I scuffed my foot on the doormat and ignored the prickly heat in my face. “Hey, Ev. You got a minute?”
Ev blinked and his posture relaxed somewhat. He held the door open and stepped back. “C’mon in.” Ev closed the door and I stood in the center of the room, feeling like the king of all shitheads. “Want a beer?”
Thank fuck for Evvy and his ability to be laid back in a tense situation.
I exhaled. “God yes.”
He laughed and grabbed two from the fridge, popping the caps. Ev returned to the living room and extended one to me. “Have a seat.” I took the beer and sat on one of the leather sofas, while Evvy flopped onto his favorite recliner. The ancient thing creaked under his weight. Held together by duct tape and a prayer, the battered cushion was probably permanently dented in the shape of his asscheeks. “So, what's up?”
Using blunt fingernails, I picked at the pale ale label , not sure where to start. Let’s just say discussing feelings and shit isn’t in my wheelhouse.
“I guess… I mean, honestly? I don't know.” Ev frowned and scratched his stubbled chin as he gave me a blank look. Fuck, I was going to have to say it. Out loud. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “For acting like such a dick.” Evvy sat back and snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. I didn’t blame him for being shocked as hell. I don’t apologize to anyone, and he knew it. “No, it's true. And I don't want you to say everything is okay or give me an easy out.” I took a sip of beer, placed the bottle on the coffee table, and rested my elbows on my knees, hands laced between them. “I know sometimes I act like a bastard—”
Ev barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Understatement of the year, my friend.”
My lips tugged up and a chuckle rumbled from my chest. “Right? But seriously, these past weeks…” My fingers twitched, needing something to do. I snagged the beer and threw back a long swig. After wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I stared at a random spot on the carpet. A beat later, I took a deep breath and looked back up at Ev. “There's no excuse for my behavior. I just don't want you to think it has anything to do with you, man, because it doesn’t.”
The amused expression slid from Evvy’s face and he shifted to sit on the edge of the cushion. The poor recliner creaked loudly. “Is everything okay? Is it your brother?”
No one knows the ugly truth about the St. Clair brothers. Not Rémy's dark secret, and definitely not mine. Not even Ev. But Ev’s been around long enough to overhear plenty of conversations I had with Rémy and he knew damn well how protective I got.
I tightened my grip around the beer and shook my head. “No. Rémy's fine.”
Evvy frowned, tilted his head to the side, and stared. I started to sweat under the scrutiny. Nervous, I took another long swallow. Eventually, Ev put me out of my misery. “Is it…? Does this have anything to do with that chick? You know, the hot blonde?”
My heart stuttered along with my ability to speak. “You… I don't… I mean…” Fuck it. I slumped back on the sofa. “Shit.”
Fucking Ev. Too goddamn observant. I didn't know whether to throw the bottle at his head and run, or snatch him out of that hideous fucking chair and hug the guy for forcing me to man up and admit what had me twisted tighter than a virgin’s panties at a bukkake. I put the beer back on the table and dragged both hands down my face.
“I have no clue how you do that shit, Evvy. You must be a fucking mind reader. Yeah, it has to do with her.” I expected Ev to proceed by drilling me about Kylie, but he didn't. He just drank his beer and waited for me to elaborate. “Jesus.” I grunted. “You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?”
Evvy grinned. “Yep.”
“Bastard,” I said with zero heat behind it. I sighed and cracked my neck, then proceeded to spill my guts all over Calvin Everette’s living room floor. By the time I finished, Ev was speechless. In fact, he gaped in obvious disbelief. Waiting for Ev to spew a bunch of judgmental shit and rude jokes about me acting like a chick sent my anxiety through the roof. The silence between us grew heavier and thicker by the second until I was so fucking tense, I lashed out. “What, don't have anything to say?”
Ev exhaled loudly and scratched his whiskers again. The battered chair screeched in protest when he leaned all of his weight on one rickety arm and a tuft of fluff popped out of a tiny tear. “Honestly? You’re an unpredictable guy. I’m used to dealing with it. I didn’t think there was anything you could say or do that could shock me. But this? I'm trying to take it all in. It's just, I don’t know, kind of hard to believe.”
I scowled and fought the urge to jump to my feet and start swinging. “What's so hard to believe?” I was pissed. I just bared my goddamn soul and Ev was being an asshole about it. My fingers dug into the cushions as I reined in my temper. An unpleasant realization smacked me upside the head and I bolted upright, bristling with anger. “Oh, I get it. You think it's funny I got dumped, right? That it, Evvy? It’s fucking hilarious, right? You think I got what I had coming to me after treating women like shit all these years?” Ev wasn't wrong about that, but I didn't come here for my best friend to dump all over me.
I shifted to get up and leave, because I didn’t need to hear anymore, but stupid Ev—who apparently doesn’t appreciate the joy of having four working fingers and an opposable thumb—put a hand on my arm to stop me. I glared down at the offending digits curled around my wrist. At least Evvy was smart enough to remove his hand.
“No, Seb. It's not like that.” Jaw clenched, I shot him a look that could melt a goddamn diamond. Ev smirked. “Okay. Maybe it’s a little like that,” he admitted. “But that's not what I was talking about.”
I was still fuming mad, struggling not to knock Evvy on his idiot ass. While I desperately wanted to hear the satisfying crunch of my knuckles as they impacted with his face, I really wanted to hear what he had to say. Expending a great deal of willpower, I unclenched and settled back down. Evvy was undaunted. The fucker stared right at me. In that moment, Ev looked more serious than I’d seen him in the five plus years we’d known each other. The intensity of his gaze was so overwhelming my palms grew damp.
“I’m not shocked that she dumped you,” he said without prelude. “And I don't mean because you deserved it or any stupid shit like that. No matter what you did, she owed you a reason. I'm shocked because never in a million years did I think I'd live to see the day Sebastien St. Clair fell in love.”
What the fuck was Ev talking about? In love? I wasn’t in love.
I started to tell Ev exactly that, but the second I opened my mouth my throat seized up and my chest felt tight. A buzzing noise vibrated in my ears and I sat on his couch, jaw slack, unable to come up with a response.
“Hey.” A hand appeared in front of my face, fingers snapping. I blinked and sucked in a huge gulp of air. “Jesus, Seb. Don't do that, it’s fucking disturbing.”
It took a minute to catch my breath and a couple more for Evvy’s comment to sink in. Love? “I-I don't think…” I cleared my throat and started over. “I don’t think… I mean, I’m not sure I know what love feels like.”
I glanced up at Ev, fully expecting him to have a teasing smirk on his face. I wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he wasn’t smirking, or the fact that Ev was completely unfazed by his announcement while my insides were pulverized by a pinball that bounced around haphazardly, the metal sphere slamming into a tender organ only to ricochet and take out another. Any more hits and the “Tilt” light would come on as I hyperventilated and passed out.
Ev shrugged and finished his beer. The entire universe as I knew it just got sucked into a black hole, and Evvy was sitting there all casual and shit, like it was a regular fucking Tuesday night event.
“How does anyone know what it feels like?” he asked. “I don't know, dude. Never been in love, either. From what I’ve heard, I think you’re supposed to, you know, like feel it.”
“That makes no sense.” I squinted at Evvy. “I'm just supposed to know, but I have no way of actually know
ing because I've never been in love, unless I have and didn't know it at the time, which I obviously didn't know, because I don’t fucking know what love feels like! That's what you're saying.” My head spun from the catch-22 of the motherfucking millennium.
Evvy threw back his head and laughed. “You got it, my friend. And that's why men will never figure out women. We’re too slow on the uptake when it comes to feelings and pretty much walk around with our heads jammed up our asses ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“Christ,” I grumbled. “I’m not saying I agree with you, but let's pretend I’m in love with her.” I held out a hand and used my fingers to tick off the points. “She refuses to see me, won't tell me why she won’t see me, and systematically rebuffed every single attempt I've made to get her to see me. So what the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“If you figure that out, let me know, because you, my friend, will have solved the mystery that has stumped men for centuries.”
I huffed and threw my hands in the air. “What mystery is that, oh great swami?”
“Women.”
“Women.” I sighed, then looked at Ev, surprised when I smiled. “You got another beer?”
He stood and ruffled my hair. “Why don't I grab a six pack or two?”
I patted my hair down and nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
I was going to need them.
I snorted.
Love.
What. The. Fuck.
Kylie
“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” I shook out my hands, paced in a circle, and returned to stare out the window. The view from our condo wasn't great, just a bunch of random buildings and the highway, but I didn’t care. Taking in the beauty of the Atlanta skyline isn’t my thing. I prefer to people watch . I looked at the street, but my eyes were unfocused, seeing nothing.
I moved away from the window, too wired and too distracted to concentrate. It felt like my stomach lining unzipped and was in the process of turning inside out. The tightly coiled ball of nervous energy overwhelmed my ability to stand still. By the amount of pacing I’d done over the last month or so, I’d turn into Rocco if I didn’t stop.
A couple weeks ago I had my first doctor’s appointment. Piper, being the amazing and supportive friend she is, went with me at my request. I shoved a sweaty hand in the pocket of my slouchy cardigan to retrieve a crumpled ultrasound picture. I’d spent countless hours staring at the blurry black and white image, mesmerized by a single, tiny, dark circle in the middle with an arrow labeled ‘baby’ singling it out. Proof of an actual baby. My hands trembled and I shoved the picture back in my pocket.
I closed my eyes and placed a hand over my flat abdomen. There wasn’t a single external sign to indicate I had a baby growing inside me. Without the morning sickness, I probably still wouldn’t know. The entire concept blew my frazzled mind to bits.
God help me, I was waiting for Rocco to come home so I could tell him. At three months, it was only a matter of time until I began to show. The longer I waited, the more furious Rocco would be that I hid it from him. Not that he wasn't going to be furious either way. He was. Big time. But I was tired of secrets, and, after everything Rocco sacrificed to raise me, he didn’t deserve to be lied to.
I physically winced from the shock of pain that gripped my heart. I was such a hypocrite. Here I was thinking Rocco deserved to know I was pregnant, when I couldn't bring myself to tell the father, who actually needed to know. Seb gave me the perfect opportunity to tell him when he approached me on the sidewalk a week or two back. As I sat across from Seb at that little café, and I tried to keep him from seeing my hands shake and myself from, god forbid, projectile vomiting, I’d gone back and forth a dozen times, waffling on whether or not to just blurt it out.
Doing it in public, with witnesses, wasn’t really fair to Seb. Plus, in the end, I couldn’t do it. I rationalized it as needing to be one hundred percent certain of the pregnancy first, and made a promise to myself that after the first doctor’s appointment, I would ask Seb to meet again. That was two weeks ago. Piper supported my decision to not tell him about the pregnancy, but I knew she thought it was a mistake. She wasn’t wrong. If Rocco got a woman pregnant, and the woman didn't tell him, I would be furious. I would rant and rail, and curse the woman from Atlanta to DC and back, insisting Rocco deserved the opportunity to know he had a child.
Like I said, hypocrite.
The deadbolt clicked and my heart leapt into my throat. I hurried to sit before Rocco entered. If I didn't, I was afraid I might pass out from nerves, and if I hit the deck, Rocco would take me to the nearest hospital. If that happened, an emergency room doctor would be the one who told Rocco about the baby while I lay blissfully unconscious. Then my brother would apply a beat down to an innocent doctor and probably end up in jail. That particular sequence of events wasn’t on my bucket list, so best to avoid it altogether.
“Hey, Ky,” Rocco said as he shrugged out of his wool overcoat and loosened his tie. The Comets just ended a five-game road trip that kept my brother out of town for ten days. An entire week and a half without Rocco gave me plenty of time to decide how to break the news. I had the whole speech planned out. Face to face with Rocco, I forgot every last word. “Kylie?” Rocco’s brow crinkled. “Are you okay?”
“Umm, oh, yeah.” I couldn’t look my brother in the eye.
“What's wrong?” The couch sank as Rocco sat next to me and placed a heavy hand on my knee. My chest constricted and my eyes stung. I forced myself to look at Rocco. His expression was so worried I wanted to cry from guilt. Stupid hormones. “Kylie? You're scaring me.”
It was time. The moment arrived to let my brother down. To fall from the pedestal he put me on and bounce off of every single sharp-edged step on the way down. And I was seriously regretting telling Piper I could do it alone.
“I, umm…” I licked my lips and refrained from plucking at my sweaty tee. “I-I have something to tell you and you're, uh, not gonna like it.”
Rocco frowned but gave my knee a gentle squeeze. “I love you, Ky. It can't be that bad.” When I didn’t speak, his voice pitched up. “Spit it out. I’m kind of freaking out here.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I, uh, so I need to tell you… I found out…”
“Kylie, I'm getting really fucking scared. Just tell me.”
Oh Jesus. I can’t do it.
The whites of Rocco's eyes showed and his complexion drained of blood. All I was doing was screwing up and making everything worse. Better to just rip it off quick. Like Rocco used to do when I had a Band-Aid. He’d hold my hand, look at me, and say, “On the count of three. One…” Then he’d yank it off before three, before I tensed and made it hurt more than necessary. It was my turn to return the favor.
“I’m pregnant.” Once I got the words out, I cringed and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for Rocco to explode.
I waited. And waited. And… nothing. I cracked one eye open and chanced a peek. Rocco hadn't moved. Not an inch. In fact, I wasn't sure if he was breathing. He looked like a statute. If I didn’t see him blink, I’d wonder if he had turned to stone.
“Rocco?”
I stuck out a finger to poke his side when he exhaled loudly. His mouth worked for a moment, opening and closing a few times before he came up with a response, and even that wasn't much.
“Pregnant?” His voice cracked on a high note.
Heat flooded my face and I glanced away. “Yeah, pregnant.”
I couldn’t see it, but he shifted as little bit more life flowed back into my brother. “You're… pregnant?”
Oh my god! How many times was he going to make me say it?
“That's what I said, Rocco.”
The ache in my chest grew more painful and I fought back tears. I had expected a fight. Expected there to be yelling and screaming and for accusations to be slung recklessly back and forth. What I didn't expect was for my brother to turn into some detached, empty shell who wore Rocco’s skin like a costume. "Aren't
you going to say something?" This time, it was my voice that cracked, and it felt like my heart was going to crack too. For letting Rocco down so spectacularly.
“You're pregnant. My little sister is pregnant.” Any emotion was gone, his tone as dry as the Sahara at high noon.
I watched as gears the turned and Rocco processed the flaming dumpster I dragged into the room. As he worked through each step, the Rocco-costume receded and my brother became more and more recognizable. When his neck flushed and the muscles of his jaw began to tick, I knew my initial prediction of Rocco’s fury was indeed correct. I scooted over on the couch and put a bit of space between us.
Mount Saint Rocco was going to erupt.
“Someone got my little sister pregnant,” he muttered. “Some bastard stuck his filthy dick in my sister and knocked her up.” Rocco spoke to himself as if I wasn’t there, his way of dealing with a bevy of conflicting emotions. Once he picked one—and from the increasing venom in his voice I was pretty sure I knew which emotion the roulette wheel would land on—well, that's when the fun would begin.
The red flush spread to Rocco’s ears and scalp and he ground his molars together so hard his cheeks bulged and the tendons in his neck pulled as taut as guitar strings. Slowly, silently, Rocco rose to his feet and stalked over to the very same window I was staring out earlier.
With his back to me, Rocco spoke. The volume steadily increased until it reached eardrum-busting. “Kylie, tell me who this motherfucker is, right now! I'm going to hunt him down and skin his ass alive.” He mumbled under his breath and his eyes flashed with rage.
I'd seen Rocco angry before. I'd heard him yell and rant. He’d shouted at me, I’d shouted back. He’d punished me whenever teenage rebellion took hold and I pushed too hard. We'd argued dozens of times over the years. But I'd never, ever, heard Rocco sound so… cold and detached. I shuddered from the arctic undercurrent, then steeled myself and responded.
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