by Jaci J
****
“How’s our tiny little badass today sis?” Gin whisper shouts at my stomach, touching my belly as he sits down next to me at the bar. The cat is out of the bag, or should I say, the baby is out sticking out from the belly. Everyone knows. Everyone’s excited. A few days ago, I visited my dad and told him before it got back to him. I wanted him to hear it from me.
I’d never been a fan of jails, but I hate them even more now that my dad is locked away in one. I hate having to visit him through glass. I hated seeing him cuffed and shackled. Sitting down at the glass visiting window, I picked up the phone and waited for him to do the same. I watch and wait for him.
Clothed in an orange jump suit, he worked his way to me, followed by two guards. Passing people who were already seated at their visiting windows, they all give him a respectful chin lift, and he returned them. Once his eyes landed on me though, his face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Those tired eyes brightened for me. And for the first time in a long time, he smiled. He sat down and grabbed the phone instantly.
“Doll face,” he greeted me softly. Just hearing his gruff voice and seeing his face made me teary eyed.
“Hi dad. I miss you.” A sad smile touched his lips and he nodded once.
“I know baby.”
“How are you dad?”
“Survivin’.”
“You eatin’ okay? You need anything. Are people treatin you alright?”
He laughed and shook his head at me. I worry about him in there ‘cause I’m not there to keep an eye on him to make sure he’s eating well, or that he’s got clean laundry. Hell, I worried about him when he was just sitting at the club.
“I’m okay Lilly. Foods shit, but I get commissary. People are people in here.” He wouldn’t tell me even if shit was bad, but he looked alright. Tired, but okay.
“I’ve got some news.” He was excited for me. He was happy to be a grandpa.
“So imma Pops now, huh?”He said thoughtfully with a smile on his face. I told him all the baby details. I filled him in on all the good things happening and it seemed to make him happy. He looked like he enjoyed hearing about all things baby. No need to lay all the bad shit on him. Surprisingly, he didn’t bring much up about Tank. He just told me to take care of myself and the baby.
“Love ya doll face.”
I left him with that happy news. I knew he was happy for me, but there was regret there too. I know his decision to turn himself in weighs on him and I know it bothers him that he’s not here with me to help, not here for his brothers, the club. And now he won’t be here for the baby. But he lives with his decision, because he knows he was protecting his family. It’s always bitter sweet to visit him.
Everyone else around the club seems excited about the baby too. Some of the guys could care less either way, but the majority of the guys seem happy about it. Of course all the ladies are excited for the baby. They’re all baby whores and can’t wait to get their hands on my baby. The ladies are excited to cuddle and kiss on my baby. Of course, all the guys say shit like they can’t wait to put him on his first bike, take him to his first strip club, or give him his first sip of beer. For the record, none of that is happening until my baby is thirty. According to all the guys, I’m having a boy and none will hear that it may be a girl. Most of the Old Ladies want a girl. It’s a tossup really. At times like this, I really wish my mom and dad were here to join in on the baby debate. They could enjoy their first, and probably only, grandbaby. If I think about it too much I’ll cry, so I stuff it away with all my other feelings I can’t and don’t want to deal with.
“Baby’s not hard of hearing Gin.” Leo chuckles from a few stools down.
“Well he’s in there floatin’ ‘round in water. You ever hear under water? Yeah it’s fuckin’ impossible.”
“Amniotic fluid.” I correct him.
“Shut up. That is one gross fuckin’ word.” Tags mumbles as he walks by making a gagging noise.
Gin punches his shoulder as he walks by and says, “Placenta.” Slow and drawn out.
Tag proceeds to gag and shake his head. “Fuckin’ hate you, asshole.”
“Doin’ your baby homework?” I tease Gin on his baby words. He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Peaches has been a little baby crazy since we found out. At first she was sick about it like me, but now that she has a new reason to shop and someone to dress up and spoil, she’s okay with it. She’s been cramming anything baby down Gin’s throat, or anyone within ear shot. Stitch sits down next to Gin with a beer in his hands and just like they all do, he touches my belly. I thought it’d bother me, but it doesn’t. It’s their thing. They all do it so I let them have it. They consider my baby, our baby. We are family, so I totally get it.
“Somethin’ like that.” Gin says with an eye roll.
“You know it might be a girl.” I tell them. Stitch chokes on his beer and glares at me right along with Gin, who looks like he might throw up. Fuck, what’s the issue?
“You don’t want it to be a little girl?” I ask them. Stupid question, but it is fun to fuck with them. They both almost look squeamish when I say the word girl.
“It’s a boy,” Gin says with steel determination. He’s pretty fucking sure of himself.
“No! No fuckin’ girls. You have a girl, we might go crazy tryin’ to keep the dicks away from her when she’s sixteen if she looks like you did in high school.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. You two seen Tank around then?” Of course they all shake their heads. Everyone still seems to avoid all topics that have anything to do with Tank or I.
“Fine. I’ll find him myself.” I don’t bother pushing for more, that’s all I’m getting.
****
Pulling my Jeep into Tanks driveway, I feel a little unsure and nervous all of a sudden. Fifteen minutes ago when I left the club, I was brave and sure of myself. I was going to leave my feelings and emotions at the door and go in there and talk to him like an adult. Now I feel a little queasy. I’d decided I should tell him about my next doctor’s appointment. He wants to be included and he’s trying, so I thought it’d be nice to have him there. Sitting in his driveway, I let the shitty worry work its way back up. What if he doesn’t want to go? What if he’s not interested? If he says no, I might cry and then kill him. I don’t think I could handle that right now, so I stuff down my fear and remind myself that this is for my baby, and my feelings don’t matter.
Walking up to the front door, I knock on the frame. It’s strange to knock. I used to just walk right in and kick my shoes off and throw my purse on the couch. It feels wrong to knock when this used to be my house too. The front door’s open, but the screen door’s closed, so I knock again, but get nothing. Faintly I can hear some banging and a drill?
“Tank?” Still I get nothing. I came all this way and worked up my nerve so I’m not leaving now. Sticking my head inside I yell for him.
“Tank?” Taking a few steps inside, a pang of sadness hits my stomach. I feel fucking homesick. A deep sense of nostalgia tugs on my heart ‘cause I miss this house. I miss being here. The living room looks exactly the same, and a single tear hits my cheek when I see my boots still sitting by the side door. He hasn’t gotten rid of anything. It’s all exactly the same. God it’s like it’s all waiting for me. Being in here makes me long for when I lived here, when this was my house too.
Walking down the hall I call for him again. “Tank?”
“Yeah babe. Back here.”
His deep gruff voice makes me smile. It’s a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. I follow the banging and his voice down the hall to the spare room. Looking inside I find Tank crouched down and he’s putting together a … crib? A fucking crib. Jesus Christ, it’s a crib. It’s big and black and fucking perfect. Instantly the tears start. Fucking pregnancy hormones are turning me into a sad ass mess. Goddamn crib.
“Hey babe, you alright?” He jumps right up and makes his way to me, concern worn all over his handsome face.
“
What’s wrong Lil?” his hands are on my sides pulling me closer. Shaking my head I wipe those goddamn tears away and step back. I can’t be this close to him when he’s building my baby a crib. Why does he have to be so goddamn sweet when I still want to hate him?
“I’m fine,” I sniffle like a loser.
Touching my stomach softly, he looks into my eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” I lie. I lie like an asshole. I’m not good, I’m a mess of pathetic pregnant hormones.
“What the fuck’s the tears about?”
“That thing.” I wave my hand toward that thing, that goddamn crib. I can’t look at it and I don’t want to talk about it. Stupid crib is making me cry. Stupid hormones and stupid crib.
“The crib. Is it wrong? Shit! Baby if it’s not right, I’ll buy whatever fuckin’ crib you want.” He looks heartbroken suddenly and completely unsure and now I feel like a bitch. These motherfucking hormones are going to kill me. God and he’s being so fucking sweet. Damn it all to hell.
“No, the crib is fine.”
“Then why the fuck you cryin’ at me? What’s goin’ on baby?”
I can’t look at his face. I can’t look at him looking at me with love, concern and care. I can’t be in his house looking at that crib while he builds it for our baby. I can’t do this.
“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in two weeks. You can come if you want to.” I barely choke out. I turn and walk out before I do something I’ll regret, like start crying, or climbing him like a tree.
I can’t do this shit anymore. I want to give up and give in so fucking bad.
15
Crazy
Tank
Sitting at the bar with Stitch, we’re talking about adding some new brothers when a loud, “Fuck!” Followed by a crash that has us both out of our seats, on our feet, and in that office so goddamn fast I’m surprised Stitch didn’t spill his beer.
“What the fuck you doin’?” Ripping through the door, I almost trip over a tipped over box. There are papers everywhere, a bottle of bleach and some paper towels. Lil’s sitting on the office floor in a mess. A serious annoyed pout on those plump lips and the death scowl on that face.
“Nothing’.” She snaps up at me.
“Don’t look like nothing’. You need a hand?”
“Not from you.” She grumbles. Thought we were getting past the hate? Apparently not, because she’s throwing it out at me with her eyes.
“You got an issue with me?” Stupid question really. Hell yeah, she’s got an issue with me. She always does.
“Issues? Yeah Tank I’ve got issues with you.” Throwing a hand out, I allow princess to go on with her attitude.
“Care to elaborate.” Standing up, she grumbles at me.
“Your baby is killin’ my back. I can’t lift shit anymore. And I’m tryin’ to clean this nasty, dirty whore infested office.” With a stomp she slams past me, elbow in my side, and out the door. My baby? Stitch looks at me and back at the door Lil’s feisty ass just stomped through.
“Pregnancy makes her bitchy.” Stitch points out with wide scared eyes.
Fuck yes it does.
This is how my life has been, full of an emotional ass woman. Lil doesn’t give me much time, and the time I get is usually full of crazy. It’s like she saves that shit up just for me. I’m talking crazy, crazy. Not her usual crazy, this is a whole new special brand. Nine times outta ten she’s yelling at me, blaming me for something, or calling the baby mine. My guess is when the baby is doing something she doesn’t like, it belongs to me.
I’m not gonna lie, I still fucking like it when she says your baby. At least she’s acknowledging me. At the very least, she’s including me. As pathetic as that makes me, I just don’t fucking care. As long as she’s including me somehow, I’ll take it.
And every once in a while I get tears from her. Those usually come after she’s yelled at me and then she says it’s my ‘sad eyes’ that make her feel guilty and then she cries. No fucking clue what ‘sad eyes’ are, but I guess I have them and they make her fucking crazy. If she was any other bitch, this shit wouldn’t fly. But for me, some attitude is sure the fuck better than nothing from her, but don’t let those tears fool you. They last five seconds before she’s right back to screaming at me, throwing and breaking shit, and giving attitude to every person within ear shot. Mean Lil is now my reality, but fuck it, I’ll take it.
****
“The Jeeps makin’ this ‘clink, clunk, tink’ noise.” Lil says, shoving her keys at me. I try hard not to laugh, but it’s not easy.
“Could you make that noise again babe?”
Slapping my chest hard she says, “You’re an asshole.”
“Gotcha’, you’ve told me enough, I know.”
“So … can you look at it for me?” She barks at me, arms crossed under those big tits of hers. Does she really think she needs to ask me that shit? My ass has never been able to tell her no. Fixing her Jeep is no exception.
Oh, now she’s getting extra annoyed as she shifts, putting her hand on her hip, and starts to tap her foot impatiently. Today she seems to be filled with a little extra fire.
“I don’t know. Can I?” Yep extra fire. Spinning around with her hair flyin’, she glares. Narrowing those brown eyes, she kills me with those babies. Probably shouldn’t poke the angry mama bear, but I just can’t help myself. Fuck I miss her. I miss her so much I’ll take her crazy like a starving fucking man.
“Don’t fuck with me today, Roman.” Yeah she’s in a fucking mood. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give just to bend her ass over the tool bench and drive home. Balls smacking against her ass, hands in hair. Fuck …
“Broke out the name I see, baby.”
“I’m not your baby.” She spits, giving her eyes a good roll. Like me calling her that is fucking absurd. But how fucking wrong she is.
“The fuck you aren’t. Six feet under … Nah, not even then. You’re mine Lil, forever and always. Get fucking used to it.”
“Fuck! You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, well at least I’m not fuckin’ crazy, baby.”
Her retreating back, finger in the air, and a “Fuck you!” Is what I’m left with. I’ve got to be as fucking crazy if not more than her, because that shit just makes me smile. I love that fire. I love it so goddamn much.
****
Dodging the pelting rain, I head into Gin’s without a knock. He called me over here in a hurry, he’s not getting a fucking courtesy knock.
“What the fuck took you so long?”
“Puttin’ one of those dresser changing things together. Stupid piece of shit.”
“Not workin’ out for you, Handy Tank?”
“Shut the fuck up. You know that shit is so goddamn cheap. Not havin’ my baby in that shit. I’ll just build one.”
“Come on man the mess is in the garage.”
We pushed around a shit ton of boxes, all full of Peaches shit. That bitch is a fucking pack rat. No doubt that garage will be filled right the fuck back up in a few weeks.
“I need a beer or something.”
Walking into the kitchen, that hardened piece of meat in my chest stutters. I can feel her. That shit is physical. Lil’s sitting on the kitchen counter, feet swinging, smile on her beautiful fucking face. I can see my baby today. She’s wearing a tight white shirt with her arms folded over that tiny stomach, just resting there. I have to remind myself to keep my hands to myself. I have to remind myself to keep to myself. Fuck it.
Taking two steps into the kitchen, she notices me. Her big browns snap up to me and there’s no glare, no eye roll this time. I can’t stop myself. That’s all the invitation I need. Today she doesn’t completely fucking hate me. I don’t know why I fucking do it, I’m sure it’s probably sheer stupidity, or it could be the lack of blood in my brain that had relocated to my dick from just from seeing her. Might be the desperation. I just can’t keep my hands to myself. I need to touch her. I need that shit like oxygen.
Pushing between those thick thighs, I go for a cup I have no goddamn use for just to get close to her, to feel her. She doesn’t push me away, but she doesn’t touch me either. I can smell her. She smells sugary and sweet, just like I remember. I want more. Fuck I need it so bad I can feel it. Wrapping that long soft hair around my hand I bury my face in her neck. Skin on a little bit of skin. That small stomach pressed into mine, I hold her to me. This is as much as I’ve gotten in months. Fuck, I’ve needed this. Shit feels like home, where I should be.
Then I hear it. A soft quiet sob as her body shakes lightly against mine. I pushed too far. I wished I felt bad about it, but I don’t. I just don’t fucking care. I needed that shit.
“Please don’t,” she chokes out. That’s all I’m getting. Stepping back from her, I see those dark eyes, tear filled and broken.
“Why?” Her voice is soft and strangled.
“Fuck Lil, I’m not sorry.” It’s all I can say, because I’m not fuckin’ sorry. I’ll never be sorry for wanting to touch her. No goddamn way in hell I’ll ever be sorry for loving my woman.
Pushing me away, she fixes the tears and gives me a lip curling glare. There’s that hate.
Hopping off the counter, my stomach dips watching her do that shit. Fuck. I wish she wouldn’t do that. She could fall or some shit. She’s trying to give me a heart attack.
“Be careful Lil. Damn.” And just like that it’s over. She’s no longer heartbroken, she’s back to being mad at me. I opened my mouth and sweet sad Lil has left the motherfucking building.
“Don’t tell me shit.”
“Baby, just worried about you hurting yourself.”
“No you’re not. You’re only worried about me hurtin’ the baby.” She can’t believe that shit. She knows I love her. Fuck, if anything happened to either of them it’d fucking kill me.
“That’s bullshit n’ you know it.”
“Do I?” She throws back at me. Those eyes are masked with mean, but there’s that heartbreak in there too. It might be buried deep, but it’s there. She’s pretty fuckin’ good at hiding that shit from me, but I’ve become better at seeing the hurt through all that other shit. She might fool everyone around us, but not for one single fucking second does she fool me. I know she’s hurt.