by Kate Meader
Cover up? Check. Composed? Not a chance.
But Eli looked composed. Eli looked like he always did—in control, all-knowing, the man with the plan.
“Hi,” she mumbled.
He smiled and said, “Hi.” But that one little syllable was shaky. Rusty. Not like Eli at all.
She was in his arms before he could raise them in invitation, curled up like a love-starved kitten in his lap.
“How did you know?” she whispered into his neck. “I only found out yesterday. I took a test and then I took another and—”
“Another?”
She nodded.
“I knew”—he kissed her temple—“because I know you. Your body. Your brain. Your heart.” He stroked the side of her breast through the hoodie. “These beauties here? Just a little bit bigger and I’m betting a touch sensitive. You’ve been even more ornery than usual and a couple of days ago, you looked like you were going to hurl when you opened that tin of gourmet dog food for Shadow.”
“And I usually love how dog food smells,” she said, giggling through her nerves.
“You’re kind of sensitive to a lot of stuff right now, and I noticed. It’s my job to notice. What’s happening inside you—” He broke off, a hitch of emotion in his throat.
She drew back, surprised. “Eli, are you… getting sentimental?”
“Dempsey, I haven’t a sentimental bone in my body.” He nuzzled her nose, blinking away that hiccup in his usual calm. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tonight. Tomorrow. Six months. Never.”
He hummed, dissatisfied with that non-answer.
“Okay, Mr.-I-Can-Sense-Pregnancy-By-Sniffing-the-Air, I’m scared. Shitless. I just made rescue squad, my dream job. You just started the practice and are working all the hours Lucifer sends. We’re supposed to be planning a wedding in six months—”
He coughed. Raised an eyebrow. So “we” was pushing it. Eli was planning the wedding he’d been dreaming about since he was a little girl because Alex cared for reception place settings and wedding favors about as much as she cared for … snooooze! What a lovely nap.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re doing all the work though I’m betting you’ve already delegated a shit ton of it to Gage and Kinsey.”
“They love it.”
Thank God someone did. “What I’m trying to say is that our lives are nuts right now and a baby is just going to make it even crazier. And as if that’s not bad enough, I’m going to look like a beached, hormonal whale on our wedding day.”
That realization was the straw: she burst into tears. Maybe she did care about the dumb wedding—or at minimum, not waddling down the aisle.
He squeezed her tight and let her cry. Anyone else, her brothers or amazing sisters-in-law, would be trying to shut her up with soothing words, but not Eli. He knew that if she was this freaked out, then she needed to be allowed to go into full-scale meltdown.
After a minute, he said, “Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”
“Please,” she sobbed, desperate to redirect the focus away from her.
“When I was a kid, we used to go to my grandparents in Lake Forest for the holidays and I was always so bored. I didn’t have any brothers, sisters, or cousins, and I felt like I was missing out on what other kids had. You know, what you had and have with your big family.”
He was talking about being a lonely kid. And that was before his parents were murdered in this house. She sniffed. “Now I feel like a jerk.”
“Hey, that’s not my intention, Alexandra. What I’m trying to say is that for all the grumbling and grief I give you about your family because let’s face it, Luke still hates me, I love being part of the big, rambunctious, infuriating Dempsey clan. I never thought I’d have that. I never thought I’d have anyone in this house at Christmas but Shadow and me. I’ve never put up a tree because it seemed pointless. And then I met someone.”
I met someone.
The words he used one night to say sorry for something that needed no apology. His way of letting her know that from the moment he laid eyes on her, no other woman could hold his attention because he had already given his heart to a girl with too-wild hair, a too-big mouth, and a soul looking for its match.
He went on. “This time last year, I’d already met you but we weren’t on the crazy train just yet. A week later, you saved my life and our adventure began.” His eyes magnetized to hers, filled with love and emotion. “All this joy crashed into my life. And I mean crashed. I never expected it. I never thought I deserved it.”
“Eli, we both know I’m the best thing to ever happen to you.”
He laughed. “You are, though “happen” is too tame to describe it. But even with finding you and getting this ready-made, pain-in-my-ass family into the bargain, I’ve been hoping for more. Because once you give a man a sliver of hope, he starts getting greedy. He starts thinking ‘what else can I have? What else is mine for the taking?’ He gets cocky. Thinks maybe he can craft something with his own hands—”
“Or penis.”
“Or penis. Maybe a bundle of joy. And then maybe another bundle—”
“Let me spawn this bundle first!”
He kissed her softly, tasting the last of her tears. “You’re not alone in this. I know it changes things. You’ll be on desk duty at work for a while. Your extremely close relationship with Goose Island ale will have to take a backseat. And you’re going to be even harder to live with than you are now, and honey, you are no picnic. But I’ll be the bravest father-to-be possible and get us through.” He held her face in both hands. “I didn’t think I could be happier than the day you said you’d marry me, but yet again you’ve proven me wrong. We have so got this.”
He called out another command to that Amazon Echo hussy. Possibly the worst song in the history of popular music came on, and the only reason it would even be there was because Eli had to have already downloaded it.
“Havin' my baby, what a lovely way of sayin' how much you love me…”
Canada, you may have given us Ryan Reynolds but you’ll need to produce fifty more RRs to make up for the monstrosity that is Paul Anka’s “You’re Havin’ My Baby.”
“Asshole,” she muttered.
Her fiancé laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
Thinking on all the joy Eli had given her, she knew it was selfish to distill this baby bombshell to how it would affect her. He understood exactly how much her world would be shook up by this. But while she admired his optimism, she didn’t think he fully understood just how life-changing this baby would be for both of them. Of course she wanted Eli’s kid, but she also wanted her man to wise up just a little. His sheer force of will meant no problem was too large to solve, not even a bundle of cells barely the size of her fingernail who was about to turn their universe inside out.
Oh, Eli was happy now. Before 2 am and 4 am and 6 am feedings. Before diaper pails and everything smelling of baby vomit. He needed a little lesson in harsh realities … and she knew just the perfect teacher.
Note: If you would like to watch/hear possibly the worst song in the history of popular music, check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFHWl-ZyRAg and marvel at how Alex didn’t junk-punch Eli when he played it!
4
“Maybe we should call someone.” Brady shrugged one broad shoulder. “I mean, that can’t be normal.”
Eli was inclined to think that “normal” and anything with a Dempsey pedigree were never going to be used in the same sentence. He just hadn’t expected so much noise and for so damn long.
They both considered Wyatt who was supposed to know what he was doing. “Would’ve thought if anyone could make this work it’d be the demon whisperer,” Eli muttered. Why everyone considered the eldest Dempsey to be more qualified than the rest of them wasn’t immediately clear, but he gave off such an aura of calm that all pulse rates in the immediate vicinity automatically lowered in his presence.
Except for
that of Ella Sofia Rivera.
Another howl went up into the December night, and Eli could have sworn he heard something feral answer the call in the alley next to Beck’s and Darcy’s condo building in Andersonville. Like a rabid reindeer. Wyatt’s splayed hand continued making tight, there-there circles on six week-old Ella’s back but nothing worked. The kid refused to be soothed.
“Maybe Luke?” Brady offered.
“He’s out on a call,” Wyatt said.
Which meant Ella’s dad, Beck, was also out of range as they were both on shift at Engine 6. Involving the Dempsey women who were currently painting the town red for a girls’ night out—Darcy’s first since Ella entered the world like a rocket—was a no-no. A total admission of defeat.
Alexandra had baited the trap perfectly.
Want to know what it’s like in this imaginary world where babies puke glitter and every sound they make could be easily mistaken for a Beethoven piano concerto, Eli? Think you have what it takes to spend a couple of hours caring for a creature whose sole earthly purpose is to reveal all your deep-seated fears and glaring inadequacies? Spend a little time pulling a Danson-Selleck-Guttenberg with your niece-to-be and then tell me you’ve got this.
Maybe she’d left a camera on the mantel and they were all watching somewhere on a laptop, laughing their heads off. Eli cast a suspicious glance at the Elf on the Shelf.
Action needed to be taken, and as Luke, Beck, and the Dempsey women were off the table, that left one person.
“You’re going to have to do it,” Eli muttered to Brady.
Pulling out his phone, Brady made eye contact with Wyatt, who gave the silent nod of approval. After a couple of uhs and yeahs, Brady explained the situation: how a bundle of sweet-smelling child, who weighed 1% of the combined weight of the three grown men tasked with minding her, was currently holding those same men hostage with her screams.
“Okay, you’re on speaker now.”
“Are you guys fucking kidding me?” Gage started, shouting above the sound of “All I want for Christmas” in the background at Dempsey’s bar where he was working tonight. “You volunteered to do this, so I assumed you had some freakin’ notion of what it takes to look after a kid.”
Brady rolled his eyes while Eli made a get-on-with-it motion with his fingers. “If we wanted a lecture, we’d have called Luke.”
“Is Wyatt scowling at her?”
Eli grabbed the phone from Brady and spoke in his clearest, I’m not fuckin’ around tone. “I still have connections at city hall, Gage. Do you want your bar open over the holidays or do you want to quit being a wise ass and help?”
“Uh, calm down Your Royal Hotness.” He sighed as if this was a huge imposition. “You need to play the Maple Leaf Warbler.”
“The what?”
“Celine.”
Brady face crumpled in horror. “Dion?”
“Yep. Two weeks ago, I was where you are now, wondering how to get our next generation wunderkind to lower the decibel levels, so I flicked through the channels looking for something to drown her out. The credits were rolling on Titanic. Nearrrr. Farrrr. Wherever you arrrrre …”
Jesus H, this could not be happening.
Ella interrupted her regularly scheduled programming of bringing down the neighborhood’s property values at the sound of Gage’s singing. Encouraged, Wyatt brought her closer to the phone.
“I know that my heart will go on …”
Gage stopped. Ella started.
“Keep going,” Brady urged.
“Some of us have to work, assholes, because weddings don’t pay for themselves. You’ll have to pick it up from here.”
The three of them looked at each other, a Mexican standoff over who exactly would assume the task of singing Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On.”
“I don’t know the words,” they all said simultaneously.
“Fuckin’ liars,” Gage said and hung up.
“Someone could download it,” Wyatt offered after ten more seconds of Ella’s renewed screeching. The brief peace had been so enticing that Eli was getting to the point where he might be willing to add it to his iTunes library. He’d added worse this week.
Two minutes later, Ella was quiet. They’d all agreed to download the song simultaneously so no one person had to take the fall. Kind of like how no-one knows for sure which person in a firing squad got off the lethal shot. They had also all agreed to never tell another living soul what they had to do to reach this moment.
Into the vault it went.
Eli stood at the door to Ella’s nursery, listening to her steady breathing, a sound that supposedly assured the world she was only terrorizing grown men in her dreams. Tonight had been interesting. Scary, but then of course he’d known it would be. His motto had always been to never let them see your fear.
And that included six-week old infants.
“Hey,” he heard behind him. He stepped out of the doorway and faced Brady.
“Getting nervous?”
“About tomorrow?” Brady shrugged as if he got married every day. “I don’t like handing off the food to someone else.”
Guy was even more of a control freak than Eli. “It’ll be your chefs with your menu in your restaurant, Brady. You can relax and enjoy being the center of attention.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He rocked back on his heels, clearly building to say something, but supremely uncomfortable with whatever it was. “Eli, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while now.”
“Tell me what?”
He looked down at his feet, then up, and held Eli’s gaze. They’d known each other for thirteen years, four of them spent in the same platoon where Brady was Eli’s CO and one week in a Taliban dungeon where Eli had shot his way out, dragging Brady’s tortured-and-ripped-to-shreds body with him.
“Thanks. For being there. Through everything. But mostly thanks for introducing me to Gage. You saw something there, and I know you were probably only thinking I needed to get laid to get me out of my funk, but well … thanks.”
No, Eli had seen more in Gage Simpson, consummate flirt and playboy, but it was less scary to pretend we’re motivated by our baser instincts. Eli had held onto that fallacy for a while after meeting Alexandra. “It was an auspicious night for us both, meeting the people we’re going to marry. And tomorrow you’ll celebrate in the place where it all started. I like that. It has symmetry.”
Baby Ella gave a little snuffling sound that put them both on alert. Brady popped his head around the door, then pulled back. “False alarm.” They both took a few steps away down the corridor leading back to the condo’s living room.
“Gage wants a kid,” Brady muttered. “As soon as we get married, he wants us to start looking for a surrogate.”
“What do you think?” Eli asked. His friend had gone through some troubles recovering from PTSD, and he had to be a bit worried about his fitness to be a parent.
“I wasn’t sure but—”
“Gage is sort of persuasive?”
“Yeah. But more than that. He makes everything seem possible. Small steps lead to big strides. That’s how he sees the world. As one amazing journey.”
The definition of love, right there.
Speaking of amazing journeys … “Alexandra’s pregnant.”
Brady’s grim demeanor cracked open in a smile. “Nice work. How’s she taking it?”
“How do you think? She’s freaking out about how everything will change. Her job, her life, even the wedding because she’ll be near eight months gone by then.”
“And you’re just fine.”
“No, I’m freaking out as well. But I’m also happy. And I want to be strong for her.”
Brady considered this. “You can be, but she’d probably appreciate it if you acted like a human once in a while instead of Mr. Perfect 3000.” At Eli’s frown, he elaborated. “Friend, no one has colder water in their veins than you. Nothing, except maybe Alex, fazes you. And while that’s exactl
y the ‘tude a man needs in a foxhole or a fight, it can be really fucking annoying in a fiancé.”
Eli smiled. “Okay, I’ll tell her about Celine Dion.”
“Don’t worry, she already knows. Gage has probably told the whole bar.”
On cue, Eli’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from Alexandra. Still think this is going to be a piece of cake, dickhead?
To which he replied, knowing it would piss her off: ♥ you, too, my sweet.
He wanted to put her at ease, and eighty-sixing her worries was the way to do it. After all, handling everything was his MO. So, she would just have to get used to staying out of burning buildings for a while (thankfully, she’d taken time off from work to help Gage and Brady with their wedding; otherwise he would have marched into Engine 6 and forcibly removed her if she thought she could continue on as before). He would hold her hair while she hurled, attend every doctor’s appointment, paint the nursery himself. As for the wedding in six months? She wouldn’t have to lift a finger.
Unless…
He wasn’t the most impulsive of people but his most rash decisions usually involved Alexandra. Forcing her dinner date to ditch her—at Brady’s restaurant, no less—so he could clear a path. Telling a whopper of a lie about how Sam Cochrane planned to sue her and that her best option was to allow Eli to take care of business. After he’d blackmailed her into dating him to increase his popularity with the good people of Chicago. Fessing up to the world about his father’s sins to prove to her that she was the one person he would give up everything for—even the mayoralty of Chicago.
Alexandra Dempsey had shown him that plans often veered left and that adapting was necessary to survive. Adapting was necessary for love.
Maybe their route needed to be re-calculated …
5
Pregnancy sucked.
What else was Alex going to think while hugging the toilet bowl and expunging what looked like—chicken wings? Damn, she needed to overhaul her diet stat. No doubt Eli was already drawing up a spreadsheet of approved foods not likely to poison his son and heir.