Six hours and three stopovers later, I dragged my ass into Badd's Bar and Grill. It was ten p.m. on a Friday, so the bar was packed and chaotic. The twins were set up in a corner, jamming, Canaan on an acoustic guitar, Corin on one of those drums that was a box he sat on and slapped with his hands, each with his own mic. Bax and Bast were tending bar, Lucian and Dru serving tables, Xavier bussing.
They all saw me shuffle through the door, and Bast immediately flipped a rocks glass in the air, set it on the service bar, and poured a hefty measure of Bulleit, nudging it in my direction. I made my way through the crowded floor to the service bar and slammed back the bourbon.
"Brock texted me," Bast said, leaning close to be heard over the hubbub.
"She wasn't there," I said, ignoring his statement.
"I know." Bast grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me so we were nose-to-nose. "She moved to Seattle."
I shrugged. "Okay."
"Which is where Brock is." He let me go and smoothed out my shirt, a weird, shit-eating grin on his face.
"Okay."
Bast shoved my shoulder. "Think, dumbfuck."
I scowled at him, exhausted from a long day of travel and even more exhausted from disappointment. "If you've got something to say, then fucking say it, Sebastian. I'm in no mood for bullshit games."
"Brock is in Seattle, because his new girlfriend is in Seattle." He paused. "And Mara is in Seattle."
"And what's your point?"
Bast hissed in disgust. "How do you think Brock knows Mara is in Seattle?"
I stared at him for a moment, and then it sunk in. "Oh. Ohhhhh. He saw her?"
Bast tugged his phone out of his back pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to me.
In a gray bubble was a message from Brock: So my girlfriend is Mara's best friend, Claire. Mara is in Seattle. I'm in her living room with her right now.
I groaned, handing the phone back. "Fuck me. Of course Brock's new girlfriend is Mara's best friend."
Bast grinned. "So now you can go see her."
I shook my head. "If she wanted to see me, she would have answered my text. She would have answered my call, or returned it. She would have fucking mentioned she was moving." I trudged, depressed, upstairs, ignoring Bast's attempts to call me back, to talk sense into me.
I wasn't interested in sense.
A fist pounding on my bedroom door woke me up the next morning; I peered at my clock: 9:08 a.m.
"What?" I snarled.
"Get your mopey ass out of bed, you stupid lazy motherfucker," I heard Bax shout. "Someone's here to see you."
"Unless it's Jack Daniels himself with a barrel of bourbon, tell them to go away." I rolled over and pulled the blankets higher.
"You really don't want that," Bax answered.
"The fuck do you know about what I want?" I growled.
"In this case, more than you," Bax said.
"Zane, get out of bed and come out here." That was Brock.
"Thought you were in Seattle with Claire."
"I was. And now I'm here, and I didn't come alone."
"Tell Claire I said hi," I said. "Now shut the fuck up and leave me the fuck alone."
"Open the door in the next three seconds or I kick it in and drag you out of bed," Bax shouted.
I didn't bother sitting up. "I'll break your goddamn kneecaps if you come in here."
"One."
"I'm serious, Bax. Don't do it. You'll just hurt yourself worse, and then I'll hurt you even more."
"Two."
"I'm fucking serious, asshole."
"Three." There was a pause. "Okay, I'm kicking the door down."
I heard a loud thud, and a splintering sound.
"Ow." I heard Bax groaning in pain. "Ow, my leg, ow, ow, ow, fuck my leg--fuck, my leg, ow."
I ignored it.
Another kick, more of Bax shouting in pain, and I laughed despite myself. "Can't even kick down a flimsy door in one kick?" I taunted. "Pussy."
And then I heard another voice. A softer one. A more feminine one. A sweet, familiar voice. "Bax, stop. You'll reopen your injury. I'll go in there. This is a private conversation anyway." I heard my doorknob rattle. "Zane? It's me...it's Mara. Open up, please."
"Fuck," I mumbled under my breath. "Fine, I'm coming," I said, louder.
I rolled out of bed, tugged on a pair of shorts, and unlocked my door, sighing in frustration at the splintered area below the doorknob. I opened the door.
"You gotta kick just to the side of the knob," I said to Bax, pointing at the door. "The latch is the weakest spot."
Mara was standing there, stunning, breathtaking, and looking just as miserable as I felt. She was dressed in tight black yoga pants and a pink crewneck sweatshirt with the word "PINK" across the chest, a pair of leopard print TOMS on her feet.
"Hi." She whispered the word, staring at her feet.
I stood frozen, unsure what to say, how to feel, what to think. "Hey."
She finally raised her eyes to mine, and I saw that her beautiful green/brown/gray eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "We need to talk, Zane."
I really didn't like the tone in her voice, or that phrasing. "Okay. Come on in."
She slipped past me into my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed. She had a small black purse in her hands, and was twisting the strap between her fingers and thumb. "About, uh, the reason I didn't answer your text or call--"
"I figured you didn't want to see me."
She reached out and took my hand. "No, Zane. No. I lost my phone, and then got a new contract and a new number. I just...I figured you wouldn't be calling me anyway, since you didn't for like a month and a half."
"So you would have answered my call?"
She nodded. "Of course. I was a complete mess for the first month, waiting for you to call or text."
I growled. "Shit."
She leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. "You went to San Francisco to find me?"
"Yeah, I did."
A long, awkward, tense silence, and then Mara sat up straight, unzipped her purse, and pulled something out, a white stick inside a Ziploc bag. "So, we have to talk."
My heart lurched. "So you said. What...um, what do we have to talk about?" I glanced at her hands, at the thing she was holding. "This isn't about us being together, is it?"
She bobbled her head from side to side. "Yes, and no."
"What's that mean, Mara?"
She opened her hands, and extended the baggie and the object inside it to me. "Look."
It was a white plastic stick with a small oval opening in the middle and a tab on one end covered by a pink lid. To the left of the oval opening was the word "pregnant" with two vertical lines beside it, and then beneath that the words "not pregnant" with a single vertical line.
I stared at the stick, blinking. Processing.
The stick had two pink vertical lines in the opening.
I turned my head to look at Mara. "Um. Am I...am I--is this what I think it is?"
She nodded. "I'm pregnant, Zane."
Everything inside me twisted, lurched, sank, and leapt all at once. "You're pregnant."
She nodded again. "Yes. That's the eighth test I've taken, and I had a blood test at a doctor's office."
I swallowed hard. "You're pregnant. With my--with our child."
She eyed me, and then turned her gaze to her feet, pulling away from me. "Yes. I'm--I'm sorry."
There was so much going on inside me, in my head, in my heart, that I almost missed what she'd said. "Wait. Why are you sorry?"
She lifted one shoulder, a tiny, miserable gesture. "I--you...I mean, how does this work?"
I felt emotions rise up, fierce, sudden, and intense. I lifted her so she was sitting on my lap, cradled in my arms. "Mara. I flew to San Francisco to find you, because I wanted to be with you."
She sniffled and looked up at me. "You did?"
"Well, yeah, of course." I smiled down at her. "I want to be with you. I don't know how this works, Mara,
but I want us to try and figure it out. I want--I want us. I want you."
"You let me leave."
I let out a harsh breath. "I was an idiot. I...I'm still not sure if I'm...if I'm good enough for you, but I'll try. I can't help but need you. I tried living without you, and I can't do it."
"Why wouldn't you be good enough, Zane?" Mara asked.
I couldn't quite look at her as I admitted to her what I'd barely admitted to myself. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be alive. The bullet that killed Marco...should have killed me. He should be alive with his wife and son, but he's not, and I'm here, and I know logically it doesn't make any sense, but I just...I feel--goddammit. I feel like I'm...like I'm not good enough for you. Like I don't deserve to be alive, much less deserve someone like you."
She took my face in her hands. "I know I can't erase how you feel just by saying something wise or whatever, Zane. But...I'm glad you're here. I'm sorry your best friend died, and I know that's a scar you'll bear forever, that's pain you'll never get over. You don't have to, and you shouldn't. He died, and you're allowed to mourn him and miss him. But you're not at fault. You don't deserve to die just because he had a wife and kid to take care of. You're alive, and I need you, Zane. I'm so, so glad you're alive, that you're...that there's a chance for us. For this to work. I want--I need this to work, Zane."
I held her gaze. "And all I can say right now is that...I'll try."
"But I'm pregnant, Zane. I'm going to have a baby." She slid off my lap and sat turned toward me, her gaze on mine wary but fierce. "I'm keeping it, Zane. That was never a question. I hope you understand that."
"Nothing else even entered my mind, Mara." I took her hands in mine. "We'll just have to figure this out together."
"I just moved to Seattle."
"And I can't leave Ketchikan."
"So...how does this work?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, honey. I'm still in shock, but I know we can figure something out."
"You're not mad? You're not...upset with me?"
I frowned. "We created a life together, Mara. That week with you, it...it meant something. Shit--it meant everything. Every time I was with you, they were the most incredible moments of my entire life. Some people might say what we did was irresponsible and reckless, but I can't make myself care." I palmed her cheek, my thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "You're pregnant. With my child. We made that child in the most incredible week of our lives. How could I be mad or upset about that?"
She sniffled. "I was...I was so scared, Zane. I'm still scared. I don't know how to do this! I don't know how to...I don't know how to be a mother. Hell, I don't even know how to be a girlfriend." She twisted, buried her face in my bare chest, and her shoulders began to heave. "I thought you'd be mad at me. I thought...I was afraid you'd resent me."
"Why the hell would I be mad?"
She shrugged, speaking to my chest, her words muffled. "I don't know. Because I was tying you down. Burdening you with a kid you don't want. Trapping you, somehow. And...when you let me leave, and didn't call or text...I guess I just figured you were done with me, with us."
"Let you leave?"
"Yes, let me leave. I spent that whole night hoping you'd ask me to stay. I knew it was stupid and crazy, but if you'd told me you wanted me to stay here with you, I would have. I mean, I didn't dare say anything because I knew exactly how stupid the idea was, but...it's what I wanted. Right up until I went through security, I kept hoping you'd be like 'Mara, wait!' But you left, and then I never heard from you again. So I knew it was stupid. That I'd been stupid to think what we had was something worth--shit, I don't know...something worth having, I guess. Like, why would you want me? Why would you want to tie yourself down to one woman forever when you can have as many as you want, any day of the week?"
"Mara, that's not--"
She kept going, ignoring my outburst. "And then...and then I was feeling sick, and I thought it was just a weird flu or something. But then I left work early because I'd been puking and I walked into Claire's and my apartment and she was there with Brock, on the couch, having sex. With Brock. Your brother. My best friend. Having sex on my couch." She shuddered. "And then it turned out I didn't have the flu, I was fucking pregnant. So I had to come here. I had to see you, I had to--I had to tell you in person. Because I...I owed it to you to tell you in person."
I cradled her as she cried, then. I just let her cry, holding her, running my hands through her hair. Eventually, her crying quieted and she pushed away from my chest.
"Thanks for letting me be a baby."
I snorted. "Mara, crying about all this doesn't make you a baby. I'm a dude so I don't cry, but ask any of my brothers...I've been a miserable bastard for the last two months."
"Part of me is sorry that you've been miserable, but part of me is glad that you've been as upset as I have. Is that weird of me?"
"That makes complete sense."
She craned her neck to stare up at me. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me or not."
"I'd never make fun of you, Mara."
"I don't mind being teased, but I'm just so...emotional and hormonal right now, and sometimes I don't make any sense to myself. Like, the thoughts I have, the emotions that go through me...is this what it's going to be like for the next seven or eight months?"
I shrugged. "I have no idea, Mara. I know absolutely nothing about pregnancy." I leaned her backward to lay her on the bed, pushing her sweatshirt up to look at her belly. "I mean, how far along are you?"
She watched me, bemused, as I touched her belly with my hand. "I don't think you can see or feel anything yet," she said. "I'm eight weeks. I mean, obviously it was one of those times we didn't use a condom."
"I thought you were on the Depo shot or whatever it's called."
Mara let out a shuddering breath. "I was. But no pill or shot is ever one hundred percent effective. There's always a minute chance you can still get pregnant. I mean, I've heard stories about girls getting pregnant when they were on birth control and the guy was wearing a condom."
"Life always finds a way," I said.
She rolled her eyes at me. "Okay, Ian Malcom."
I laughed. "It's true, though, right?"
Now that she was lying down, Mara looked absolutely exhausted. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her eyelids were sliding closed and then opening again, looking heavy. I went to pull her sweatshirt down, but she latched onto my wrist, holding my palm against her belly.
"You're not upset?" she whispered, peering at me through half-closed eyes.
I shook my head. "No, Mara. Not at all." I curled up on the edge of the bed beside her. "I'm a little scared and nervous, and I have no idea how to be a boyfriend or a father or anything, but...I'm in this. I'm in it with you."
"Just promise me..." she trailed off and started over. "Just promise me if you're not...if you don't really want this, or me, that you won't pretend and you won't lie to me, and you won't stick around just because you think you should. I'd rather never be with you than have you walk out on me...on me and the baby..."
I pulled the blankets up over her. "Sweetheart, I have a lot of faults. But I'm not a faker, and I'm not a liar. And I'll never abandon you. I'll never walk out on you." I palmed her belly under the blankets. "Either of you. Never. Okay? I never leave anyone behind, and I have the medal to prove it."
She cracked one eyelid open. "What? What are you talking about? What medal?"
I sighed. "I don't make a big deal of it, but...I was awarded a bronze star."
She opened both eyes then. "And you're just now mentioning it?"
"It was...when Marco died, um...he and I were cut off from our unit, and I did some crazy shit and got a bronze star out of it. But Marco died, so it was kind of...I don't want to say meaningless, but it's hard for me to feel proud of it. I dunno. Can we talk about it another time?"
"Of course." Mara offered me a sleepy, tender smile. "Thanks for telling me."
I leaned over
her and kissed her lips softly. "You should rest."
She nodded. "I haven't really slept much the last couple days."
I curled around her as she faded into sleep. When she was snoring softly--that fucking ridiculously adorable snore of hers that made my heart melt and pitter-patter all at once, her mouth open slightly, the cute little button nose, her long eyelashes dark against her cheek, her thick blonde hair sweeping over her face.
I brushed her hair away from her eyes and mouth with my index finger, feeling a deep, sharp, intense protectiveness toward her, a fierce need to never let her out of my sight again. To keep her safe. To make sure she never felt such fear again, to make sure she knew she was take care of.
Loved.
I slid off the bed and crept out of the room, closing the door behind me, finding literally all of my brothers in the apartment, nonchalantly sipping coffee. Xavier was in the kitchen, scrambling a giant pan of eggs and tending to a giant skillet of bacon, using his left and right hands at the same time to do totally separate things. The twins were playing Xbox, of course, and Lucian was reading a paperback book as thick as a dictionary; Brock was on the loveseat with Claire--Mara's diminutive but stunning blonde best friend--on his lap, chatting in low tones to each other; Bax was standing behind the couch watching the twins play a first person shooter game, and Bast had Dru on his lap on the couch beside the twins, watching them play as well.
When I entered the living room, clad in nothing but a pair of shorts, everything stopped. Corin paused their game, and all eyes turned to me.
I looked from brother to brother in turn, and then to Dru and then Claire--Brock obviously knew what was going on, judging by the wary but hopeful expression on his face, and Claire just looked unreadable, fearful if nothing else.
"What?" I demanded.
"So? What's going on?" Brock asked.
I scrubbed my hand over my scalp in irritation. "Can I get a cup of fucking coffee before we start the interrogation?"
"Where's Mara?" Claire asked.
"Sleeping." I gestured at my room. "She was exhausted."
Claire sighed. "She was a mess. She's barely slept in days."
Dru appeared in front of me with a huge mug of coffee in one hand and a plate heaped high with bacon and eggs in the other.
"Thanks, Dru," I said, and sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, digging into the food.
The room was silent then except for the clink of forks on plates and the occasional slurp of coffee. Finally finished, I leaned back against the couch between Bast's and Dru's legs.
Badd Ass Page 18