Shattered

by Jaci J

Standing in the aisle, staring at box after box of pregnancy tests, I feel overwhelmed. There are all kinds—old school, ones with screens, ones that tell you six days sooner. Pink ones. Blue ones.

  “What one, baby?”

  “Um...”

  Looking at me, he cocks his head to the side. “This is more your thing than mine.”

  I laugh. “This is the first time for me too.”

  “How many of these do we need?” he asks, looking at a box, his brows in his hair. “This one has a screen.”

  “One.”

  “One what?”

  “We just need one.”

  Cruz groans. “What if that one doesn’t work?”

  “Okay, so buy two.”

  And he does. He buys two, plus two more. Then he grabs me vitamins and a pack of diapers on the way to checkout.

  I want to be annoyed, but he’s sweet. Too sweet. “You’re excited,” I muse, watching him look at the pack of diapers. He looks at them like he doesn’t understand them, but wants them anyway.

  “Fuckin’ thrilled, Angel.”

  “Are you scared?” I ask him, more for my sake than his. I’m scared. He can’t be the scared one.

  H shakes his head, resolute. “No.”

  The relief I feel hearing him say he’s not scared is overwhelming. It’s selfish, but I’m terrified, and I need someone not to be, and I prefer that someone be Cruz.

  “But you’re scared,” he tells me, his voice soft.

  “Terrified.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m growing a human, and then I have to bring that human into the world safely. After that? I have to keep it alive and raise it into a functioning adult human. I can’t screw it up.” I’m starting to spiral, my anxiety building.

  “Baby,” Cruz coos. “Don’t do that shit.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t freak the fuck out. We’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.” He gives me a chaste kiss.

  I don’t know about that, but I take his word for it, for now, and stuff down my worry, figuring I can have a meltdown later, when I’m a hundred pounds heavier and on my way to the delivery room.

  At the checkout, the lady behind the register checks Cruz out like he’s a model on a magazine cover come to life. I just roll my eyes and grab a handful of candy bars. I need them. The baby needs them.

  Eyeing the chips and cupcakes, Cruz leans into my back and whispers, “Hurry the fuck up. We got shit to do, and the lady at checkout’s eye fuckin’ the shit out of me.”

  “Don’t look at her too hard or you might get her pregnant too.”

  He smacks my ass. “Funny girl.”

  I roll my eyes, fighting my smile. “I know.”

  “You know, huh? I’m gonna show you funny when we get home tonight.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A fucking promise, baby.”

  And just like that, my anxiety floats away. Being in love with Cruz overshadows any doubt.

  “So where are we going?” I ask, following him outside and toward the car. “You said we’ve got ‘shit to do.’”

  He smirks, trouble churning in his dark eyes. “Got an appointment.”

  “An appointment? Where?” First I’ve heard of this.

  “You trust me?”

  I roll my eyes—which I seem to do a lot of with him—and let him open my door for me. “You know I do.”

  “Then get in the car.”

  Cruz

  “You’re crazy,” she tells me.

  On a table, my arm thrown over my head, I watch Mia watch me, her pretty green eyes big, and that lip clutched between her teeth.

  “When you said we had shit to do when we were at the store, this is not what I thought you were talking about.”

  “It’s a tattoo,” I tell her, flinching when the needle hits some scar tissue. That shit’s still tender.

  “But it’s my name.”

  My tattoo guy scoffs. “Which I don’t normally do, but when this asshole’s serious about somethin’, there’s no goin’ back.”

  “But it’s my name,” she reiterates, her voice a little frantic. “It’s forever.”

  If the thinks we’re not, she’s wrong.

  She’s never getting rid of me.

  “And when the baby comes, his or her name will join yours.”

  Mia shakes her head, chewing on the straw of her smoothie she insisted we stop and get, hiding her smile. “Does it hurt?”

  “Fuck yeah. That’s fresh scar tissue, Angel.”

  She smirks, enjoying my pain a little. “Poke him a little harder.” She laughs when I jerk, my left eye squeezing closed.

  “Damn, baby,” I grunt, tensing when he hits the edge of my scar.

  “Hey, you’re the one that said I was the angel I never claimed to be.”

  “You’re my angel.”

  “More like a pain in your ass,” she mutters.

  “That’s true,” I tell her, letting her know I heard that shit.

  She is a pain in the ass. She’s got a fucking attitude problem and a smart-ass mouth. But that shit changes nothing. She’ still my angel.

  We’ve been here a couple hours now. I’ve been on the table, getting inked, while Mia’s watched and wandered around the shop. She decided halfway through my tat that she wanted her nipple pierced after the baby was born. That’s not gonna fucking happen. Not a chance in hell I’m letting some motherfucker see her tits, let alone touch them to put a ring in them.

  “Almost done, man,” Niko tells me, wiping the ink away. He looks at his work, nodding. “Looks fucking good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. Get up and take a look.”

  And I do.

  Mia’s name is surrounded by angel wings, because that girl is a goddamn angel to put up with me.

  Mia crooks her finger, calling me over, her hand brushing against my skin near my tat when I step close to her. “It’s sexy,” she tells me, her voice soft.

  “Sexy?” I tease.

  “Hot?” she tries again, smirking.

  “It ain’t fuckin’ tough. It’s angel wings.”

  “Were you going for tough?”

  My reputation speaks for itself, my tattoos are just a bonus. “Nah, baby, I was goin’ for a permanent reminder.”

  “Of?” She knows damn well what that reminder is of.

  “You.”

  Her eyes go soft.

  “You good, brother?” Niko asks, pulling his gloves off.

  “Yeah.” My guy does good work, I’m not worried about it. But what I am worried about is getting Mia home and naked.

  She’s chewing on her lip, thighs pressed together, staring at my tat.

  Her panties are wet, I’d bet my life on that.

  “You ready to go, Angel?” I ask after I’m bandaged up and my bill’s settled.

  She nods through a yawn.

  Maybe I won’t be peeling those wet panties off her after all.

  It doesn’t take long, about five minutes, and she’s asleep, her head on my shoulder as I drive home.

  Looking at her, I wonder how the fuck we got here. Why she sticks around, dealing with an asshole like me.

  I was born to a single, drug addicted mom, and not a fucking clue who my father was. Lived on the wrong side of town in public housing. I was born and bred to fail, to lose. For most of my life, I’ve fought against the shit. Did everything I could not to end up back there, where I came from, and the shit I did wasn’t always right and wasn’t always legal. I never felt bad about it, about who I am, because I’ve always just been a bad guy. Not worth shit. But when I look at her, I know I want to try, try to do better, be better, for her.

  Pulling into the driveway, I park and shut off my car.

  Mia wakes up, looks at me and then the house. “I fell asleep,” she tells me, like I didn’t know.

  “Hard.”

  She laughs. “Hard?”

  “Drool. Snoring. Talking in your sleep.”

  She
rolls her eyes and smiles. “I don’t snore.”

  “But you drool, baby.”

  I love the way she laughs. The sound is fucking beautiful.

  Getting out of the car, I walk around to her side. Popping the door, I crook a finger. “Come here.”

  She points at herself, smiling. “Me?”

  “You know damn well you.”

  Sliding out of the seat, I grab her ass as soon as she’s within arm’s reach. Pulling her out of the car, I toss her over my shoulder.

  “You’re going to squish the baby,” she laughs, bouncing on my shoulder when I walk through the gravel driveway.

  “Nah, my baby’s tough.”

  Carrying her through the door and into the house, I set her on the couch. “You’re being sweet,” she teases, watching me crouch and grab her ankle. I take off her shoe, and then the other.

  “Don’t tell people that shit. It’d ruin my street cred.”

  “You have street cred?”

  “You’re fucking sassy this evening.” I grab the blanket off the opposite side of the couch and toss it over her lap.

  “I’m fucking lovely,” she pouts, trying not to laugh.

  “You’re somethin’.”

  “Something special.” She grabs my hand and pulls. “Sit,” she commands.

  “Damn, you’re sassy and fuckin’ bossy.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Wasn’t expecting that. “And that makes you bossy and sassy?”

  “Makes me hangry.”

  I laugh. “Whatcha want to eat then?”

  “Takeout?”

  “I’m cookin’.”

  That shocks her. The surprise is all over her face. “You’re going to cook? Cook for me?”

  “I can cook, I just don’t.” Never have a good enough reason to.

  “What can you cook?” Getting off the couch with her blanket wrapped around her, she follows me into kitchen.

  “A couple things.”

  “Tacos?” I nod. “Steak?” I nod again.

  “Cravin’ shit, Angel?”

  She just smiles.

  “Up.” I grab her, putting her on the kitchen counter next to me.

  This shit, the home cooked meals and pillow talk was never me, never something I wanted.

  But I want it now.

  With Mia.

  I grab shit out of the fridge and get to work.

  The only thing I learned from my mom was how to cook, and it wasn’t because she taught me. It was because I didn’t have any other choice but to teach myself. It was either that or starve to death, so I learned. I fucking suck, but I get by.

  “Grilled cheese?”

  “With chips.”

  “It might be the pregnancy hormones, but that sounds so good.”

  “It is fuckin’ good.”

  I make her a sandwich and she eats it while sitting on the counter, feet swinging, and a content look on her face.

  “How’s your side? The tattoos and bullet holes? Should we take you into the doctor to get it checked?”

  She cares about me, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

  “The only person that needs to see a doctor is you.”

  “Speaking of...” Mia hops off the counter and books it into the living room, grabbing her purse.

  A minute later, she comes back, holding a plastic package up in the air.

  “You ready?”

  That scares me, the look in her eyes. She looks like trouble.

  “For?”

  “Baby or no baby,” she says easily.

  Baby or no baby? I don’t like that shit. Over the past few days, I’ve gotten used to the idea.

  I want that baby.

  I want Mia and the baby.

  Mia walks to the bathroom and I follow her. She’s not doing this shit alone.

  “What are you doing?” she asks when I push the door open after she closes it, walking in.

  What am I doing? “Watchin’ you confirm what I already know.”

  “I have to pee on it,” she informs me, her arms crossed over her ample chest.

  “So?”

  “Get out.”

  I walk out, not happy about it.

  Leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, I wait. “You know if you’re pregnant, I’m gonna be seein’ a fuck of a lot more than you peeing when you have my baby.”

  “You’re staying up by my head,” she hollers back through the door.

  “No, baby, I’m watching the whole damn thing.”

  “Freak,” she laughs.

  I hear the water turn on, then off a moment later before she walks back out of the bathroom. Handing me the white stick with a white cap on the end, she gives me a funny look.

  “So?”

  She just lifts a shoulder, walking back into the kitchen, grabbing the rest of her sandwich. “Turn it over.”

  I turn it over.

  There’s a little screen on the front.

  Pregnant.

  This moment...this shit changes everything.

  Mia

  I can’t sleep. I’m restless. Tired, but wired. My brain’s running laps.

  In Cruz’s bed, on my side, his body against mine and his hand snaked under my tank top palming my tit, I try to roll away, but he won’t let me go. He just holds me tighter, growling at me.

  “Go to sleep,” he grumbles in my ear, kissing my neck.

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Well I am.”

  Twisting onto my back, he crowds into me, his hand moving from my chest to my hip, holding me hostage.

  He makes me laugh.

  “Stop fuckin’ laughin’, you’re bouncing my head.”

  I laugh harder.

  “Baby,” he huffs, annoyed, and it just makes me laugh harder. I can’t help it.

  Cruz is so big and mean, yet here he is, his head on my chest and his hand twisted up in my panties, clinging to me. “You know when the baby comes, you’re gonna have to share me.”

  “Nah, you’re mine,” he mumbles, rubbing his face between my tits.

  Rolling my eyes, I wiggle, shaking his head around.

  “Jesus Christ, Mia, I’m awake. Happy?”

  “So happy.”

  Sitting up, he drags a hand over his face, frowning. “What do you want to do? Want me to fuck you hard, put your ass back to sleep or what?”

  “I think I’m hungry.” And I think I might want some tacos. This baby has me a mess. I’m moody, hungry, craving everything. I’m also tired, have sensitive boobs, I’m sick, have a small bladder. I’ve got it all. I wrote the book on pregnancy symptoms.

  “You’re fuckin’ hungry?” He looks over at his phone on the nightstand. “It’s two in the fuckin’ morning, baby.”

  “Sour cream and rice.”

  “The fuck?”

  “That’s what I’m craving.”

  Rolling out of the bed, Cruz get up, putting on his sweats. “Then lets fucking go.”

  “Really?” I hop up, way too excited about tacos at 2 a.m. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

  “You’re lucky I love your ass.”

  “You love me?” I ask, surprised, but not that surprised. He’s never said. I’ve never said it. But hearing those words from Cruz, as crazy as it is, makes me happy. Happier than I thought it would.

  The look he gives me is comical, like my question’s insane. “I’m gettin’ out of bed at two in the fuckin’ morning to get my pregnant woman some tacos. If that doesn’t tell your ass how I feel about you, then I don’t know what the hell does.”

  “You could just say you love me.”

  “Talk is cheap, Angel. Actions. Those motherfuckers say more than my words ever could.”

  “So, I’ve got to show you I love you?” I ask him, standing on the other side of the bed, watching him.

  He shakes his head. “No. I fucking know you love me.”

  “How?”

  “You let me put a baby in you.”

  “That’s very
romantic,” I mutter sarcastically.

  Cruz stalks around the bed, coming for me. He wraps his arms around me and picks me up, my legs around his waist as his hands grip my ass. “I know you love me, because you saved my life.”

  But what he doesn’t seem to understand is that he saved mine first. Without him, I wouldn’t be here. Without him, things could have been so much different.

  “I love you.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, kissing me softly. His lips brush over mine, hungry, but patient. “So, you want tacos or the dick?” His tongue traces my lower lip, biting gently. There’s a smile in his voice and I love it.

  “Tacos, and then dick.”

  He chuckles. “You’re greedy, baby.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Cruz

  We’re eating tacos in bed.

  Technically, Mia’s eating tacos in bed, and I’m watching her eat her tacos in bed. She’s into them. So fucking into them she’s moaning, bouncing around like a kid on Christmas.

  She’s lost her shirt. It was too hot she said, as she peeled it off and chucked it onto the floor. Apparently, the baby is making her hot.

  She’s not the only one hot.

  “Those good?” I ask, listening to her hum in appreciation as she chews, watching some dumbass late night TV.

  “They’re so damn good.” She offers one to me. “Want one?”

  “What I want is for you to eat that damn taco or put it the fuck down so I can stick my cock in you.”

  She huffs. “I’m already pregnant. What more do you want from me?”

  It hits me like a goddamn freight train.

  Sitting here like this with her. The way I feel about her, about this baby. I want a family. With Mia. I want everything with her.

  “I want you to marry me.”

  “What?” she coughs, her hand on her chest.

  Can’t be any fucking clearer. “Marry me.”

  “My tits are out and I have a taco in my mouth, and you’re asking me to marry you? This is crazy. You. Are. Crazy,” she implies, brushing me off. “You’re not serious.”

  I’ve never been more fucking serious about anything in my life, because Mia and this baby are my life. My whole goddamn life. “I’m fuckin’ serious, Angel. Marry me.”

  “Cruz! You’re a crazy man.”

  She seems shocked. Surprised. “Fuck yeah, I’m crazy. You know this. Marry me.”