by KD Robichaux
“Louisa,” a deep male voice comes from the porch, and I turn to see a very handsome older man bent down, picking up the dishtowel she’d dropped. “Let our boy breathe.”
Ah, this must be Z’s dad, and I try to keep the shocked look off my face as he comes down the front steps and makes his way toward us. I was wrong. So, so wrong. Z obviously got his stature from his mom, because I can almost look this man in his eye. He can’t be more than 5’5”, but goodness he is good-looking.
When Z’s mom finally lets him go, she steps back and allows his dad a turn, and it’s not one of those man-hugs with a slap on the back. It’s a full on, loving hug from a father to his “little boy,” only Z towers over him and rests his cheek on the top of his head the way Louisa did to me.
I’ve taken in every detail of this exchange since the woman had opened her front door, because it’s so different from what happens whenever I go home for a visit—which is a very, very rare occasion. There are no loving hugs. Only cold greetings and the usual questions of when I’ll meet a man worthy enough to be part of our hoity-toity family.
Z lets go but puts his hand on his dad’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he faces me. “Kayan, this is my dad and mom, Mateo and Louisa Del Castillo. Ma, Pop, this is my Kayan.”
My Kayan. He introduced me to his parents as his Kayan.
My nose tingles with tears wanting to form once again, but I fight them with all my might. I will not cry in the first five minutes of meeting these people. How freaking embarrassing would that be?
“It’s nice to meet y’all,” I squeak out, my throat tight with trying to keep my emotions under control.
His dad reaches out and tugs his wife into his side, wrapping his arm around her hips with possession and pride. Her arm comes to rest around the top of his shoulders, and she places a kiss on the top of his bald head. I feel my cheeks pinken. No way would my parents be caught dead showing any kind of PDA.
“It’s truly wonderful to meet you, honey. Eleazar has talked about you nonstop, and we feel like we already know you,” she says, her face soft and warm as her voice.
I glance up at Z, and he gives me an infectious smile.
“Anyway, let’s get you two inside. I’m sure you’re over being on the road after making that trip,” his dad tells us, and we follow them up the porch steps.
“It really wasn’t bad, since we split the trip in half last night,” Z informs, and my eyes widen as I shake my head at him. He’s not going to tell them about Club Alias, is he? He gives me a wicked grin like that’s exactly what he’s going to do, but to my relief, he only explains, “We stopped next to Ft. Vanter to see an old buddy of mine. Got some good sleep at a hotel last night before finishing up the trip.”
“Ah, how nice. Anyone we know?” his mom asks.
“Corbin Lowe. He was in the Army while I was in the Navy. I got to train with him for a few months back in the day. Good guy.” We walk into the kitchen, and he pulls a stool out at the island for me to sit at. I’ve been sitting for almost three hours now though, so I just prop my foot up on one of the rungs. “Are those what I think they are, Ma?”
I follow his gaze to the rack of cookies cooling in the center of the island.
“If you think they’re you’re favorite chocolate chunk and pecan cookies, then you are most certainly correct. But I just pulled them out, so you need to wait so you don’t burn—”
But it was too late. Z already snatched up one of the cookies in his big hand, tossing some that fell apart into his mouth, making garbled noises and breathing in and out trying to cool the hot treat.
“Hardhead,” his mom and I say in unison, and after a startled glance between us, we both burst into laughter.
“Well… there we have it,” his dad inserts.
“Wha?” Z asks, his mouth full but open as he continues to eat the blistering cookie.
“They say a man unconsciously tries to find a woman who reminds them of their mother. And the same with a woman and her father,” he explains, and I let out a snort by accident.
When they look at me, I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. “I think I consciously looked for someone who was the complete opposite of my father. Let’s just say I wasn’t a daddy’s girl.”
“Aw, honey. Eleazar was telling us about your parents. But you wanna know a secret?” His mom looks at me soothingly but without pity, and then glances at Z, as if asking for permission. At his nod, she continues. “Biologically, we are not Z’s parents. We adopted him when he was ten.”
My face shows pure shock, and the three other people in the room chuckle. “But you look so much alike!”
“That’s because they adopted me from Ma’s sister. Crazy, truly messed up situation back in Spain. But that’s a story for another day. Who I call my parents—” He gestures to the couple smiling warmly at me. “—had tried for years to have a baby, with no luck. When I was about to be sent into foster care because of my biological mother and father, Ma and Pop saw it as the perfect opportunity to finally add to their family.”
I nod, something in his eyes causing me to reach out and take Z’s hand in mine. “It’s why I’ve always understood your fucked up relationship with your parents. Because that’s all I knew for the first decade of my life. The coldness. The feeling of being unloved, unworthy. It was terrible. But then I was adopted by who was truly meant to be my parents. And that’s why I told you I’d bring you here, to show you how parents should treat their child. Because I knew both sides of it—how it’s not supposed to be, and exactly what a family should be like.”
“But no fear, Kayan!” she exclaims. “You have us now too. I will gladly be your doting, loving stand-in mom. We’ll exchange numbers before you leave, and you can call me whenever you want.”
“Don’t do it,” Z stage-whispers, and I glance at him with wide eyes. “Once you get on the phone with her, you can’t escape. The woman loves to talk about anything and everything, or nothing at all.”
Next thing I see is an oven mitt connecting with my handsome hulk’s face, and I turn to look at his smirking mother. “Nice shot,” I tell her, and she gives me a single nod before narrowing her eyes on Z.
“I resent that. First, my only child leaves me to join the Navy and travel all over the world as soon as he turns eighteen, and then he settles states away when he gets out of the military. What’s a mom to do? You bet your ass I’m gonna make you talk to me on the phone as much as possible,” she tells him, her Spanish accent thickening the more she spoke, but she never slipped out of English.
I lean into Z, and murmur, “I totally expected her to start cussing you out in her native language.”
He smiles down at me warmly. “Nah, she thinks it’s rude to speak Spanish in front of people who won’t understand what she’s saying. Plus, she’s just showing off in front of you, so she wants to be perfectly clear.”
This time, it’s a magenta potholder that hits Z upside his head, and I can’t help but laugh loudly.
“I think I love your mom,” I say, as every ounce of nervousness leaves my system.
That evening, I walk into the kitchen after lying down in Z’s old bedroom for a nap. One minute, I was perfectly fine, hanging out with him and his parents in their living room. The next, it felt like someone had covered my nose with a chloroform rag and if I didn’t go lie down that instant, I would pass out right then and there on the couch. Which made no sense, since we’d slept in this morning.
“Feeling better, sweetheart?” Louisa asks when she spots me.
“A little. Groggy, but I should be fine if you happen to have some coffee,” I tell her, a hopeful look on my face.
“Of course. Right there in the corner is my coffee bar. Help yourself to whatever you like.” She points, and that’s when I notice the cutest little setup. She has a Keurig with a spinning wrack of all sorts of flavored K-cups sitting on a black iron buffet. On the wall are paintings of different mugs of hot drinks, and a sign that says I l
ike my sugar and cream with a hint of coffee.
I choose one of the donut shop coffees, and see there’s a black mini fridge built into the buffet, and when I open the small door, I giggle at all the different flavors of creamers. “You’re really prepared for anything, aren’t you, Mama Louisa?”
“Never know which coffee I’m going to be in the mood for, so I keep everything stocked,” she tells me with a wide smile, probably at my use of the name she’d ordered me to call her when I referred to her as Mrs. Del Castillo earlier.
After I’m finished stirring in a not-so-healthy amount of peppermint mocha creamer, I sit at the island and sip from the mug for a minute before finally asking, “Where is Z? And do you need any help fixing dinner? It all smells amazing.”
“I sent him and his dad on a mission to get flour tortillas to go with dinner tonight. I only have corn ones, and he informed me that you don’t like them.”
“Oh, gosh. Y’all didn’t have to make a fuss about that. I would’ve been fine with corn tortillas. It’s just a texture thing, no big deal,” I say, my face heating. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m some ungrateful, picky asshole.
“No fuss at all, honey. Don’t you worry about it. I personally thought it was sweet that he knew such a minor detail about your food preferences.” She smiled, stirring something in a silver pot on the stove.
“It is really sweet. He learned that tidbit a short while ago, when we had taco night at my best friend July’s house. I can’t believe he’d remember such a random thing,” I tell her, taking a sip of my coffee and moaning quietly at how it zings through my veins, waking me more with every swallow.
She chuckles, shaking her head and making her long, dark hair sway against her back. “My boy will surprise you. He’s always been a good listener, and he gives the best gifts. You’ll mention you’d like something in passing, and next holiday or birthday, there it is!”
“That seems like a rare quality in a man. You did good with him. He’s the most thoughtful, caring, and protective man I’ve ever met.”
Her eyes go soft as she turns to look at me, leaning on the counter next to the stove. “He actually gets it from his father, so it’s a learned behavior, not nature. Mateo is the same way. And hopefully, your children will pick it up from Eleazar, especially if it’s a boy. I’d much rather that trait be passed down through the generations than anything else. Things like looks and… height—” She winks. “—do not matter as much as how they treat you. But we shall see, yes?”
My cheeks warm at the idea of having babies with Z. I can already tell he’d be an amazing father, what with the way he’s so protective and how he dotes on me. But I say, “We’ve still got a while before we even start thinking about babies. We only began dating a month or so ago.”
Amusement fills her eyes and she cocks her head. “Oh, honey. I think God may have other plans for you and my boy.”
I sit up straighter on the stool, setting my coffee mug down. “What do you mean?”
She comes to stand on the other side of the island, bending her tall form to rest her elbows on the countertop and looking me in the eye. “Darling girl, I would bet my entire life savings that you are carrying my first grandbaby right now, as we speak,” she tells me, and I unconsciously back up on the stool, nearly falling off before I catch myself.
“Wh-what? Why would you say that?” My tone is more accusatory than questioning.
She comes around the island and pulls out the stool to my right, taking hold of my knees to swing me around to face her before taking my hands gently in hers. Her face is soft when she points out, “You said earlier that on the way here, you got carsick.”
“Well, yeah. I ate too much at Bo—”
“And Eleazar was picking on you for being emotional when that commercial came on the TV, and asked if it was getting close to… Shark Week, did he call it? Ugh.” She shakes her head.
“I mean, I am close. My periods have never been regular, even on birth control, but I should be starting any day,” I murmur, a little weirded out I’m talking to my boyfriend’s mom about my menstrual cycle on the same day I just met her.
“And then you got super sleepy all of a sudden, when you said you normally don’t take naps during the day. Especially since you slept in this morning,” she adds. “When my best friend Jamie got pregnant, I swear she was narcoleptic. She could practically fall asleep on her feet. During her first trimester, she almost fell asleep driving home! It was quite crazy.”
My eyes move between hers as I put all of these things together. Individually, I could explain them away. But when I look at them as symptoms pointing at one ailment… she’s exactly right.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe, and she grins widely. “Oh… oh, shit!”
She pats my knee, stands, bends to kiss my forehead, and then I watch numbly as she walks back around the island to where her phone is charging next to the stove. I watch, my mouth hanging open, as she dials someone then lifts the phone in front of her as she relaxes back against the counter.
“Hello, my handsomest son.”
She has him on speakerphone, because I can hear his response of “I’m your only son, Ma. What did you forget? We’re still at the store.”
“I think your little kitten might need you to grab something for her while you’re there,” she replies, and winks at me with a soft smile.
“Is she up from her nap? Is she okay? Need some type of medicine?” His voice holds worry, and I feel warmth spread through me, lessening some of my shock.
“Here, I’m handing her the phone,” his mom says, and she does just that.
“Kayan, you okay, baby?” he asks, and I shake my head slightly, forgetting he can’t see me. “You there, kitten?”
“I… I, uh…” I can’t form words.
His voice grows firmer. “Kayan, what’s wrong?”
I jump when Louisa places her hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze in support. “I, uh… Don’t be mad, okay?”
“Baby, have I ever been mad at you?” he prompts, and I shake my head again.
“N-no. But… but we’ve only been together—”
“I won’t be mad. Just tell me what’s the matter,” he urges, and I take a deep breath.
“I, um. Would you mind grabbing a-uh…. Would you mind grabbing—”
“Ah, I get it. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. I know we’ve only been together a short while, but I know how the female body works. I knew you were being extra emotional. Which do you need? Tampons or pads? Or do you use one of those weird cup things? I’m heading to the feminine products aisle now. I got this. You think anyone’s going to look at me cross when I rock up to the register with plugs, chocolate, and wine for my girl? Fuck no,” he carries on, obviously trying to make me laugh and soothe any embarrassment I might’ve had if I started my period and needed girly products. It makes me love him even more, and it’s much easier this time when I speak.
“No. No, that’s not it, Z. I… I need you to grab me… to grab us… a pregnancy test.”
I hear his boot squeak he comes to such a sudden stop. His breath comes out in a whoosh, and then his voice is deep and quiet, way different than his jovial tone only moments ago. “You got my baby in you, kitten?”
It sends chills up my spine and down my arms, raising the hairs there. My face heats. “Your mom seems to think so,” I murmur.
“The nap, the indecision about food this morning, the carsickness. On top of all the crying. Not to mention last night at the club, when your tits were too sens—”
“Z! You’re on speaker! Just get the damn test, okay?” I cut him off, and I glance up wearily to find Louisa silently laughing behind her hand.
“No problem, baby. We’ll be home shortly. And Kayan?” His voice gentles.
“Yeah, Z?” I squeak out.
“I love you. More than I can put into words. Nothing would make me happier than if you were carrying my child. I promise you that,” he assures
, and I feel ninety-five percent of my worry leave my body.
The other five percent has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with what my parents and best friend are going to say if the test ends up being positive.
12
Z
“Silver,” Jax calls, walking into the shop through the open bay’s door.
We’ve been back from South Carolina for a week now, and it’s been business as usual at our motorcycle shop. The only difference in my day is Kayan and I aren’t even pretending we don’t live together anymore. Since I only had a room at the MC’s compound, it was easy to decide that I’d move in with her.
I see Wes lift his chin and step away from the bike he’s working on while wiping his hands on a greasy rag.
“I have some news about Snake,” Jax says, and my eye twitches at the mention of that fucker’s name. I know Wes doesn’t like to get involved with shit that isn’t directly affecting the club, but we really don’t have a choice. They got us involved the minute that boy dropped off one of their fighting dogs at our women’s vet clinic. “He was seen leaving a meeting in downtown Nashville this afternoon.”
“And?” Wes prompts
“And the meeting was with Franco Demitrez.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Wes leans against the bike he was working on.
“He controls one of the largest sex trafficking and prostitution rings this side of the Mississippi,” Jax tells him, and that gets my undivided attention. I set down my socket wrench and turn fully toward them. We had known it was probably pretty bad what Snake and his men were up to, but this takes it to a whole other level.
“You know I hate asking you for any favors,” Jax begins, and I can’t help but chuckle. He’d been asking us for favors since we’d known him. “I need you and your boys to see if you can set up a buy from him.”
“Then what? Do you even know the level of fucked-up you’re dealing with right now? You can’t just set up a buy with guys like these, and you sure as fuck need to have a plan in place for when it’s all over,” Wes explains.