Deflected (Texas Mutiny Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  Instead, I got suckered into unpacking an entire moving van because my dad is too cheap to hire a moving company. I lived with the man and his cheapskate ways for eighteen years. Again, I should have seen it coming.

  But I didn’t. Now here I stand, holding one end of the world’s heaviest couch, while my dad yells at me.

  “Lift with your legs, boyo! Turn it more on the side.”

  “I can’t, Da,” I argue and try to adjust to get a better grasp on it. “If I turn it more, it’ll be upside down.”

  “Pah! Don’t argue. Just turn it.”

  A huge clap of thunder breaks up our arguing, and we simultaneously glance at the ominous clouds in the sky.

  Looking back at me, he tacks on, “And hurry! I don’t want me couch rained on.” Easy for him to say. At least he’s inside the house. It’s my ass that is stuck outside and about to get drenched.

  Grunting, I do my best to rotate the couch a different way, so it’ll slide through the door. It would just fit if it weren’t for the legs at the bottom. Had we noticed those before, we would have unscrewed them. But we didn’t, and now we’re stuck.

  “Don’t blame me. If you would have hired people to do this like a normal sixty-something-year-old man, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

  He grumbles under his breath, probably cursing me or asking our Heavenly Father why He blessed him with such an obstinate child. You never know with my da.

  “I’m nowhere near my sixth decade, boyo. I’m still in me prime, and don’t ye forget it.”

  Gesturing to the sky again, I say, “That’s great. But we don’t have time to discuss your age or abilities. It’s starting to sprinkle.”

  Cursing under his breath, he pulls the couch again and barks out a few more orders. I don’t know what we do or how we turn it, but suddenly the entire thing slides easily through the door, making me fall forward as I try to keep the furniture from hitting the ground. Just in time too. I no more than stand up and a deluge of rain falls from the sky.

  “That was close,” my da says proudly, clapping me on the back. “I guess Mother Nature says it’s break time since we can’t bring anything else in.”

  Taking a breather sounds good to me. But my mam seems to have other ideas.

  “Well Mother Nature is wrong.” She smiles at my dad and raises her eyebrows. “You promised me you’d hang that shelf in our bedroom, remember?”

  He groans and curses under his breath again. Seriously. A moving company would have made this a million times easier.

  “Yes, mo ghrá.” He gives her a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll do it now.”

  “After you move this, right?” She points to the couch, still positioned in the middle of the floor, and I swear she bats her eyelashes at him. But that’s my mam we were talking about. I refuse to think about it.

  “Yes, mo ghrá,” Da says gently then turns to yell at me again, like I’m the one who caused all the chaos. “Look alive, Rowen! Your mam wants this in the parlor.”

  Suppressing a roll of my eyes, I pick up my end and follow him into the living room. Just as I anticipated, it takes about fifteen minutes of situating and re-situating before Mam finally decides where she wants it in the room. Because you know, lighting is everything.

  I drop down onto the cushion when my parents finally leave, leaning my head back and close my eyes to rest.

  “Tired, Rookie?” The cushion depresses as Tiffany sits down next to me.

  I turn to look at her and can’t stop touching her. Intertwining our fingers, I complain, “If I had known we were invited over to provide free labor, I would have said we were busy.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now it’s her turn to bat her eyelashes. “I’ve had a very relaxing day. I’ve been served ginger ale and my favorite cookies,” she says cheerfully. “Chatted with your mother about some renovations she’s thinking about doing. Gave her Quincy’s number so she can add her name to the client list. It’s been lovely.”

  I make a noise of displeasure at the fact that I’m the only one who got suckered into this. Not that she needed to be lifting boxes anyway. But I’m allowed to be a little cranky after unloading half a moving van with only my old man to help.

  Letting her hand go, I rub the huge basketball she has under her shirt and she relaxes into my touch. It’s amazing what a few weeks has done to her body. No longer a small pooch, her abdomen is big enough that there is no question she’s finally in her last trimester. She’s all belly. From behind, you’d never know she was pregnant, but when she turns around, baby is all you see. I love it. But I also have no idea how it’s possible she’ll get even bigger in the next twelve or so weeks.

  “What do you think he’s going to look like?” I ask absentmindedly. It’s something I’ve wondered about a lot. The ultrasounds are great, but they only show you so much.

  Tiffany leans into the couch sideways and drapes her legs over my lap, getting comfortable. She looks really relaxed like this. Oddly, that night at Walmart seemed to help her tremendously. I don’t think either of us realized how much of the DeLaGuajardo’s guilt she was still carrying around with her. But ever since that night, she’s lighter. Quicker to smile. Like she’s free.

  As soon as she settles in, I immediately rub up and down her thigh. It’s like an involuntary reflex. “I think he’s going to look like you,” she finally says.

  “You do?”

  She nods and smiles at me. “He already does. Have you never noticed his profile in the pictures? He definitely has your nose.”

  “You can’t tell that from a blurry black and white shot while he’s still inside you.”

  “I sure as hell can,” she argues. “I told your mom about it, and she pulled out your baby book. I think he’s going to be your spitting image.”

  “Hmm. Poor kid.”

  She punches me in the arm playfully. “Shut up. He’s going to be beautiful.”

  I’d settle for manly or handsome. Maybe has a great bend in his kick. But her assessment will work too.

  My dad walks back in the room, heading toward a tool box I didn’t notice was on the floor.

  “That didn’t take long.”

  “The shelf didn’t come with anchors for the wall. What kind of product that’s supposed to hang doesn’t come with the supplies to make it happen? Daoine dúr.”

  Tiffany giggles at his bitching. “What did he say?” she whispers.

  “He’s dropping curses over whoever packed the box.”

  She giggles again, this time covering her mouth with her hand. I don’t get it, but she still thinks it’s hilarious when he gets all riled up. We’re still new enough in our relationship that we haven’t had a bunch of time to get to know my parents as a couple, but I have a feeling holidays are going to be interesting when these two get on a roll.

  Da rats around for a few minutes longer until a huge clap of thunder makes him look up. “What the…” Going straight to the window, he looks through the blinds then turns to us, confusion written all over his face. “Is this a hurricane? Is this what the news is always going on about?”

  Tiffany barks a laugh and I can’t suppress my own laughter. “No, Da. It’s a thunderstorm.”

  “Are ye sure? The rain is goin’ sideways.”

  “Positive.”

  “How can ye tell?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but realize I don’t actually know. I haven’t been here long enough to experience one. “I think I’m gonna defer to Tiffany because I’m not sure.”

  “You mean besides by watching the local news?” Da nods at her question, and I can tell he’s nervous. Blizzards, high winds, sub-zero temperatures are no big deal. But this has him spooked. Hurricane season is going to be fun with him around. “Let’s see,” she begins ticking off all the signs on her fingers. “There would be no water or bread at the grocery store, the lines to get gas would be ridiculous, flooding would have already started, power might already be out—”

  �
��Mo dhia, it sounds like the apocalypse!” Da exclaims, and now I know for sure he’s going to be freaking out during an actual storm.

  Tiffany just shrugs it off. “It can get bad. There are a few that have done some big damage. But it’s just something you learn to deal with. Like earthquakes in California or tornados in Oklahoma.”

  “But flooding? Do I need a boat?”

  That puts us both in stitches.

  “Not unless you like to fish. The flooding is usually contained.”

  “Usually?”

  She bobbles her head like she’s trying to figure out how to explain her thoughts. “We had some issues last time, but part of it was Lake Houston hadn’t been drudged in decades so there was nowhere for the water to go. For the most part, the infrastructure is designed to flood on purpose.”

  My dad cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. “Why would they do that?”

  “The highways have areas where the roads are really low. I know you’ve seen it, Rowen.” She turns to address me. “Like over by the Convention Center where the downtown area is kind of above the highway?” I nod; I know exactly where she’s talking about. “It’s designed for the water to pool in those low points to keep it away from the buildings. Most times it works. When the flood waters go down, there is almost no damage, and we all continue with our lives. Most people don’t realize that though, so they get really nervous and think it’s worse than it is. I only know because we do a news story about it every single time there’s a storm.”

  I watch my dad’s reaction as he absorbs the information. It takes a few minutes, but he finally responds with a grunt before stalking out the room yelling, “Denise! We need to get a boat!” while Tiffany and I dissolve into laughter.

  When we finally pull ourselves together, Tiffany says, “You better pray you are out of town next time there is a natural disaster because he is going to be on our doorstep to hunker down at the first sign of a storm in the Gulf.”

  “Ohmygod, that’s like a dozen or so times over a three-month period.”

  “Yep.” She’s still wiping tears from her eyes. “And I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t have the largest hurricane preparedness closet in Houston the next time we come over.”

  I groan and rub my hands over my face. “You know he isn’t going to hire anyone to do it either. He’s gonna make me come over and build out attic space or something. I’ve never wanted to DIY.”

  Tiffany burst out with, “I should go tell him he needs to be prepared for air rescue too!”

  “That is the worst thing you could do for me,” I deadpan. “He’ll have me out tracking down bungee cords and carabiners because ‘ye can’t trust those online folks,’” I say in my best imitation of my father.

  Still unable to control how funny she thinks this is, Tiffany proclaims, “Ohmygod, I’m so glad your parents moved here. This is gonna be great.”

  I just shake my head. I’m glad they’re here too, but I’m not sure great is the right word. I’ll decide after that moving van is finally empty and hurricane season is over.

  “Would you get away from me?” I bat at Geni’s hands, but she bats right back. She’s driving me crazy, wanting to rub all over my belly today. “It’s fucking annoying when you do that.”

  “But I want to feel him move,” she whines and moves in for the kill again. This time, I don’t bother fighting her off. Whatever. If she wants to give me a belly massage, I’ll let her. But if she even gets close enough when some pregnancy gas moves in, I’m not warning her in advance, nor am I holding it in. That’ll teach her.

  Besides, waiting for my opportunity to crop dust her gives me the distraction I need. I love coming to games, but at thirty-weeks pregnant, it’s not as fun anymore, even in the box, which I hate. But it’s a better choice than in the stands these days. The chairs are uncomfortable; the noise is unbearable; and I’ve already thrown up once.

  We’ve only gotten through the first half so far. This is going to be a long game.

  “Leave her alone, Geni.” Quincy pushes her friend back into her seat so she’s not practically lying over Quincy’s lap to reach me. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to touch a pregnant woman without her permission?”

  “Since when did she not give permission for people to touch her?”

  “Geni!” Quincy cries out in horror at the reference to my past, but I only laugh. Coming from anyone else, I would be offended, but Geni and I have long since gotten over the idea that you have to be sentimental and tender to be girlfriends. Low-ball digs and name calling is the way we like it. She keeps me on my witty toes. Today, though, she wins.

  Reaching out my hand for a fist bump, I smile. “I have no response for that. Nicely done.”

  “You two are weird,” Quincy says with a shake of her head, while Geni licks her finger and marks herself an invisible point in the air.

  Shifting in my seat to try and take the pressure off my lower back, my newest discomfort, I look down and see my glass is empty of any liquid. I need a refill of my raspberry tea. Rowen mentioned to Daniel it’s the only thing I can drink these days and somehow that info ended up getting to the catering company. They’ve kept it in stock for when I’m able to come, which hasn’t been a lot lately.

  The games are usually on weekends, and since I’m off Saturdays, theoretically I can be here on those days. But when you’re growing a tiny human inside your body, or in my case what I assume is already a toddler, the idea of walking from the parking lot, through the building, into the stadium, up to the box, and then back down again when it’s over, is just daunting.

  I went for it today. But now I’m seriously considering whether or not I want to waste that precious energy by walking all the way over to the bar and getting another drink.

  “Stop looking at your glass like you want to make out with it,” Geni spouts off, proving that I am completely oblivious to how observant she really is sometimes. “I’ll grab you another one, so your baby-making hips can stay put.” Then she pops out of her chair and walks away.

  “No really,” Quincy says. “You two have the strangest relationship.”

  “You’d rather us really hate each other’s guts?”

  Quincy holds up her hand. “Oh no. I like it this way much better. It’s just… weird.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  We turn our attention back to the game as the second half begins. Our guys are doing pretty well. It’s taken a bit for them gel with the rookie goalie and new defender. The net has been blocked nicely to this point, but it’s been close a few times. Bouncing off the goal post is too close for comfort, if you ask me. And the defender’s been juked a couple times, but nothing they haven’t been able to come back from.

  A plate of food is suddenly in my face and Geni startles me for the second time today with her powers of observation.

  “How did you know I was hungry?” Taking the plate out of her hand, I eye the munchies in front of me. I’m not sure much of it is going to sit well, but I damn sure am going to try the smoked Monterrey jack cheese cubes. I miss cheese. My mouth is watering just looking at it.

  “Aren’t pregnant women hungry all the time?” she retorts, plopping herself back into her own chair and holds her plate out for her and Quincy to share.

  Speaking through a nibble of the best cheese I’ve ever had in my life, I respond, “Probably. I wouldn’t know since I’m throwing up all the time.”

  A sudden roar of the crowd draws our attention away. Very quickly Quincy and Geni are on their feet cheering for the goal Daniel just made. Damn. I missed it. But really, this cheese is so good. I may need to have Rowen stop and get some on his way home tonight.

  “Quincy.” Panic runs through Geni’s voice. “Something’s wrong with Tiffany.”

  I look up, confused, as I continue to eat. “What?”

  “They made a goal.” She looks at me like I should be following her point. When I don’t respond, she continues “You’re not jumping up and down or cheering.”
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  I wave her off and grab another bite. “Daniel makes goals all this time. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to eat something that doesn’t make me barf? I’m gonna cheer for this cheese is what I’m gonna do. Except I’m running out. Can you get me some more?”

  “You didn’t eat anything else.”

  “I don’t want anything else. Cheese. I need cheese.”

  Geni rolls her eyes but grabs my plate when I hand it to her. She may be my bitchy friend, but she’s turning out to be very useful. I haven’t had a craving like this since, well, maybe ever.

  Once the celebrations on the field die down and Geni returns with more cheese than I could possibly ever eat—okay that’s not true; whatever doesn’t end up in my belly is going home with me—we settle into our seats again.

  “Did you ask her?” I barely register Geni asking Quincy until the latter grumbles, “No. I haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I don’t want to seem intrusive.”

  “Fine, I’ll ask her.”

  “Ask me what?” I finally interrupt. I may regret encouraging them, but I don’t like being whispered around either.

  Quincy turns to face me, pushing a stray hair behind her ear and sucking in a deep breath through her nose. I’m immediately on high alert. Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to like what she’s about to say.

  “Is anyone throwing you a baby shower?”

  I groan and drop my head to the back of my seat. I change my mind. I prefer them whispering around me if it means not having this conversation.

  “I’m going to take that as a no?” she says hopefully.

  Turning my head to look at her, I stay leaning back. I don’t know if it’s the massive amount of dairy I just consumed or the idea of being the center of attention at a party for a bunch of women who don’t even like me, but my stomach begins to roll a bit. The only thing stopping me from giving a definitive no is the pleading look on her face. Dammit.