Hopeful Whispers

by Bink Cummings

  My stomach audibly growls as my saliva glands send mixed signals to my traitorous brain.

  I must remember pancakes are poison.

  Another growl is punctuated by a baby tumble. I cup my belly to get a better feel.

  You better not make another sound, stomach. I am not hungry.

  And while I’m at it… why don’t you stop that, mouth? No more saliva. It smells like swamp ass in here. Not breakfast heaven wrapped in a thick layer of fatty bacon…

  Uhh … that isn’t helping.

  I huff, wanting to stomp my foot like a bratty child.

  It’s been decided. I’m boycotting pancakes from this day forth. After Thanksgiving, I bent a little. Allowed myself to indulge a time or two since. But not anymore. Brent, the liar, ruins everything!

  “Mommy!” Scarlett’s the first to launch herself off a metal stool, her fork clanging loudly as she drops it on her empty plate.

  I glare at my nemesis, who at least has the decency to appear a little anxious. Good. He should be. I’m gonna tear him a new one for doing this and not even asking my permission. Who does that?

  Before my brain can march through its homicidal thoughts, I’ve got two girls in my arms, their heads lying on my shoulders as I hug them around the waist like my life depends on it. A jumbled mess of encouraging words leak from my lips, but I couldn’t tell you what they are. It seems to appease my beauties, who rub my belly, talking to their sister like they’ve missed her.

  Roxie’s tap on my unharmed cheek tears me from my murderous glare. Pausing one final beat to shoot eyeball daggers at jerkface, I then glance to her. There’s concern etched between her pale child brows as she gapes at my battered face. “What happened to you, Mommy? We were worried,” she says, hugging me a little tighter, making me feel downright awful they have to go through any of this. If I hadn’t gone to Texas, none of this would’ve happened.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I exhale it slowly, expelling a flurry of angry nerves.

  It’s no use in beating myself up any more than I already am. It did happen, and now I have to pick up the pieces like always—story of my life.

  Here goes nothing.

  Time to lie my ass off and hope it comes across genuine. There’s no way in hell I’m telling my children the real story.

  Shrugging one shoulder and chuckling a few times as if my story’s silly, I spew a string of golden-spun bullcrap. “I had to go somewhere for Kade. Do you remember me mentioning him to you?” They nod in unison, soaking up every word. I hate this. “I was in this house, and I wasn’t looking where I was going. So I ended up falling down the stairs and hit a table. A vase fell and broke. It did this.” Removing my arm from Rox, I point to my injuries that I still haven’t had the courage to look at. I’m sure they’re hideous.

  “Glass did that to you?” Scarlett gasps, cupping her mouth in shock. She’s such a girl.

  Suffering through the twinge of pain, I grin at her adorableness. It’s too hard not to.

  “Yup. But I’m fine now. Home, safe and sound.” There, that sounded way more chipper than I anticipated. One point for their liar-liar-pants-on-fire mom.

  From the questioning look they share, then glance over at Ryker and back to me, I’m not convinced they believe my off-the-cuff fabrication. It was all I could produce at a moment’s notice. Yesterday, if my head had been screwed on straighter, I probably should’ve concocted a better lie to tell them so it didn’t sound outlandish.

  “Ryker?” Rox turns in my embrace to face him. Though, she won’t move away. I’ll be lucky if they let me out of their sight in the next week.

  Sir Asshole leans his broad shoulders against the industrial fridge and crosses his arms over his massive chest. There’s an ease to the way he moves—fluid and way too sexy for a dead man walking.

  “What’s up?” He gives her his cool, undivided attention, ignoring the fact that I’m boring holes into his thick skull with my pinpoint laser vision.

  “Did that really happen to my mom?” she asks innocently. I set my jaw, preparing myself for his response. If he undermines anything I’ve said, I’m gonna explode. There will be no coming back from this. Not even for the sake of my girls.

  Ryker half-smirks, nodding, so sure of himself. Hell. I’d believe him if I were them. I should’ve known he’s an even better liar than me. He’s had years of practice.

  Aside from Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and where the last chocolate bar disappeared to, I tend to be honest with my kids. Even when they asked where babies come from, I didn’t conjure some stork story about a baby drop off service. Nope. I explained the female reproductive organs in disgusting detail. It made them a lil queasy at first when we covered periods and shedding of the uterus lining—stuff that most people are too afraid to talk about. But I wanted them to understand that babies grow in that special place that only females possess. Now don’t go judging me. I didn’t tell them that a guy sticks his cock in a vagina and spurts his seed into them. All I confessed was women need men to have babies. That they have to ‘couple’ in order to do that. I’m not naive to think that my girls haven’t heard the word sex before. To kids their age, it’s as funny of a word as penis or vagina. I should know. Scarlett came home one day with an elaborate story about a boy from class yelling penis at the top of his lungs during lunch. She thinks he’s dumb, for now. With my luck, Penis Boy will end up her boyfriend next week. God knows she’s got a revolving door of schoolboy suitors, to whom I refuse to let call the house or see her outside of school. I’m not a cool mom. Or so I’ve been told.

  “She’s gonna be fine, pretty girl,” Ryker confirms in that assured, gravelly southern tone of his. One my girls surely won’t question.

  A wave of relief washes through me. They appear to buy the lie when Rox turns toward me and pecks my uninjured cheek in acceptance, or whatever the kiss means.

  “Glad you’re home,” she comments, wrapped in my motherly warmth as my arms tighten around them. I dunno if I can ever let these little babes go for another second. My heart feels crazy full with them here. Homeschooling sounds like an excellent choice at this point. If I wouldn’t go insane teaching them. Or, go broke in the meantime. Alright, so maybe homeschooling’s out.

  “Me, too,” I reply, stuffing my nose in Scarlett’s sweet-scented hair that smells like coconut.

  Across the room, Ryker stares blankly at us. What I wouldn’t give to dig around in his brain for an afternoon. It’d be nice to know what the hell he was thinking by making our children breakfast this morning. Good thing he didn’t disclose his relationship to them, or that would’ve ended him in the hospital. Now’s not the time to play daddy. He lost that privilege ages ago.

  “Girls?” a familiar female voice singsongs, walking into the kitchen.

  It’s Debbie, carrying what appears to be two dog leashes.

  She takes three steps into the room and halts. Her round eyes swap from me back to Ryker. Then to the girls and Ryker again. Her eyebrows hike, hitting her hairline.

  Deb scratches an invisible piece of lint off the front of her oversized t-shirt, visibly unsure of how to react. “Oh. Wow. Okay. I was gonna see if Scarlett and Rox would like to walk the dogs with me this mornin’. If that’s cool.”

  “Sure it is,” Ryker and I reply in unison.

  Oh. Hell no.

  I scowl at him, my face aching with the effort. It’s worth it. Asshole.

  He returns the sentiment. Tucking those impressive arms tightly like he’s a macho badass, aka something he’s not. What a chump. He has no say in what my daughters do.

  Recapturing the upper hand, praying my girls can’t feel the tension level kick up a thousand notches, I stop staring daggers at Ryker and turn my attention to someone worthy of my time.

  “Girls, would you like to go with Debbie? I hope you ate enough.” I’m pretty sure they did, seeing as though both of their plates are close to licked clean. Damn all that evil mapleiness. It corrupts us all.

  B
oth sets of their pretty blues glance at each other, passing something between them that only sisters can, before they eye me to see if I’m on board with them helping Deb. To set their minds at ease, I release my tight grip on their shoulders and gently guide them in Debbie’s direction, offering my silent approval. They beam at the leashes. At Debbie. At me. Then do the unimaginable and turn to Ryker.

  “Thanks for the pancakes. Mom doesn’t let us eat them. Only grandma does,” Scarlett clarifies, illuminating something I didn’t know—my traitorous mom feeds my kids pancakes behind my back. I thought we had an understanding. Pancakes are the devil.

  I sigh, defeated.

  Fucking pancakes.

  “Anytime, pretty girl.” Ryker smiles a half smile. One that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I wait for him to say more, only it doesn’t come.

  After parting kisses are dropped on both my daughters’ cheeks and a quick thank you is given to Deb, they scurry out of the kitchen, leaving me and the jerkface alone. Great. This isn’t going to go well if my blood pressure’s any indication. My palms are clammy. Heart rate berserk.

  Waiting close to a minute, so I know my girls are out of earshot, I finally turn back to Ryker who hasn’t moved from his relaxed position against the fridge that doesn’t look all that big in comparison to his stupidly handsome, hulking body.

  I can do this. I can talk to him without throwing a knife at his head.

  Cupping my belly, I trace my fingers across the tight skin to calm myself before letting loose. “I don’t appreciate you makin’ Rox and Scarlett breakfast without my consent,” I grate.

  He rolls his eyes.

  Rolls his goddamn eyes.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I snap. “Rolling your eyes at me? That’s immature, even for you.”

  The side of his lip curls in a barely contained snarl, blue eyes flashing indignantly. “This isn’t a fucking joke. I am their father. End of story. They came in with Jezebel to see if you were awake. I told them not to disturb your sleep. She had shit to do. My kids needed fed. So I fed my fucking kids. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I didn’t tell them who I was. I wouldn’t do that. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete asshole. I do care about their feelings, and yours. That’s why I’ve tried time and fucking time again to do right by you … and them.” He pushes off the fridge, taking a substantial step forward, seething in my direction.

  Oh. This isn’t gonna work for me.

  Nope.

  Not happening.

  My patience dried up the minute my face was sliced like a piece of deli meat.

  So what if he held me on the way to the compound. Comforted me.

  So what if my stomach is all sorts of wonky with him standing in the same room. Regardless if he’s pissed at me or not.

  I’m pissed at him, too.

  He can suck my clit.

  No. No … I mean toe. He can suck my toe.

  Not that I’m into that sorta stuff. I’m not. Foot fetishes … um, yeah. Not my thing.

  Now, where was I?

  Right. My righteous indignation.

  Folding my fingers together atop my belly, standing a healthy distance from Ryker, I return his brashness with my even bigger lady nuts. “Don’t you snap at me. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “And you think I did?”

  “Yes!”

  Oops. I don’t mean that. It slipped.

  Ryker’s unshaven face turns a healthy shade of tomato red. His jaw’s close to cracking from clenching it so damn hard.

  “Why do you think that?” He takes another weighted step forward, his noisy boot heels thundering off the walls.

  “Be-cause,” I snip. It’s a mom answer. I know this. It works on the girls, but the scathing expression on Ryker’s face says I’m not gonna win with that.

  At least I don’t find him as attractive anymore. Pissyness isn’t all that sexy.

  “That may work on other people, but not me. Spit it the fuck out.”

  Busted.

  Upping my momness to the next level, I point a stern finger his way. “Watch your tone!”

  “You, watch your tone!” he growls menacingly, coming one step closer. I contemplate taking a step backward. But don’t. Because, why in the hell would I give him the satisfaction? Nope. Not today. I’ve had enough.

  “Stop coming closer to me. I can’t stand you. I don’t want you anywhere near me and the girls.” See? I’m nice. I said girls. I didn’t say my. Even though I’m thinking it, because they are mine. Mine. Mine. Flippin’ mine.

  “Why?”

  Ryker’s tone softens, his stare losing its intensity. I don’t like it. Yelling’s so much better. It fits the moment. I need there to be yelling. Even if I loathe the noise. It’s never the answer. I know this. But, right now, I need to shout. I need control. Some semblance of it, or I’m gonna break. Fall apart. Melt into a blubbering mess. My face hurts, body aches, and my feet are swollen. I haven’t eaten. And that bacon and maple syrup smells incredible. If he wasn’t here, I’d secretly swim in the stuff and pretend it never happened. I’m that hungry.

  My stomach growls, and I ignore it. Ryker eyes my noisy belly before drawing his gaze up to my face, then to the stove where a small stack of uneaten temptation rests.

  I suppress the urge to lick my lips at the sight, and send a silent prayer to God that I don’t get hypoglycemic shakes in front of my ex.

  “Why what?”

  I sustain the bitterness. It’s not hard. I’ve got years of it bottled deep, where I pretend it doesn’t exist. Where it can’t hurt me so I can be strong and own my life. Not succumb to the crap out of my control, like the man before me who plucks my emotions like the strings on a guitar.

  Ryker takes a step.

  He’s getting too close for comfort.

  My confused insides tremble.

  Shoulders back, I stand firm, showing little emotion.

  “Why do you think I wanted this? And why don’t you want me around?” He cocks his head to the side, evaluating.

  Expelling a long-suffering sigh, I regard the floor since I can’t very well look him in the eye. “I don’t actually think you wanted this. I think you wanted to be left alone in Texas and never have to think about or see me again. Which is fine. I know this was a huge roadblock in your perfect life. And I don’t want you around because all you know how to do is hurt people. I’m grateful that you helped save me. I am. ‘Cause I don’t wanna leave Rox and Scarlett without a mom. They only have me. And my mother is not a good consolation prize.” I laugh bitterly. The woman might be marginally changed. Still, if my childhood is any indication of her parenting skills, they’re atrocious.

  “Hey. Don’t talk like that,” Ryker scolds in an oddly affectionate manner. Soft. Tender. Pussy fluttering. “You’re safe. My babies still got their mama. And you can believe whatever you want about how I feel. I deserve that.”

  Yes, he does.

  My stomach growls again, like a dinosaur about to Alien its way out of my abdomen.

  “Jesus. You need to eat. Sit down so we can get some food in ya,” he adds.

  Knowing he’s right and I’d be stupid to argue, I climb onto one of the stools my children vacated and pile their plates and silverware at the edge to be dealt with later.

  Ryker, without saying another word, goes to the stack of untouched pancakes.

  I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “I won’t eat those.”

  He glances over his shoulder at me, frowning. “Why the hell not?”

  “’Cause they… Never mind. I just can’t. Anything else is fine. Toast. That sounds good.”

  Spinning on his heel, those massive arms find their home again across that broad chest. Great. He’s angry. Again. Go me.

  Shaking his head defiantly, Ryker flicks his gaze from my bump to face. “I’m not feeding two of my girls toast. Toast isn’t good enough.”

  “Toast is fine,” I grumble. Why does he
have to fight me on every small thing? And … I’m not his anything.

  “It’s not. If you won’t eat my special pancakes, pick something else.”

  Special pancakes. I remember those. Extra vanilla. A little brown sugar in the batch. Gah! That sounds delicious. At this point, cardboard sounds appetizing.

  “Cereal,” I offer.

  “Fuck no. That’s sugary carb crap. Not happenin’. Pick again.”

  Exhausted by this merry-go-round, I scrub both hands down my face, ousting another put-me-out-of-my-misery groan. Was he always this difficult? I don’t remember that.

  “Fruit? Anything. I don’t care, Ryker. Just feed me anything but pancakes. Or I can get it myself.” I move to slide off the stool.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he orders, and I pause mid scoot. “Keep your sexy ass planted on that seat. And that’s an order.”

  I concede begrudgingly, disregard his compliment, and, for a few short, luxuriating moments, enjoy watching Ryker shuffle around the kitchen without digging under my skin. It’s almost peaceful. Out of the fridge, he pulls a fruit salad that’s a mixture of what looks like watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, blueberries, pineapple, and two colors of grapes. He pours a healthy portion into a bowl from the cupboard, snags a yogurt from the refrigerator drawer when he replaces the leftover fruit inside, then grabs me a spoon and fork before setting it all in front of me.

  “Here. This is much better for you and our baby.” Ryker snatches the yogurt away before I can open it myself. Ripping the foil top off, he resets the container next to my bowl of fruit. “If you don’t want the honeydew or green grapes, ignore ‘em, and I’ll finish them off when you’re done.”

  I stab my fork into a purple grape, pausing the utensil halfway to my mouth as my brain plays catch up. “You remember?” I whisper more to myself than him, staring blankly at the bowl. Strange. It’s been years. I can’t believe he remembers I don’t care for green grapes because they’re too tart, and honeydew is sometimes … gross.

  Standing across the metal table from me, he says, “Of course.”