“Yeah, you’re like the daddy I never had, old man,” he quipped back, grabbing my hand and pulling me in for a one-armed hug.
“When you guys headed back to Lejeune?” It was weird, knowing they were off to their next mission while I was staying back. Up until recently, I was always first man on board, ready to go. I guess it really was time to pass the torch.
“Monday,” Green answers, clapping his hands. “The next two days are all about fun, you wanna come out with us for old time’s sake?”
“Hell, no.” And I really didn’t. I knew what their kind of “fun” was and I was not interested. I just wanted to get on the road and get back to the hospital as soon as possible.
“Nah, man, didn’t you hear? Slade got himself a Suzie back home,” Bennett croons, rubbing his hands together. “He doesn’t need to hit the streets with us, he’s probably in a hurry to get home to his lady.”
“No shit? You been holding out on us.” Garrett joins in, such a fucking gossip.
I take a beat to look at these guys. We’d been through a shit-ton together, the whole Team. I trusted them with my life, but I realized they really didn’t know much about my world outside of MARSOC.
“Yeah, uh, looks like I’m gonna be a dad,” I confess.
For a second, it’s crickets. Then they erupt, the group of them, cheering and hollering, slapping me on the back.
“Well, now you definitely have to come out with us, man. We got some celebrating to do!” Green exclaims.
I almost turn them down again, but realize this may be the last time we’re together, so I agree to dinner, just dinner. We end up at a place down in the Gas Lamp District, a place where they could be loud and a touch obnoxious while eating burgers and drinking beer. It was good, I was glad I did it, and when I made to leave, Bennett walked me out.
“I was just giving you shit when I called you a pussy, you know.”
“I know,” I tell him.
“It’s good, what you’re doing, Slade. I mean, you been stepping up for the Team for years, now you’re doing it for your kid. That’s good, man.”
“Thanks, Ben, that means a lot. You wanna hug it out now?”
“Fuck you, Slade,” he says, but pulls me in, anyway.
“Be careful out there, alright? Watch out for each other,” I give him one last order. I still technically outranked him.
“Oorah!” He calls out before turning and going back into the restaurant.
Now I’m here, pulling into the parking lot of the hospital where my mom has been with Holly all day, sending me updates. I know where to go now, don’t have to waste any time asking permission, and when I reach her room, I knock quietly before pushing the door open. The room is dark and she’s asleep and alone, my family having left after dinner. I lean against the door jamb and look at her. Greer, or Dr. Graysen, who I’d known since I was a kid, had caught me in the hallway yesterday, concerned, because Holly had said she didn’t have anyone to help her out, that she was worried about how she was going to manage her life for the next couple of months. At first, I was irritated because Holly hadn’t even asked. Then I realized, I’d never given her reason to think that someone would be me.
She didn’t seem too thrilled when I told her the plan for when she got out of the hospital. It would seem this woman was hell bent on doing things for herself, which I admired; but it also irritated the shit out of me because I wanted to help. Now that I was home, I had nothing to do but devote every minute of my day to her. I couldn’t wait to tell her.
Chapter 23
Holly
I’d been home for three hours and was already ready to kill Dean Slade. He’d wheeled me out of the hospital, picked me up and placed me in the passenger seat of my car, carried me into my house, and laid me in my bed.
Doctor’s orders had been clear: no work, no lifting, no activity, no exercise, no sex (ha! as if). I was allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and move down the hall to the living room, if necessary, but that’s about it. I was to decrease the salt in my diet and increase protein, eat more small meals throughout the day, and drink eight glasses of water a day (hello, bathroom trips).
We’d reevaluate in a week, which is when I’d be seeing Dr. Graysen again.
Dean had sat in the chair next to my hospital bed taking notes on what Dr. Graysen was telling me. She gave him suggestions for helping me stretch and move what body parts I could (no, thank you), and on what kind of healthy snacks would be best for third trimester (in other words, no more gummy bears), as well on what the best sleeping position for me was (as if he would be in the same room as me while I was sleeping). I swear, if Dean tried to beat me at pregnancy, I was really and truly going to kill him.
We weren’t really talking, but rather co-existing in silence. He’d just refilled my glass of water (which I hadn’t asked for) for the second time and I had to pee again.
“What are you doing?” He barks out, head popping around the kitchen door jamb.
“Oh my God, I just have to pee!” Stupid, creaky floors giving out my position. And, honestly, he’s like a creepy, mean spy, aware of my every move.
I do my business and when I open the bathroom door, he’s there to sweep me off my feet and deliver me back to bed.
“This is really so very annoying,” I inform him.
“Too bad.” He tries to cover my legs with a blanket, but I’m hot, so I keep kicking them off. He stops to glare at me.
“I’m hot. And if I do get chilly, I’m pretty sure I can bend down and reach a blanket, sheesh.”
He shoots me another glare and mumbles on his way out the door something that sounds an awful lot like, pain in my ass. I mean, how can you not smile at that?
I’m not sure when I decided to actively make his life more difficult, but it’s cheering me up, so…
“I’m going to the store, I’ll be right back, do not get out of that bed!” He shouts his command down the hall and I stick out my tongue before picking up my book from the nightstand and settling in.
An hour later, after a long phone call with my school principal about my leave, he’s back. I look out the front window (because about twenty minutes after he left, I moved myself to the living room since that’s where the TV is) to see him grabbing bags from the backseat of my car. I see he’s commandeered my car, as well as my entire life.
He comes in the front door butt first, as his hands are too full to push open the door, and freezes when he sees me on the couch.
“I thought I told you don’t move.” He seems kind of mad.
“I wanted to watch TV.” Seriously, his arms are full of groceries, and based on the leafy greens I see popping out the top of one of the bags, I’m guessing there are no pizza rolls in those bags.
He stomps into the kitchen, plops the bags down, and returns to the living room to glare at me some more.
“You do understand I’m not here to make you miserable, right? That my only concern is for the health of you and our baby?”
Well, crap. He’s got me there. I look back out the front window.
“I know.”
“Okay, then.” He goes back out the front door and returns with a fluffy, gray body pillow.
“What’s that for?”
“Greer said it would make you more comfortable while you slept.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. I mean, the man had gone out and bought bags of food and a body pillow for me. Even my cranky self could recognize how nice that was.
“So, how do you know Dr. Graysen?” I ask, unable to fight the curiosity any longer. He’s putting the food away in the kitchen and I can see his every move from my spot on the couch.
“Greer?” He asks, closing a cabinet door and leaning into the island/counter that faces the dining and living room. “I’ve known her since we were kids, her parents live across the street from mine.”
“Hmm.” I look everywhere but at him, my hand mindlessly rubbing the soft cushion next to me. “She’s very pretty and supe
r smart.”
I’m not subtle, I know that; it doesn’t take his super-human mind-reading skills to deduce what I was getting at.
“Yeah, she is,” he agrees, and at least he tries to mask the smirk on his face. “I’m sure her wife would absolutely agree with you too.”
“Her wife.” I blink. Hard.
He looks up at me and nods.
“Yup. Let’s see, it was about four years ago they had a ceremony down at the beach, I was out of the country, but my parents and Grace all went. Said it was lovely.”
This guy saying the word lovely. Ugh. So annoying.
“What about Ky?” I ask. May as well lay all my cards on the table.
“Ky?” He stands up straight, looking genuinely confused. “Oh, from the sandwich place?”
I just stare at him, therefore I witness the grin creeping across his face from start to finish.
“Holly, Grace used to babysit her, that’s it. She’s, like nineteen or something.”
“Hmm.” I turn back towards the TV in an attempt to be casual (though, based on the way she’d said “Hi, Dean”, I was pretty sure she’d at least crushed on him hard as a kid).
“What’s this about, Holly?” He makes his way around the counter, headed towards me and the couch, my kitchen towel draped over his shoulder, all domestic and sexy-like.
“Nothing, just, I don’t know…” I can feel the blush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. “If you’re going to, you know, see other people, maybe at least give me a heads-up.”
I glance over to him and see his domestic sexy-like look turn into a scary sexy-like one, as he rests both hands on the back of the couch next to me and leans in close.
“Do you honestly think, with all that’s going on, I’m going to date?” His voice is hard, his words clear.
“Well, I don’t know, it’s not like…” My voice is not hard, nor clear.
“Jesus, Holly,” he bites out, pushing himself back up, and retreating to the kitchen, cursing again on the way.
“Wait, are you going on dates?” He stops mid-step, turning back to face me, hands on hips.
“No!” The word comes out loud and squeaky, my blush in full-force across my cheeks. And, man, if I had (which, hello, I would never, not while pregnant with his baby!), his manner would have me rethinking that cold turkey.
He doesn’t respond, just makes his way back to what he was doing and I press play on my paused show, but none of the dialogue is registering. I was lost in a hopeless game of: why would Dean care if I was dating?
“Can we talk about what’s in your fridge?” He asks, more like demands, thirty minutes later. After I pause my show, in order for him to have my full attention, I find him standing holding half the contents of my freezer.
“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.
“Is this the kind of food you survive on, Holly?”
Oh, so he was one of those healthy, judgy folks. He probably avoids sugar and drinks kale smoothies.
“I take it you haven’t found my gummies stash, then?”
“Oh, I found it, and it’s been dealt with.”
“What did you do?” Hell hath no fury like a woman whose candy stash has come under attack.
“Holly, I could not find one vegetable in your entire fridge before I went to the store,” he says, by way of explanation.
“Maybe I ate them all, did you think of that?”
Okay, judging by the blank look on his face, he knows I didn’t eat them all, but my eating habits were none of his business.
“My eating habits are none of your business!”
“All of you is my business, Mama.” He thinks his words are final, but, oh, he is gravely mistaken. An angry woman can speak a thousand words without saying anything at all.
Game on, Dean Slade.
Only, it’s game interrupted because, minutes after I retire to my bedroom with a book, there is a knock on the door and I quickly recognize the rapid-talking as Maya’s. I can only hear Dean’s low voice and am unable to distinguish what he’s saying, so, naturally, I fear what is happening. Goodness knows if the two of them hit it off, I could very well lose all control of my life. Mr. Bubberchop tries to flee, but I hold on tight to him, pressing my face into his fluffy, comforting body.
“Holly O’Brian,” she appears in my doorway, face of thunder.
I roll onto my back and push myself against the bed pillows, feeling skittish.
“Okay, girl, I know you are less familiar than most in the ways of ‘girlfriends’ (she actually air-quotes this), so let me just tell you…” she pauses to take a deep breath, “when you are hospitalized for any reason, you call your girl. When you are put on bedrest and cannot go to work, you call your girl. When your super-fly baby daddy moves in to take care of you, you abso-fucking-lutely call your girl!”
Oh, where to begin.
“You look really nice today, I like that suit.” The pencil skirt and fitted blazer really complement her hair and skin tone. Plus, Maya is one of those women who wore heels to work every day, so her legs (and probably her butt) looked fabulous.
“Compliments are not going to distract me right now, honey, but thank you.” Her face switches mid-sentence from stern to gloating, in true Maya mood-swing fashion.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” I give up, splaying out my arms, submitting to her. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“I mean, am I or am I not your emergency contact?”
She gives up her power stance at the door to join me on the bed.
“Yes, but I was with Dean when it happened, so...” I shrug.
“Yeah, so Dean. I met him at the door.” She says, while reaching up to attempt to smooth down some of my hair.
“It’s useless,” I tell her, having been unable the last few days to tend to my unruly locks the way it needed.
“You look more and more like a certain Scottish princess every day,” she mumbles, unwilling to give up.
“Okay, seriously, just stop.” I bat at her hands. Sometimes she’s such a mom. “And did you really refer to Dean as ‘super fly’? I mean, how old are you?”
“Yes, I did.” She drops her hands. “And, excuse me?”
I grin and she “hmmms”.
“Was he…nice? When he answered the door?”
“Eh, he was a little gruff, kinda surprised he didn’t ask for identification,” she adds with a wink. “But it’s hard to find fault with a guy who I know is just looking out for you.”
I cross my arms and grunt.
“I think he might be a little controlling,” I whisper, not wanting Dean to hear us talk about him.
“Did you not already know this about him?”
“I hardly know anything about him, Maya, and now he just lives here, on my couch, for who knows how long?”
“Well, I’d say you’ll have a chance to get to know each other, then.”
“Ugh.”
“Look, Holly, you’re going to be in each other’s lives forever, so, you know, talking to each other, communicating, that’s kind of a necessary thing when it comes to raising a kid. So, reign in the stubborn.”
My mouth drops open. “Hey, you are my friend and isn’t one of your ‘girlfriend’ (I copy her air-quotes) rules to take my side, chicks before…you know.”
She slides off the bed and back into her heels. “I love you, mija-“
“Don’t call me that.”
“-and when you love someone, you just want them to be happy. And I think you could be happy if you just relax and let him, I don’t know, blast his way past your defenses. I mean, that’s what Marines are known for, right, blowing shit up?”
I give her a blank stare.
“Uh-oh, I think you have to go.”
“Hush, you. I’m going, but only because I have to pick up Javi from karate.” I watch as she slips her bag over her shoulder and heads towards the bedroom door before turning back to face me one more time. “And, Holly, call me if you need anything, okay?�
��
“Okay.” I’d try. “And, hey, don’t let the substitute librarian mess things up, and watch out for my kiddos!” I call out to her retreating form.
“Yup, I’ll call you later.” And then with a wave, she’s gone. I take a moment to clear my mind. Blast through my defenses, oh, brother. I was defensive for a reason, she knew that. People hurt you, whether they mean to or not; and I decided long ago that for the rest of my life, I would be in charge of who I allowed to hurt me, and so far, Dean was nowhere on that list.
Chapter 24
Holly
See, I had a lot of time on my hands. And time could be your best friend, but it could also be your worst enemy (if you were Dean Slade). I was somewhat limited because of the whole bed rest thing, but that just made me all the more determined.
It started slowly on Sunday when I signed Dean up to receive a bunch of emails from various online vendors (I was pretty sure he wanted to know all about the deals Sephora had to offer). Then, on one of my trips to the bathroom, I hid his toothbrush and drew a spider on the toilet paper in an attempt to scare him.
The next day I got ahold of his phone while he was in the shower (I’d spied his passcode earlier in the day) and I changed the language on his phone, rearranged his apps, then screen shot the home screen and set that as his wallpaper. He was confused and frustrated, and he glared at me, but he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.
The day after that, he fell asleep next to me on the couch and I painted the nails on his left hand a lovely shade of turquoise. He woke up, took one look at his nails, and carried on like it was nothing.
Tuesday had been somewhat mild, but on Wednesday, during a quick trip to the post office, I moved my assault into the kitchen. I used my stash of googly eyes (hey, I worked in education) and stuck a pair on every piece of fruit in the fruit bowl and on everything in the fridge, I dumped a bag of chocolate chips into his jug of smoothie protein-powder stuff, and last, I took a bite out of each whole grain bagel in the bag (he liked to eat half of one with peanut butter on it for a snack-yes, I was paying that close of attention to his habits) and then put them back. And for the record, those healthy bagels were disgusting.
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