by Bijou Hunter
“Wait, is he sick?” Shane asks, sounding as freaked out as his sister. “Should I take him to the hospital?”
“I’ll text my mom and ask,” River says.
Their hysteria lures me from the darkness, and I find myself moving to where Iggy’s diarrhea defeats four grownups.
While I don’t remember cleaning Iggy, he ends up in my arms on the couch. Able to see him past the fog in my mind, I inhale his now-clean scent. I smile at the little gurgling noises he does when excited. I feel lighter. Not free yet, but on my way out of the darkness.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Shane says a few days later. At first, I think he’s talking about Iggy’s explosive pooping. Then I realize he means my depression. “I was ready to take you to the hospital, but Hugh said they’d dope you up and leave you in a room alone. They might not even let us see you. I wasn’t sure. When I asked my dad, he said I should listen to Hugh. So, I did.”
“I wouldn’t want to be with strangers. Even though I felt alone, a part of me knew I wasn’t. I heard people talking, music playing. It was so far away, but you took care of me. Gave me my pills. Made me drink enough to stay hydrated. Kept me from doing anything permanent,” I say and then add with a smile, “And you took care of Iggy.”
“He nearly kicked my ass, but you knew how to handle it.”
“Only because I’ve spent my life just doing stuff without thinking. You’re the kind of person who wants to understand things. You don’t do whatever just to do whatever. With a baby’s explosive poop, all that thinking held you back. But your smart brain kept me safe while I was sick.”
Shane appreciates my words. He must know logically that he did right by Iggy and me. But the fears he feels are still new. He can’t bully away my depression or an infant’s sensitive tummy. Sometimes, we can’t do anything except ride out the trouble. The lack of power scares him, and his fear leaves me worried.
That’s why we both lose our minds when I turn up pregnant two months later.
“What the fuck?” Shane growls upward as if threatening the universe. “Is this because I bragged about destroying her diaphragm?”
It’s true that Shane announced my first pregnancy by yelling, “My sperm broke down the wall and stormed the castle!”
“Why won’t my birth control work?” I cry, holding our three-month-old baby. “I thought the diaphragm was just defective, but the pills didn’t work either. What’s wrong with me?”
Later, after we’ve calmed down, Shelby explains her theory. “See, you never had a regular fuck buddy,” she says, and Kelsi nods. “That diaphragm wasn’t doing a damn thing, but you just got lucky with the timing until Shane. Once you’re getting nailed left and right and then left again, it’s too much sperm. Even with the new pills. Pregnancy was bound to happen.”
Earlier upstairs, when Shane and I were still freaked out, we discussed whether we could go through with the pregnancy. Neither of us is ready for another child, and Iggy deserves our attention.
Unable to lose his frown, Shane mutters, “Shelby had years to be spoiled before I came along.”
“Is that something you could be okay with?” I ask, and he knows what I mean. “Is it something we’d regret?”
Shane, Iggy, and I rest in bed for an hour, just thinking. I have no idea what the baby has on his mind, but his parents adjust to the new reality.
“If we have this one,” Shane says, staring at the ceiling, “we need to shut down the baby factory. I love Iggy, and I’ll love any kids we have, but I don’t know that we’re suited for a big family.”
“I wasn’t sure I wanted one until I met you and got pregnant. Mostly, I was scared I’d be bad at it. Like not abusive, but just not loving enough. I didn’t want my kid to grow up thinking he wasn’t cherished. But I love Iggy so much, and I like being a mom. I think together with our friends and your parents that we could do it again. I also think you’re right that we need to make this next one our last.”
Shane turns to me and then looks at our little guy gurgling between us. Catching sight of his father’s face, Iggy wiggles excitedly. He’s just started making little faces and recognizing people. I imagine another one like him, and I’m terrified. But I was scared to be with Shane and then to have Iggy. Now I can’t imagine my life without either of them.
“We can do this,” I say, swallowing a little too roughly. “Like we’ll probably freak out some. Two babies pooping and crying is a lot, but we’re not alone.”
“No, and I should have asked my parents to stay with us for a while longer after Iggy was born. I wanted to prove we could handle shit. This time, I’m willing to beg for as much help as they’ll offer.”
Grinning at his expression, I swear he looks exactly like the little boy I saw in the pictures at his parents’ house.
“You need a two-part plan,” Taylor announces during our “why can’t I stop getting pregnant” discussion. “Birth control pills and diaphragms leave too much to chance. You need something more permanent.”
“Shane needs his balls cut off,” River announces.
“Ass-face,” Shane grumbles.
“He’s not wrong,” Taylor says and then smiles at Shane’s horrified expression. “I mean, his terminology is wrong, sure, but the meaning is true. You need to get snipped. It’s easier than getting her tubes tied.”
“How do you know?”
“I read it on the internet.”
“Yeah, the internet, baby bruv,” Shelby adds. “It’s not like she heard it on the street or something.”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “If you’re snipped, and you’re sporting an implant or IUD, then in theory, you two can fuck like rabbits without doing that other thing rabbits do.”
“Sounds simple,” River says, smirking at Shane’s frowning face. “Snip, snip, lover boy.”
“We did it!” Kelsi cries and begins high-fiving everyone. “We worked as a team and solved the problem. Now, if we can be this smart the next time Iggy has a shit attack, we’ll be unstoppable.”
Her enthusiasm—along with a lot of teamwork—makes the next nine months enjoyable. We have so many friends willing to baby our baby, so we can baby ourselves. My pregnancy goes about as smoothly as my first. Though I do have trouble eating enough and end up drinking a lot of protein shakes. I often nap when the baby does. Once Iggy hits five months, he becomes the most popular guy in town. Everyone wants to babysit him. This allows Shane and I alone time when I can make sure he feels cherished since he’s so good at doing that for me. Plus, he’s feeling especially emasculated after getting snipped. I do my best to prove that he’s still the sexiest motherfucker in the world.
Osborn “Ozzy” Campbell looks just like his big brother, except I think he has Shane’s eyes. The boys also share a similar personality. What makes Iggy cry, gets Ozzy going too. They both have sensitive tummies until they’re toddlers, and there are times when our house is on constant alert for the next poopfest.
Still, Shane and I find our rhythm as parents. Much like we did in our relationship. There was a moment when the familiarity kicked in, and we just knew what the other one needed. This happens with the boys too.
I never get as depressed after Ozzy’s birth. Mostly because Shane pushes the doctor to tinker with my medicines and doses to find something that makes the low moments not so low. I let him take charge of the issue since I get intimidated by doctors. Shane doesn’t give a crap about what any authority figure—besides maybe his dad and a few guys back in Ellsberg—thinks.
His stubbornness sometimes drives me nuts, but I also trust in it. If Shane wants something, he’ll make it happen. My job is to reassure him that even if he fails or his success doesn’t turn out as he hopes, that I’ll still think he’s the most amazing man to walk the earth.
A FINAL WORD FROM THE ROMANTIC
Before Ramona, I was so arrogant. Immature too. I thought I had everything planned out. Marriage and kids could wait until my thirties. I expected to spend my twenties carefree.
/>
Now I’m twenty-five with a sexy wife and two adorable sons. There are times when life’s so easy that I feel fucking invincible. There are other times when I feel like a little kid in desperate need of his parents’ babying. It’s those weak moments that keep me stuck at the ghost house long after a normal man would move on.
Ramona doesn’t care where we live. She’s used to cramped living quarters. For her, the ghost house is huge. Our room has space for a bed and even a small dresser for her stuff. That’s all Ramona needs. In a little room next to ours, Iggy and Ozzy sleep with their cribs shoved together, and a small dresser-changing table jammed in a corner.
Downstairs and in the yard, I don’t feel suffocated. Upstairs, though, it’s tight. The cramped space bothers me, but I refuse to move.
Ramona's decision to fix her tattoo finally gets my ass moving. She could just ignore it. Getting an extensive tattoo on her back is painful and time-consuming. Why deal with that when she’s busy with two small sons, an obsessed husband, a job, and the Band?
“I told myself if I didn’t get pregnant for a year that I’d do it,” she explains one day while we sit in the backyard with the boys and the dogs. Iggy and Ozzy play with her hair, now nearly as long as when I first saw her. “Well, it’s been a year, and I want to make myself face it.”
Inspired by her big move, I decide that once Iggy turns two—only a few months away at this point—I will begin the search for the right house for my family. Even if I really don’t want to fucking move, I’ll fight my stubborn nature and do the right thing.
Ramona puts a lot of thought into her tattoo. She asks the Band and the Fearsome Foursome for ideas. She works with Aaron in Ellsberg to put those thoughts into a design that’ll cover the words she wants to forget.
“I wish I could see it better,” she says, twisting around in front of a mirror after the tattoo is completed, and we’re back in Shasta.
Smiling at her expression, I get her to hold still so I can take pictures of her back. There’s so much of her personality in the design. The guitars and musical notes. Black and red roses like the ones I still surprise her with whenever I feel she needs a little lift. My name is in the design, along with the boys’. The tattoo is nearly as beautiful as the woman wearing it.
“Once the boys are asleep,” she murmurs after looking over the pictures, “I want to do lots of fucking in positions that allow you to enjoy your new view.”
That’s typical Ramona, doing the hard work while making sure I enjoy a reward. Her heart is always open to me, and I swear I’ll never mistreat it.
Though Ramona’s a wonderful mom—doting, fun, tenderhearted—she is terrible at telling the boys no. Being the bad guy will be my job. It’s also on me to teach the boys how to look both ways before crossing the street. Ramona thinks she looks, but she doesn’t. Just like how she still says, “you know” when she’s lying, despite knowing it’s her tell.
“I didn’t say it,” she always claims when I point out how she says it.
“Then how do I know you’re lying?”
Without missing a beat, Ramona states, “You’re just very intuitive.”
As flaws go, lying poorly and an inability to look both ways isn’t such a big deal. Otherwise, she’s flawless.
My family finally moves out of the ghost house when a three-bedroom rambler with dark blue cedar siding comes on the market. The mid-century beauty reminds me of my childhood home. Plus, I know the house has good bones since our construction company upgraded it for the last owner. Located in the Railroad, this is where Ramona really wants to live. However, I’m still uncertain until she sees the inside of the house and turns into an excited kid.
With Ozzy in her arms, she rushes from room to room. Iggy toddles after her, laughing because she’s laughing.
“Could we really live here?” she asks me, and I see a hint of the old Ramona who struggles with hoping for big things.
“It could be ours by the end of the week.”
Ramona bites at her top lip while sitting on the hardwood floors with the boys. She’s suddenly nervous.
“Do you want this house?” I ask, and she looks so scared. “Because I want this house.”
Exhaling with relief, she settles down and plays with Iggy’s faux hawk. “I don’t want you to live somewhere you don’t like.”
I look over the roomy house with the light hardwoods and minimalistic touches. It’s a completely opposite vibe from the ghost house. I can already see the four of us living here. I even picture the house full of our friends. This place is home.
“The house has Campbells written all over it,” I say, squatting down to kiss each of their heads.
Ramona starts giggling. She loves the house so much that I don’t suffer a single damn uncertainty or regret about leaving the ghost house. In fact, I actually crave the change. This woman’s life wasn’t easy before I entered it, and she’s struggled from time to time since we met. Whenever I can give her something she craves, I feel like the hero I always wanted to be for her.
Iggy and Ozzy love the new house too. They still share a room, but the new space is twice the size. Many mornings, I stumble in to find the lookalike boys awake and bouncing in their cribs. Their expressions when they see me is, well, fucking heaven. I know they look like me, but I swear their smiles are all Ramona.
My boys are freakishly easy to entertain. They love music like their mama. When she plays the guitar, they bang on the tiny bongos their grandparents bought them. I love how nuts the boys get when they hear Ramona’s voice on the radio during her shows. Every single time, they act wonderfully impressed.
I secretly worried having children so close in age would lead to them fighting with each other for attention. Instead, Iggy and Ozzy are as thick as thieves. If one starts laughing, the other gets going. If one is crying, the other looks around for a fix to the problem. Sometimes, they just hug each other out of nowhere. I hope they grow up to be best friends like Shelby and me.
I might have been arrogant when I first met Ramona. I saw her from across the street and figured I’d make things happen. I’m a great catch, after all. Well, I learned life is more complicated than my childish fantasies. Yet no matter what obstacles stood in our way, I knew deep inside at my most primal level that she belonged with me
Without even trying, Ramona came, she saw, and she stole my fucking heart.
THE END
MY SILVER LINING SNEAK PEEK
Reapers MC: Shasta Chapter Book 2
Coming May 2020
River Majors is the president of the Shasta Chapter of the Reapers Motorcycle Club. His family lives and breathes the lifestyle.
Maxine Leroux lost her father figure thanks to the former club running Shasta. The last thing she wants is to gain the attention of the most powerful biker in town.
Once the two meet, though, there’s no turning back.
DAMAGED SERIES-RELATED BOOKS READING ORDER
Note: These books are written so they can be read as standalones, but the list below is the preferred order regarding character introductions.
› Damaged 1-7 (Sunday Morning is a prequel while In the Wind takes place a decade after book 7)
› Ramsey Security 1-3 (book 3 links the most to the other series and introduces Angus Hayes)
› Junkyard Dog
› Serrated Brotherhood MC 1-3
› Rawkfist MC 1-3
› Right Amount of Wrong (second generation Damaged novel)
› White Horse 2-4 (second generation)
› Reapers MC: Ellsberg Chapter 1-3 (second generation)
› Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter 1-3 (second generation) (bks 1 & 2 take place prior to Ellsberg bk3)
***The Little Memphis MC, Rawlins Heretics MC, and Spent Shell series, along with my standalone books, are unconnected to the Damaged timeline.
ABOUT BIJOU
Living in Indiana with my three sweet sons, three wacky cats, and one super mom, I love horror movies, Deusdaecon Reviews, C
all of Duty, and sitcoms canceled before their time.
Website
Twitter
Facebook Page
Facebook Group
Email
Sign up for my mailing list to receive exclusive info on giveaways, release dates, and more!