Great form,” Riggs cheers, turning back to Lauren. “Hey, why don’t you start us off with the downward dog pose.”
“Oh my God, is he going to do the yoga too?” I question, watching as he stretches one arm over his head and holds the baby to his chest with the other. That must be some sort of trick seasoned parents accomplish because it wasn’t in any of those parenting books Maria downloaded onto the kindle.
I turn to Nico as he shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, trying to hide the smirk forming on his lips while meeting my gaze.
“Yeah, I hear he’s pretty flexible too. Have fun Green Eyes. I’ll see you later with the books and remember, lay off the nineties music.”
He goes to step around me, but I grab his arm to stop him, flinching as the little boy releases his hold on the chandelier and crashes onto the table.
“I’m okay!” he announces, popping up like a jack in the box.
Talk about energized.
“Thatta boy!” Riggs boasts, giving his son a pound.
I’ve entered the twilight zone, there’s no other explanation for the madness.
“Relax,” Nico whispers and I realize my nails are digging into his forearm—his very large, overly tattooed forearm. “They’re boys. Totally natural,” he continues.
Clearing my throat, I peel my hand away from his arm and lift my eyes to his.
“Really?” I question, trying to focus on the circus and not the forearm. “I can hardly picture you and Frankie hanging from your dad’s light fixture as kids,” I mutter, breathing a sigh of relief as both boys go back to building the fort under the table.
“Actually, Enzo and Frankie drove a dirt bike through the back sliding door once and I broke my leg trying to skydive off the roof when I was eleven.”
My gaze snaps back to his.
“My Frankie?”
“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “He was the devil, straightened out once he hit puberty, but before that…man, he was a wild one.”
“Oh my God.”
He laughs.
“Don’t worry. If the baby is anything like him, you’ll get used to it,” he assures. “Sophie did.”
I don’t know about that. I can’t see myself chasing after a kid on a dirt bike as he plows into the back door. It’s no wonder those Mommy sippy cups are such a hit th
ese days. Moms survive on wine.
“We’re ready. Come Carina, you’re going to love it!” Lauren enthuses.
“That’s my cue,” Nico says. “I’ll see you later, Green Eyes.”
“Bye Water Fairy.”
“Quit calling me that. If Riggs hears you, I’ll lose all street cred.”
I don’t know what the hell that means and I don’t get a chance to ask either, because he quickly bids goodbye to everyone before slipping on his leather vest and heading out the front door. His motorcycle roars to life outside and then he’s gone, leaving me with Mr. and Mrs. Tiger—my new prenatal yoga instructors and their brood of daredevils.
~*~
The house was still standing by the time we wrapped up our yoga session—if you can call it that. I may not be all that experienced with sex, but I’m pretty certain that was foreplay for those two. Riggs was all set to go home and work on making cub number four, but Lauren opted to stick around, sending him and the hellions home without her.
She made us smoothies, something she said she basically lived on while pregnant with Baby Anthony and I was able to keep it down. It was nice being able to talk to someone who knew what I was going through and Lauren made it especially easy, giving me tips and enlightening me about things I didn’t know.
After we finished our smoothies, we grabbed the laptop and scoured the internet for baby items. I learned what was useful and what was wasteful, for example, she told me with her first son, her mother had purchased her this outrageous carriage. It was thousands of dollars and came with all these different parts, but when it came time for Lauren to use the carriage for the first time, she had to watch a YouTube video in the middle of the mall parking lot to learn how to open the damn thing. She later sold it on eBay and bought a travel system for a couple of hundred bucks that she has since used with all her boys. She also told me that wipe warmers were a waste—I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a wipe warmer, but that and the Diaper Genie were a no go.
As she was educating me on the products she recommended, she suggested I create a baby registry. I didn’t see the point in that, there was no one to give me a baby shower and I didn’t want one anyway. Frankie’s family was going out of their way to make sure I had what I needed, creating a registry just felt like I was asking people to buy me gifts. When I told Lauren that, she closed the laptop and I saw sincerity spark in her eyes as she shook her head. She said me and the baby were part of the family and she wasn’t just referring to the Scotto clan. We were property of Parrish—whatever that means.
I still wasn’t sold on the registry idea, but then she said Nico would be pissed. Again, I was confused and even though I didn’t voice that verbally, my eyes did. She went on to explain that Nico didn’t just ask her to come by to share her exercise routine, he wanted her to help me get excited about the baby.
Now, I’m going to blame the hormones because until I became pregnant, I was never really a crier, but I cried then. Big fat ugly tears rolled down my cheeks, and it wasn’t only because Nico was being overly kind, it was because he was right…I wasn’t all that excited about the baby.
I was worried.
I was scared.
And while I was looking forward to meeting the little peanut inside of me, I wasn’t excited because I didn’t know what the future held. What if I was a horrible mom? I mean, I didn’t even know what the hell a wipe warmer was.
Lauren sensed I wasn’t buying into the registry idea, and let it go, but not without promising to wear me down next week when she came over for yoga again. Apparently, that was going to be a thing, and I liked that even though I wasn’t sure I was any good at the whole namaste thing.
Before she left, she hooked me up with a Pinterest board and told me cooking was another thing she fell in love with while pregnant. I couldn’t cook for crap. My only specialty was English muffin pizzas, something I learned to make as a kid. As a little girl, Fridays were reserved for Disney movies and mini pizzas. It was one of the few memories I had with my mom before I wasn’t enough for her anymore.
Today was Friday and so when Lauren left, I made my way into the kitchen. It might not be liquid gold, but it was all I knew how to cook, and I figured I owed Nico a thank you for dragging me out of my bedroom. I rummaged through the cabinets, picking out the ingredients until I realized there was no jar sauce to be found anywhere.
There were plenty of tomatoes though, so I decided to boil them. Don’t ask me what I’m going to do with them once they’re done boiling—I haven’t gotten that far.
Deciding to leave the tomato debacle for last, I heat the oven to 350 degrees and slice the English muffins in half, spreading them out on a cookie sheet.
Well, shit, I thought that would take longer than it did.
I glance back at the pot of tomatoes on the stove and frown.
Google will know what to do.
Remembering I left the phone Wolf got me to stay in touch with Frankie in the living room, I turn and exit the kitchen. I get two feet into the next room when the front door opens and Nico enters, wearing his trademark scowl, holding a bag from Barnes and Noble.
Oh, I almost forgot…
The sexy romance novels and the badass biker dude.
God, I wish I could’ve gone with him to the store.
“Hey, you’re home,” I say, taking my phone off the couch. “I was just going—”
“That was foul,” he grinds out, kicking the door shut with his boot. “So, fucking foul, Carrie.”
He strides across the living room until he’s mere inches from my face, glaring at me.
Okay, so maybe the book thing was a bit much for the granny loving biker.
Feigning innocence, I furrow my brows.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Green Eyes.”
“The yoga slash foreplay exchange between Riggs and Lauren? Yes, I agree it was a little uncomfortable to watch.”
“What?”
Stalling seems to be working seeing as the vein in his forehead didn’t pop yet, so I continue, laying it on extra thick.
“I thought he was going to hump her in front of the kids. It was weird.”
“Humping,” he repeats.
“Yeah, you know what that is right? I mean if I do you have to.”
“I know what humping is,” he growls, grinding his teeth as he roughly lifts the bag. “And if I didn’t, I would’ve gotten an education today when I bought your books.”
Cocking his head to the side, he studies me for a beat, and I feel my cheeks start to flame.
Yeah, definitely too much.
“In fact, I did get somewhat of one…I ordered a spreader bar off Amazon today, so there’s that.”
Shit.
Swallowing, I fake a grin and cock my head to the side.
“Wonderful. Let me know how it works, I can help you write a review, we can title it ‘Five Wide Open Stars’.”
He mutters a curse, pushing the bag towards me.
“Take your books, enjoy them and next time you want to broaden your bookshelf, order them online yourself. I’ll give you my credit card.”
Laughing, I take the bag from him. He mumbles something I can’t quite make out and turns around, his boots hard against the wood floor as he heads for the kitchen.
“You’re welcome…you know for the spreader bar idea and all. If you want to watch the movie for some pointers, let me know. I’ll make some popcorn.”
He freezes, slowly turning to me. He pins me with a hard stare and I feel my cheeks heat even more. I really need to learn when to keep my mouth shut. His features soften suddenly as he starts for me, stopping about a foot away.
“I don’t need any pointers, Green Eyes,” he deadpans. “I’m good at what I do.”
Oh God…how did we get here?
Make it stop.
However, for something to stop one must not engage and I seem to have lost control over myself. My brain ca
n’t send messages to my mouth…maybe I’m having a stroke.
“Good is such a mediocre word, shouldn’t you strive for excellence?”
“Mouthy,” he retorts and for a split second his eyes drop to my lips.
“Yes,” I whisper hoarsely. “We’ve established that.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, thoughtfully. “Mouthy and red as a tomato.”
Tomatoes.
Oh, shit!
“Fuck the tomatoes!!”
Dropping the bag on the floor, I push past Nico and run to the kitchen. As soon as I enter, my eyes dart towards the pot on the stove and the water cascading over the rim like a waterfall. Because that isn’t bad enough, a shriveled tomato falls out of the pot and splatters onto the floor.
“What the hell is this?” Nico questions, coming up beside me.
Keeping my eyes on the tomato explosion, I cringe.
“Dinner.”
Buon Appetito!
-Nine-
Nico
The makings of a good Friday night used to consist of a willing broad, my bike and the wind. These days, it’s dirty books, spreader bars and boiled tomatoes—sure signs my life is a fucking circus.
Removing my kutte, I drape it over the back of one of the chairs and move towards the overflowing pot of tomatoes. I step around the mess and turn the gas off, watching as the remaining water instantly goes down.
“Christ,” I hiss, reaching for the roll of paper towels on the counter. My hand pauses when I spot the tray of English muffins.
What the hell was she trying to cook?
A sniffle sounds from behind me and I quickly turn around to see Carrie wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“Are you crying?”
“I’m sorry,” she sobs.
“Why the hell are you crying, it’s just tomatoes.”
She answers with another sob and I sigh, dropping the roll of paper towels on the floor. Again, I step over the puddle on the floor and make my way towards her.
Walking The Line (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 3) Page 9