by Bijou Hunter
What about my family? Yes, Cricket’s people are cool, and I don’t necessarily feel like an outsider while eating at the family’s restaurant. Her hand on my thigh helps a lot with any jitters, but these people aren’t my people. They’re her people.
I think about what my people are doing right now. Dad and Grandpa Jared are likely drinking beer at The Rock Tavern. My brother, Otto, might be hanging with them, but he is probably texting his wife. Their love remains obnoxious to even someone as obnoxiously in love as me.
Soon, the family will all arrive home from work, school, and club business. They’ll sit outside and talk about their days. The conversation will morph into something stupid about toothpaste in their hair or the worst scab they’ve ever ripped off a wound. The women will make dinner while the men watch the younger kids outside. All the while, Henrietta likely sits away from the others, bitching in her head about how her life is the worst ever because she’s smart enough to know how dumb the world is. If any real arguments break out between family members, everyone will grab their water guns and go to town on each other.
“Are you okay?” Cricket asks, leaning against me.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Cricket studies my face, likely sensing the lie. She doesn’t call me on it. Instead, we order dinner, and Chipper talks about how fat goes straight to his ass whenever he gains weight.
“You’ll work that fat off tomorrow at the courts,” Cricket tells him.
“You shouldn’t play tennis when you’re pregnant,” Hayes announces. “Only moderate exercise for a woman of your laziness.”
“I don’t get it. Why can’t I play tennis? I’m pretty sure Serena Williams played the fuck out of the tennis court when she was preggers.”
“You always use Serena,” Chipper mutters. “Do you seriously not know any other tennis players?”
“Her sister.”
“Whose name is?”
“Something Williams?” Cricket replies, fighting a grin.
Chipper gives her a wink before Hayes clear his throat to regain their attention.
“You sit on your ass nearly twenty-four seven. Then you play tennis and spend three days afterward complaining you’re in pain from working out too much. If you’re that out of shape before you’re pregnant, you shouldn’t work out while you are pregnant.”
“That seems wrong,” Cricket says. “I feel like you wouldn’t know the right answer, but even if you did seem like the kind of person who would know it, I don’t think that’s the right answer. It just sounds wrong.”
“Why take the chance?”
Cricket looks to Candy who shrugs. “He occasionally locked me in the house when I was pregnant with Cap.”
“That was more about fucking you than protecting you,” Hayes claims.
“Swimming is good exercise,” Candy tells Cricket. “Walking too. Um... that’s all I got.”
“I don’t want to exercise,” Cricket pouts. “I want to play tennis.”
“And it’s not as if we play hard like the Williams sisters,” Chipper says. “We hit the ball back and forth while yelling ‘Marco Polo’ until we’re asked to stop by the staff or some uppity bourgee club member.”
Hayes chuckles. “I do love when you annoy those tight-ass fat cats.”
“So, I can play tennis then?”
I frown at Cricket, not buying for a second that her question is genuine. She’s a grown woman, and stubborn as all get-out. Can Hayes really order her not to play tennis?
“No,” he growls.
“What if I just stand perfectly still on my side of the court while Chipper hits balls at me?”
“No.”
“What if I sit in a chair on my side of the court while Chipper sits in a chair on his and throws balls at me?”
“No.”
“What if—?”
Hayes levels a fearsome frown at Cricket. “Knock it the fuck off.”
“But I haven’t gotten my way yet, and I’m very certain we can find a compromise. What if Chipper and I play ping-pong on the tennis court?”
“Candy,” Hayes growls while pulling out his phone. “Turn her off.”
“Cricket, you can play Marco Polo with Chipper one more time. Then you’re on bed rest for the next two years.”
“Or how about I play four more times and then I’m on bed rest for seventeen years?”
“How are you planning to raise a kid while in bed?” Hayes asks, and the women laugh in unison. “Fucking uterus fuckers.”
“I’ll be careful. Chipper will make sure of it.”
Her brother doesn’t answer, and I assume he’s deep in thought since falling asleep in a loud restaurant seems unlikely.
“Your mother made an appointment at the best OB in the area,” Hayes tells Cricket once our food arrives. “It’s in two days.”
“Will you go with me?” Cricket asks while moving her hand from my thigh to my hand. “I hate doctors and have been known to get rude with them from time to time. You could play good cop.”
“Or we can both be bad cops.”
Cricket’s dark eyes study my face, stealing away my breath. There’s such warmth in her gaze beyond the animal heat I’ve known since our first night together. This new warmth is a deeper emotion I hope is love because, despite my assurances to Cricket and myself, I’m panicking at the permanency of my current situation.
Even worse, I’ve been away from Tumbling Rock for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already awash in homesickness.
8—CRICKET
Surviving dinner, we return to my house two hours after we left. I notice Keanu’s Harley is gone and assume he took my brother home. Though I’m ready to bolt from the car and take a long bath, Hayes isn’t finished with Poet and me yet.
“What do you plan to do for money in White Horse?” Hayes asks and locks the car doors so we can’t escape.
Poet doesn’t answer, of course. How the fuck would he know what he should do when he’s only been here a day? I don’t care if Hayes asked Poet. I’m the one who answers.
“Poet will be my bodyguard until he finds something that interests him.”
“Oh, he will,” Hayes grumbles.
“I’m very delicate and need protecting.”
“So true,” Candy says, nodding casually. “Here comes Cap.”
While my parents free us from the SUV so Cap can enter, I take Poet’s hand. “Are you stressed?”
“Naw,” he lies. “I’m more sleepy than anything else.”
I study his handsome face and recall my mother’s words from earlier when we used the restroom together.
“Be careful,” she whispered while washing her hands. “Poet seems like a good man, and he’s the father of your baby. Just don’t forget how you don’t really know anything about him. He’s from a town you’ve never spent time in and comes from a family you’ve never met. He’s a mystery, so don’t assume he’ll fit in your life,” she said before adding, “Or you’ll fit in his.”
Despite nodding at her words, I quickly dismiss them.
Except I don’t know Poet.
He could literally be anyone.
Hell, he might have a wife and kids waiting for him back home.
How would I even know?
So far, I’ve trusted Poet solely based on my gut instinct. Normally, I’m a good judge of character. I smell through people’s bullshit, but I also have a vested interest in trusting the father of my unborn baby.
Despite my gut’s usual success rate, I find myself wondering about the real Poet.
“Thanks for dinner,” I tell Hayes.
“Don’t forget who you are,” he says in response.
Nodding, I watch them pull the SUV around the circular driveway. Poet stands with me, and we’re soon joined by Lobo.
“Do you have a doggy door?” he asks.
“Yes, but it’s not always open. Hayes put a lot of effort into the security on this property.”
Glancing at Poet, I wonder about his l
ife in West Virginia. He’s a criminal. That part doesn’t freak me out, yet no doubt my rush to dismiss my fears of him has something to do with how he’s so damn handsome. As if pretty people can’t be truly bad.
Part of my problem is I’ve grown up around criminals. I also lack respect for the law or laws in general. I view crime against civilians as bad, but crime against those in the “life” as acceptable. Poet probably breaks a dozen laws a day, though none of them serious. Or so I assume. My view of Poet is skewed by my love of Hayes. He doesn’t kill civilians or abuse women. My stepdad has a code. As do the men I know from the local biker clubs. They’re criminals I don’t fear.
Should I fear Poet, though? Is he violent with women? Does he hook kids on drugs or use them as couriers? Has he ever killed an old lady who saw too much? Is he a monster in the body of a sex god?
“Why are you staring at me?” Poet asks.
“You’re a very beautiful man,” I babble. My words aren’t a lie as much as a decision to deal with my worries in the morning when my brain isn’t foggy with fatigue.
I lead Poet into the house, and Lobo sticks close behind. The dog heads for his corner pillow while I discover Bianca Bella in the same spot I left her.
“What did you do while we were gone?” I ask, playing with her loose brown hair.
“I made sausage ravioli for the boys and watched ‘The Andy Griffin Show’ reruns until Keanu left. Then Cap and I walked the dogs around the property before eating brownies until you got home. The end. How was dinner? I see Hayes didn’t kill Poet.”
“Dinner was good. Hayes behaved for the most part while Poet handled all the questions with his good-natured snark.”
“Well done, princess,” she says to Poet who yawns in response.
“Aww, he needs to be put down for a nap.” Bianca Bella stands up and hugs me. “I’m crashing for the night. Are we having breakfast tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure.”
Bianca Bella studies me with her dark eyes, and I sense her unease at the sudden inclusion of a new person into our tight-knit group. She isn’t wrong to feel edgy. I’m a little tense myself at the idea of seeing Poet tomorrow and the next day and the next day. I don’t know what he likes to eat or what hours he normally sleeps. I know absolutely fucking nothing about the man who owns my heart.
“You figure it out and let me know,” she says and waves goodnight to Poet.
Once we’re alone, I sigh. “Is it okay if we watch TV in my room? You’re tired, and I just want to veg. If you can’t sleep with the TV on—”
Poet smiles at me and gestures toward my bedroom. “It’s this way, right?”
Nodding, I follow him down the hallway where he effortlessly slides off his clothes and climbs into bed. I kick off my shoes without making a move for him.
“Is there a time you want me to wake you up?”
“I don’t have a bedtime or a time when I wake up. I let my day dictate my schedule.”
“You sound like me.”
Stretching out under the covers, he smiles again. “This was a long day. Tomorrow will be different.”
I share his smile, but we’re both on edge. In the span of two days, our worlds have changed dramatically. And it was great and fun and exciting and stressful.
Now that the shock and awe have worn off, reality begins to set in.
We’re strangers living together. We’ve never had a proper date. But we’re bound by the baby I’m carrying. Stuck together is more like it.
Now we can only watch each other, both wondering what the hell happens next.
POET
The sound of Cricket running a bath relaxes me to sleep faster than I expect. I instantly dream of absolute chaos which makes sense. Before Cricket’s text, my life was color by numbers. Safe and comfortable like an old pair of jeans. I loved my life, and now it feels a million miles away.
I wake around ten to find Cricket missing. The bedroom door is partially open, and I walk down the hallway to the living room where I notice the dogs balled up in separate corners. On the couch, Cricket sleeps under a plush heart-covered blanket. The television plays an “I Love Lucy” rerun. Every time Lucy makes a loud noise while trying to get herself out of trouble, the blond cocker spaniel looks up and whines at the TV.
Leaving Cricket to sleep, I return to the bedroom and text my father to check if he’s awake. He texts back that Henrietta has the flu and puked on Justice earlier. Now they’re both sick, so he’s still up in case they need him to hold their hair.
“I feel like a third wheel here,” I admit after Dad shares way too many details about my sister’s puke such as “she doesn’t chew well enough” and “a whole chunk of broccoli came up.”
“You are a third wheel. Now you know how people feel when they spend time around our family. All the inside jokes and annoying glances. You’ve walked into that with Cricket’s family. Do they at least treat you well?”
“They’re cool.”
“Do they know you’re in a club?”
“Yeah,” I mumble while stretching out on the bed.
“And they know what that entails?”
“Her stepdad, Hayes, seems to be a crime boss around here and has links to the clubs nearby. My lifestyle isn’t going to shock them.”
“Never know. People are different when it’s their little girl hooking up with a biker,” Dad says before yawning.
“He seems okay with me. In fact, he invited me to join him and Cricket’s twin brother at a casino in Nashville tomorrow.”
“Sounds fun,” Dad says before adding, “But are you sure he ain’t planning to take you somewhere private to dump your body?”
“I don’t think that’d go over well with Cricket, and she is no wallflower. I imagine she’d make him pay something fricking fierce if I mysteriously disappeared.”
“When are you bringing her here to meet the family?”
His question is expected, yet I still hesitate. “I don’t know. We have an appointment to see a doctor the day after tomorrow. I assume if everything looks good that she’ll be able to travel.”
“It’s a five-hour drive, Felix,” Dad says, and I swear he’s trying not to laugh at me. “I can’t imagine traveling would be an issue.”
“How would I know?”
“You grew up around women popping kids out left and right. I assumed you learned something from those experiences.”
“I honestly tried very hard to block out those memories.”
“Not that I blame you, but you’ll want to learn as much as you can as soon as you can. Not knowing pregnancy stuff will make you seem like an insensitive queef, and you’ll get a lot of grief for being a queef.”
“Did you rhyme when I was a kid? I only ask because I used to think you were cool.”
Dad laughs too loudly and then shushes himself. “Your sister is moaning in her sleep. I hope that doesn’t mean another wet round is coming.”
“Not to change the subject from the Puke Armageddon, but how soon do you think I can ask to drive home without seeming like I’m ditching her?”
“How would I know? Women are different, and I don’t know Cricket.”
“I wish I could take her with me.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Her house is some fancy shit, and I don’t think she’ll dig my trailer.”
“Uppity women are a handful.”
“She’s not uppity,” I growl angrier than I should.
“I think you just said she was.”
“No.”
“Felix, son, you did, and I’m not really in the mood for you to lie to me. I mean, did you miss the part where I’m surrounded by sick women here?”
“No, I did not miss that.”
“Well, I feel like your problem isn’t as big as mine, and I’m not sensing enough sympathy from you.”
“Puke is temporary. If I mess up with Cricket, my regret could haunt me for my entire life.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Dad teases,
and I hear him struggling not to laugh. “Justice would agree if she weren’t busy whimpering in her sleep.”
“I’m sorry you’re suffering, and I have no interest in getting the flu. With that said, I’m homesick.”
“I know, boy. Your heart belonged in Tumbling Rock until Cricket came up pregnant. It’ll take some time for you to know where your heart belongs now.”
“Cricket is beautiful, vibrant, funny, and loyal. If she didn’t love her family so much, I could take her home and make a life together. She does love them, though, so I don’t know when I’ll be home. Not that it sounds like I’m missing much.”
Just then, I hear Henrietta’s voice sounding ready to cry. Only babying from our dad will settle her down. Preteen or not, she’s still Daddy’s angel.
Cricket’s the same way with her family. She might be willing to give up her fancy house in White Horse, but I don’t think she could spend more than a few days away from her family. A life in Tumbling Rock will never be in the mix for my woman.
9—CRICKET
Before Chipper and Hayes pick up Poet for their trip to Nashville, I call my grandparents on my laptop so they can meet the man who knocked up their only granddaughter. Charles Eddison’s tanned face appears first, and I swear his silver hair shines. Edelle pushes up next to him and smiles into the camera. She looks most like my father, Toby. Fortunately, I don’t look like any of them, taking after Candy’s genetic line.
“Hello, Grandfather and Grandmother,” I say, giving them a big smile since I’m about to piss all over their uppity honky thinking. “How are you?”
“We’re well, lovey. How are you?”
“I’m pregnant,” I announce, ripping that bastard baby Band-Aid right off their elitist expectations. “I’m three months along, and this is the baby daddy. His name is Poet, and we’re super into each other, and Candy and Hayes think he’s great,” I add and then nudge Poet’s powerful arm. “Say hello to my paternal grandparents from Cincinnati.”
“Hello,” Poet says, clearly wanting to laugh at my exuberance.