by Vivien Vale
There’s a gnawing worry in my stomach that I can’t seem to get rid of. A feeling of unease, like my sixth sense is trying to tell me something, only I can’t quite make out what it is.
My grandmother was great with her sixth sense, her instinct. Mine, on the other hand, fluctuates. Some days it’s good, other days not so good.
Today must be an off day.
He refocuses his attention on me before straightening and starting back in my direction.
I know before he’s even halfway to me what the problem is. In fact, I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner.
He stops about a foot in front of me, the stench of liquor on his breath only confirming my suspicions. It’s so strong I fear I may get drunk just from the stench alone.
“Lawrence, how nice to see you.” I say, trying hard to make my face believe what I’m saying and failing miserably to do so.
“Really?” he asks with raised eyebrows. “And here I got the impression that you didn’t like me.”
I bite my tongue down hard on the response that comes to mind. Tempted as I am to spew it out, I know better.
“I don’t know why you’d think that, Lawrence. I hardly even know you.”
He’s nodding his head with a far-off look in his eyes. It’s like I’ve just said something so utterly profound, he needs time to take it all in.
I decide to give him all the time he needs, stepping to the side to get by.
He cuts me off. Of course he does.
What in the Sam Hill does this guy want?
“That’s a really good point,” he says, as if he didn’t just bar my exit, “and actually, that’s just why I stopped by.”
His eyes lock onto mine. What I see in them drives me back a step, my ass bumping into the copier.
His gaze is hungry, almost predatory. Something else as well—anger? Madness? I’m certain I don’t want to stick around to find out.
I feel my skin crawl as he directs his eyes lower, sizing up my body in slow, precise measurements.
“I don’t—” I begin.
“It’s really about time that we got to know each other better,” he says, leaning forward.
“I’d rather not,” I say, again trying to get by.
There is no humor in his laugh.
Before I can so much as process what he’s doing, I feel his mouth against mine. Hard. Pressing, no more like forcing himself on me.
It’s a kiss unlike any I’ve ever felt, and one I hope to never feel again.
I yell into his mouth, my hands pressing hard against his solid chest, desperate to break the contact.
He grabs me by my upper arms, lifting me from the floor with uncanny ease before setting me down hard atop the copier. The act breaks his mouth from mine, and I use the opportunity.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” I scream, the curse feeling strange and yet welcome on my lips.
Tempted as I am to spit the stench of alcohol from my mouth, I restrain myself. I don’t want to stain the carpet.
He laughs again, though now it sounds like more of a cackle.
“Oh, come on,” he shouts. “If my brother’s good enough, then I sure as hell am!”
The statement’s so absurd, I almost laugh.
Instead, I bring my knees up, planting my heels into his chest and shoving for all I’m worth.
I’m rewarded with his stunned expression as he is flung backwards.
Too drunk to react, he falls, his back hitting the floor with surprising force.
Boom!
It’s at this moment, of course, that the door to the copy room bursts open.
I sigh loudly, my relief instant and soothing.
Carter looks dumbfounded at the scene laid out before him. Me, legs still half in the air, terror lingering in my eyes. His brother, drunk, struggling back to his feet, murder in his eyes and my lipstick on his lips.
“You bitch,” he mutters as he stands.
I see the look before Lawrence does.
Carter’s face, usually a plane of composure, cracks into absolute fury. His eyes become a storm—raging violently, promising vengeance.
He’s already in motion by the time Lawrence turns to face him, his fist flying through the air with incredible force.
I hear the crack of breaking bone from across the room, see the blood that flies from Lawrence’s now shattered nose, hear his anguished scream.
Time seems to slow as I watch, still perched on the copy machine.
“What did you do to her?” Carter demands, though his expression tells me he already knows.
“What did I do to her?” Lawrence screams, looking in horror at his hands, now filling with blood. “What did you do to me?”
“Nothing compared to what I’ll do if you ever touch her again,” Carter says, this time eerily calm.
The silence is deafening.
“Do you understand?”
Nothing.
Behind them, a security guard I’ve seen but never met pokes his head through the door. Quickly surveying the scene, he directs his attention to Carter.
“Anything I can do?” he asks.
“Yes. Get him out of my sight.”
Lawrence doesn’t even resist as he’s escorted from the room, doesn’t so much as glance behind him.
Then Carter is at my side. He touches me. His hands and eyes run up and down my body, as if searching for injury.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No, it’s okay,” I reply. “I’m okay, really.”
He ceases his inspection long enough to look me in my eyes, the concern in his own almost bringing me to tears.
“Really,” I repeat, “I’m okay.”
This time, he seems to believe me.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he’d do that to you. I never thought…”
I lay my hand gently against his cheek, cutting off whatever might come next.
“He didn’t hurt me, I promise. I’m alright.”
He nods, his eyes an equal mix of relief and pain.
“Really.” I feel like a broken record, saying the same words over and over again. “I’m more worried about Lawrence…and you. Are you okay?”
His smile is pained, but at least he’s smiling.
“I’m worried about him. too,” he says. “But I can’t think of that now. Right now, you are my priority.” He places his hand gently against my stomach. “You and our child.”
I laugh. It feels nice to laugh after what’s just occurred.
“If there is a child.”
“Oh, there is,” he says, “I’m sure of it.”
Chapter 19
Carter
They say that twins have some kind of extrasensory connection. Something that binds them together, no matter how far away from each other they are or how long they’ve been apart.
If that’s true, then Lawrence has either turned off his twin powers, or he’s fucking dead.
I shouldn’t fucking care either way. Not after what he did to June—or what he tried to do.
It’s just that I haven’t heard from him, either. Radio silence on all channels, both extrasensory and standard.
His phone goes straight to voicemail. Not just for me, but for Dad as well.
I can’t pretend that I’ve forgiven him for the shit he pulled in the copy room. But I love my brother. I give a fuck whether he’s safe or not.
He might be a bastard, but he’s still family.
And family…family has been on my mind a lot lately.
It’s hard not to think about. Not when June’s around.
June at the office. June here at home. June waltzing around my mind all day on those long, pretty legs of hers, that unspoken question still between us: pregnant or not pregnant?
If I had it my way, the lanes of worry in my head would be the only place she’d ever cross paths with Lawrence again.
My head’s been too full of that lately. Worry, worry, worry. I need something to take my fucking mind off of it for a change.
I don’t fucking watch TV. Before today, I’ve never found the appeal.
I sit down on the couch and flip the television on anyway.
Anything to escape the worry, even some stupid television show or sporting event.
Apparently, though, escape is not what the universe has in mind for me today. Not two minutes in, and I’m already back to thinking about babies. Difficult not to, with them crawling across my television advertising diapers.
Funny to think that I might soon be taking these ads seriously.
After the diaper is a food ad, and then something about the importance of learning early on and needing to buy this special toy to facilitate such learning.
I picture myself, June at my side, buying diapers for a screaming kid of our own. In my mind, we both wear heavy bags under our eyes, badges that all new parents earn. I’m disheveled, she’s a mess, all is chaos.
Still though, I can’t see us there without smiles on our faces. I can practically hear her laugh as we compare brands of diapers for the hundredth time. Even only in my mind, her laugh soothes me.
After the diaper purchase, we head to the toy shop to check out all the latest and greatest must-have baby toys.
Just a few months ago, the idea might have had me running for the hills.
But now, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than there: in the future.
I also can’t think of anyone I’d rather be than the person I’m picturing: loving father, devoted husband, all-around good guy…I’ve never wanted anything more.
Crazy enough, since I met June, I think I’m well on my way to becoming him.
At least, I better be.
It’s yet another thing that’s been keeping me up at night. I’m worried not so much about starting a family, but if I will make a fantastic dad and husband. With my old man a rather poor role model, I can’t help but fucking worry if I’m up for the task. It seems so daunting.
June has made me feel like I can be anyone I want to be, though—including a father. Trouble is, it comes with so much fucking responsibility.
At the back of my mind, though, I still wonder…
How much like my father am I?
I can’t imagine my father loving a woman like June. In fact, I can’t imagine him ever loving anyone.
It’s hard, since I never saw him with our mother. I can’t remember him ever being any different than the man I know today, but sometimes I wonder if he could have been.
Highly unlikely.
I think the man has been the fucking epitome of selfish since he came screaming into this world.
There’s a nagging voice in my mind that doesn’t care what I think, though. The voice of doubt insists that my father used to be just like me.
Which, of course, makes me just like him.
I turn the TV off with the angry press of a finger, tossing the remote onto the seat near me.
Clearly, that’s not the distraction I need.
I stand, pacing the length of the room, unsure how to quiet my raging thoughts.
I stomp into the kitchen, flinging open the refrigerator. All I need is some kind of distraction. Anything will do at this point.
I’m not even surprised when the first thing my eyes land on is a bag of baby carrots.
Baby carrots. Babies.
Very fucking funny.
I don’t even bother looking at anything else. With my luck, we’re also stocked up on motherfucking baby corn.
I close the refrigerator and return to pacing.
At least pacing is still safe.
My mind however, is not.
All it takes is a tiny vegetable to set my mind racing again.
Is she or isn’t she?
I know that I should be patient, but the fantasy of our child has become so real to me. I don’t know if I could stand to give up on it, even temporarily. And, let’s face it, if she’s not pregnant this time, then she will be next time, or the time after that.
It’s not just about the contract or the money. It’s about us now. Our child.
June’s child.
June, who popped into my life and changed everything.
June, who lives with me, falls asleep next to me.
I’ve never been so excited to wake up as I am now, knowing that she’s there.
Things have grown so rapidly between us. We’ve come so far so fast.
I’ve even spoken to her father on several occasions.
It’s hard to imagine a man that oozes the same kindness and charm as June, but believe me, he exists.
Soon, he’ll be family to me, too.
A very different kind of family than the one I’m used to. The kind that gets excited when you call, who laughs deeply and earnestly, the kind whose smile you can hear in their voice.
June’s father was so proud to hear of everything she’s accomplished here. So proud of her new job, her independence, her happiness.
While some would think he’d also be proud of her landing a billionaire, I genuinely got the impression that he’s just happy she’s happy.
The way fathers are supposed to be.
Not that the billionaire thing didn’t come up; of course it did. And in a town like the one June’s from, word travels fast. The old man nearly laughed himself into a frenzy, describing June and me as the talk of the town—and hoping that that piece of shit Kody has had an earful.
I hope he has, too.
Of course, we didn’t mention the contract. The circumstances of our relationship might be a bit much for a small town father to understand. They might be a bit much for any rational person to understand, come to think of it.
It doesn’t matter, though. Rational doesn’t live here anymore.
Only me and June.
I’m so deep in thought, it takes me a while to notice her standing there. Who knows how long she’s been watching me pace?
“Hey!” I say when I finally see her.
She’s standing in the doorway to the hall, dressed casually in jeans and a pink top. I hardly notice her clothes, though, it’s the smile she’s wearing that draws me in.
She’s beaming at me. Grinning from ear to ear in a way I’ve never seen on her or anyone else.
It’s a smile so full of joy that I feel my face instantly responding, even though I have no clue what we’re so fucking happy about.
“What’s the smile for?” I ask.
She takes a single step closer.
“I’ve just got some good news,” she says. “Some great news.”
I’m racking my brain, trying to think what news could elicit this response…
Is Kody dead?
No, probably not.
Did they build a fucking boot barn?
This last thought makes me chuckle, and I’m about to ask her when a new idea occurs to me.
“June…” I say
She sees it click, her smile somehow impossibly growing larger.
“Are you?”
She’s nodding her head frantically, like she’s afraid even to voice the words. I see tears spill from her eyes and slide down her face. Still, she smiles.
“You’re pregnant?!”
She laughs, pure joy.
“Yes,” she chokes out. “I’m pregnant!”
I don’t even remember moving, but suddenly, I’m in front of her, laughter now spilling from my own mouth.
“You’re pregnant!”
I pick her up, swinging her madly around in a circle.
“We’re gonna have a baby!”
I find her mouth, kissing her as if she’s just given me the greatest gift in the world.
Which, of course, she has.
She kisses me back, her tongue sliding its way between my lips even as happy tears continue to spill down her face.
I can’t remember ever being this happy, this excited.
I look down at June, and she is without a doubt the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, tears and all.
I’ve never wanted her mo
re.
Chapter 20
June
Everything sexual I’ve ever felt, I’ve felt with Carter.
Still, I’ve never felt him quite like this.
He holds my jaw in his hands, forcing my mouth up to meet his. His kiss is hungry and passionate. His teeth nip at my lower lip, sending pleasure down the veins of my neck all the way to my pussy.
My womb.
The place where Carter’s child is growing inside me.
I want him. Holy hell, I want him badly.
But he’s gentle about it, too. He’s gentle about everything. There’s something restrained about his kiss, something delicate about the way he holds me.
I can feel a raw energy beneath his touch just begging to be unleashed. But I can also feel that hint of hesitation. These tender moments of abject restraint.
It takes me a second to realize that nothing’s wrong.
It takes a little longer than a second for it to fully kick in.
He doesn’t want to hurt me.
“Carter,” I laugh, pulling my lips away. “You’re not gonna break me, honey.”
He blinks at me a couple of times, running his thumbs across my cheekbones like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my face.
“You’re the most precious fucking thing I own,” he says. “It would kill me to see you break.”
“Are you sure about that?” My smile grows wider. “You might like it.”
A dark, sensual growl purrs at the back of Carter’s throat. “Those sound like the words of a woman who wants to be broken.”
Then he’s lifting me, pulling me up until my legs are wrapped around his waist.
I can only manage to laugh in response as he makes his way towards the couch.
There are many things that I’d like this man to do to me.
Everything. Anything.
Should I break in the process, I wouldn’t even mind.
He sets me down on the couch gently, reverently. It’s as if I’m a goddess, and he my sole worshipper.
I feel like someone beyond a goddess—maybe a high priestess?—as I watch him lower himself to his knees in front of me.
June, bringer of life and lover of Carter. I could get used to this.
He stays in place for a long moment, his eyes raking over every inch of my form. They pause occasionally—on my nipples, my pussy. His gaze leaves me wanting more.