by Kristy Marie
“I’m sorry my husband thinks everyone is at his beck and call,” I’d returned, shutting the door gently in his face.
Honestly, I figured Cooper would resort to such measures after he sent about forty-five texts that I didn’t answer, choosing to turn my phone off, so I wouldn’t be tempted to answer one of the one hundred and twenty calls from him and the sixty-two from Pops. Hell, the man even had Aspen and Maverick calling me. My poor phone was overheating, and my heart was breaking.
I couldn’t take any more.
So I turned it off.
And I cried.
And I cried more.
I cried so much I went through two shirts before just getting into the shower and sobbing until I was too tired to even move. But then the neighbor showed up with the napkin that read:
You better have your wrench handy because I’m coming for you.
It’s a threat that says I can try to fight him off, but he’ll just keep coming. Like with everything else in his life, Cooper Lexington is a relentless mofo when he wants something.
So I had to hide.
And while my apartment isn’t much of a secret, it was the best I could do being thirty-seven weeks pregnant and barely fitting behind Lu’s steering wheel. All I took with me is what I brought to the marriage (as agreed upon in the hastily written prenup), which was nothing except Psalms (who I could not bear to uproot from his happy place), Lu, and my shoebox. Well, I take that back. I took the shoebox Cooper made for me as well. I figured he wouldn’t miss it after the divorce.
Oh, and I took the bassinet too (What was Cooper going to do with it?) It was ridiculously heavy, but the neighbor, as stalkery as he was, offered to load it into Lu. Which was fantastic at the time but sucky when I realized he wouldn’t be able to unload it.
But nevertheless, I managed, opening the box in the bed of Lu’s truck and separately taking each piece inside until I had a mound of parts in the center of the living room, no closer to having it put together than I was solving world hunger.
It just can’t be done. At least by me. Whoever said you could do anything with instructions and YouTube was sadly mistaken because no matter how many times I rewatch and reread, I still can’t manage to get this damn thing to stand up without falling.
Maybe my baby won’t mind sleeping in the bassinet’s box? It’s big enough, I think.
Fine. I’m not going to allow my baby to sleep in a box. I’ll finish putting it together, eventually. Like maybe when the contractions hit. That way I can occupy my hands and scream out F-bombs for both.
I stand, taking a moment to stretch as I eye the monstrosity, which should be a bassinet, in front of me. One wheel is attached to a bent pole that I may have taken the wrench to a few minutes ago.
It’ll be fine. Maybe all Cooper’s timely rent payments will have softened the landlord, and he’ll take pity on me and help with the unloading.
I think of the hateful old man that isn’t cute like Pops.
Nah. He won’t help, but that’s okay. I said I was going to take care of myself, and I will.
Starting tomorrow.
Lumbering to my bedroom, I fall back onto the mattress, since my stomach muscles are as good as dead (not that they were spectacular before the pregnancy) and hit my hand on the edge of the box.
“Oww.” I slip the offended finger into my mouth and eye the two shoeboxes sitting on my pillows where I may or may not have been sleeping with them last night.
It’s been a rough twenty-four hours since moving out and telling Cooper I wanted a divorce. The little guy kicked me all night like, he too, was pissed off we left the comfort of Cooper’s bed and amazing air conditioning.
“It’s gonna be okay.” I rub my belly, my eyes never leaving the shoebox. “I can be your mommy and your daddy. I might have to YouTube a few things or read that damn book all the way through, but I’ll make sure you grow up healthy, happy, and somewhat normal, considering your mama is a psycho.”
The kid doesn’t answer me with kicks like he does when he hears Cooper’s voice, which is okay because I think Cooper’s voice is much sexier than mine too. I start getting antsy when I hear it, but for entirely different reasons.
Reasons that I don’t need to think about right now because I told him I wanted a divorce, and I meant it. Cooper can come here and threaten me, but I’m still going to sign those divorce papers because Pops deserves to be in Atlanta with both his grandsons and his new great-granddaughter.
Besides, the reason Cooper hired me in the first place was to help him with Pops during away games. With him moving to Atlanta, closer to Maverick and Aspen, he’ll have that. He doesn’t need me anymore. And technically, once I have this baby, I won’t need his celebrity insurance or this shoebox full of traditions I’ll never get to do with Coop and his bossy self.
Eyeing the shoebox, I slide it to me and flick off the lid with my fingers, rooting around in the sea of napkins until my hand hits something hard. What the—? Rolling over, I pull myself into a seated position and dump the box, scattering the dozens and dozens of napkins until I find it.
A thumb drive with the Tides’ logo taped to a napkin. Carefully, I unfold it and read.
And read it again. And again. Until the tears start flowing. “Fuck you, old man!” I shout into my bedroom, clutching the napkin with two stick-figure men and one woman holding a tiny stick-figure baby in her arms. Down below, it reads:
Pops, Mac, Baby Macaroni, and Coop
Est. On a dreary night in August, thanks to Lu
The words burn the back of my throat. Thanks to Lu breaking down that night, Pops, Cooper, and I all became family—at least for a short time. That old man and his charm…
I flip the thumb drive over in my hand, taking note of the beautiful navy color and… words written super small down the back.
Family isn’t born, it’s created.
The floodgates to my tear ducts break, and I can’t get to Brenda’s old laptop fast enough, shoving the device in and closing all the notifications for updates as I wait for it to load, and then…
“No.”
Hot and angry tears fall as the small grainy video from Pops’s deer cam comes on screen. My belly is the size of a small walrus as I sleep against Cooper’s chest, drooling as if I’m dreaming of pickle ice cream. Cooper isn’t asleep, though he should have his ass whooped for being up at two in the morning. But that’s not what I’m angry about. The tears streaking down my face are because my Closer reaches out and grabs a book and his glasses. His glasses!
Dammit if he doesn’t look sexier than Clark Kent could ever dream of being, as he sets a children’s book on top of my belly and begins to read to our—I mean, my baby.
“Ben knew he wasn’t like the other kids,” he read aloud. “He didn’t know how to hold the bat or throw the ball, but he was willing to try—because he would never hear the crack of the bat or the thud of the ball when he caught it for the first time in his worn glove. Ben knew that in order to play, he had to be brave enough to fail.”
Stupid, stupid tears drip down my chin as I watch my husband read, rubbing my belly as tiny, unborn feet kicked against my skin, making the book go up and down with the motion. My little baby responded to Cooper’s voice. He loves Cooper and Cooper loves him.
And I took them away from each other.
Not intentionally, no. I would never be that cruel, but yet… that’s exactly what I’m being, as I watch the smile on my husband’s face when he spans his big palm over the tiny kicks. “You hear me in there, buddy?”
Oh, gosh. He’s talking to the baby.
“Daddy can’t wait to meet you.”
I smother a cry as the baby inside me kicks.
The baby loves Cooper, and my husband, well, I think he fell in love with this baby before he fell in love with me. Cooper may not be this child’s biological father, but that doesn’t mean he loves him any less than one would.
Just like Brenda.
She might not have
carried me in her womb, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love me like a daughter. Am I really going to take the choice away from Cooper? From this little one inside me? Griffin would want his child to grow up with a father, even if that father wasn’t him.
I think Griffin would be happy I found a good man that will love and do anything for his child. And if I learned anything through this whole ordeal, it’s that we can’t choose who gives us life, but we can choose who to spend that life with.
And I choose to spend it with a man who makes me crazy—crazy in love with his bossy ass. The little one cramped inside me? Well, he chooses Cooper too—this video proves it.
Who cares if I’m a mess? Cooper is bossy and will gladly tell me how to fix it. I just need to get to him before he changes his mind and lets me go for good.
Cooper
“Have you ever wanted to kill Ainsley? Like, blister her ass until she can’t walk?”
My brother arches a brow. “All the time.”
“So it never gets any better over the years?”
“Afraid not.”
Great. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Just take my car. I’ll call in a favor for a rental.”
After we came up empty with flights to Nevada, I tried rental car companies, and guess what? They were out too. Between the holidays and the storm, they didn’t have one car I could rent to get back to my pain-in-the-ass wife and tell her where she can shove her divorce.
“Sure you’ll be able to get another?” I don’t want to leave Maverick with only one car with Ainsley, the baby, and Pops.
“Yeah. If I need something, Boss will loan me his.” Oh. I forgot about his father-in-law.
“All right, if—” My phone buzzes mid-sentence. “It’s Mac,” I tell him.
“Maybe she came to her senses?”
I look at the phone. How many times did I call her? “Doubtful.” But since I’m a sucker for all things McKinley Lexington, I answer anyway and am immediately greeted with yelling.
“The bassinet is fucked, and it’s all your fault.”
Mac’s voice is loud and nasally. “Are you crying? What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m crying, Cooper! And don’t think for one minute I won’t take it out on you and that sneaky old man when I get there.”
What? “I need a minute,” I mutter to Maverick, who waves me off. I’m sure he’s been in this position before.
“What do you mean when you get here?” This woman is going to make me prematurely gray. “Where are you, McKinley?”
She makes this exasperated noise. “Technically, I’m in Arkansas.”
“Arkansas!” I nearly explode. “In Lu?”
“What else am I supposed to drive? I’m too pregnant to fly, which I think is bullshit.”
Heart racing, I start looking for Maverick’s keys. Where did he put them?
“Cooper? You there?”
I can feel my jaw clench, barely able to grit out the words, “When I get to you…”
“You won’t do a damn thing but tell me you’re sorry for making me cry and drive without air conditioning when I’m cooking from the inside out.”
“Maverick!” I can’t form more words—let alone wonder why she’s so hot when there’s literally ice on the roads.
“You can’t stop me from coming to Georgia,” she says, sniffling. “If you refuse to divorce me, then we’re still married, and I’m coming home to kick my husband’s ass.”
“Mac,” I pace around Maverick’s office, “pull into the next hotel you see. I’ll come to you, and we can talk.”
“No. My arms—just like my legs—work just fine. I’m coming home, Cooper Lexington, and you have no one to blame but yourself. You had your chance to divorce me, you didn’t.”
“I don’t want to divorce you!” I’m losing my cool, and I don’t know why. It’s not like I haven’t tried to tell her this or send her a hundred texts and voicemails, trying to convince her. “You were the one who wouldn’t listen!”
I can hear the smile in her words. “Honestly, Cooper. You knew what you signed up for. I’m stubborn, you knew this.”
“This is serious, McKinley.”
“And I’m seriously coming home. Tell any woman there I have a wrench, and I’m not scared to use it—after I pee though because, damn, this heavy-ass kid is sitting on my bladder.”
I love her, and yet, if I could reach through the phone, I would strangle her. “I would have come to you.”
“I wanted to see you and the new baby. I wanted to spend time with my family. Not tomorrow. Today.”
“You’re also due in a few weeks!” I fell in love with a crazy person.
“You of all people heard the doctor say that first-time mothers are usually late. Besides, last checkup, I was still pregnant as ever with no baby movement. He is happy all wadded up in there.”
I groan. “Please let me pick you up.”
“No. I have something to tell you, Mr. Lexington, and for once, you aren’t coming to my rescue.”
I take a seat in a chair, my head in my hands as my brother pokes his head in. “You all right?”
“No.”
“You’re fine, Cooper. Tell Maverick to enjoy his family.”
I pull my head up and level my brother with a look. “My wife, due at anytime, is on her way here in a truck that should be scrapped for parts.”
Maverick cringes. “Let me know if you need me.” At least he understands. Apparently, the Lexington brothers enjoy crazy women.
“Thanks.”
Maverick leaves, and I focus on my wife. “What did you need to tell me?” Why am I’m entertaining her?
“I love you.” There’s no hesitation in her voice as she says the words clearly. “I loved you when you almost hit me with your car and never apologized.”
I grunt out a laugh.
“I like my men unapologetic. And you, Cooper Lexington, never apologized for stealing my heart or my baby. The kid loves you more than me, and he hasn’t even taken his first breath yet.”
My heart bangs against my ribs as I think of the baby I slept with every night, his kicks against my back like my mini alarm clock.
“He loves you, Mac. You’re his mother—the one who has made all the sacrifices to bring him into this world.”
Sniffles come through the phone. “You never told me you read to him.”
“It never came up.”
“Cooper.”
“McKinley.”
And we’re back to being us.
“I love you,” I tell her seriously. “And I love anything that is part of you.”
“See?” Her voice cracks. “This is why I’m in the car, coming to hit you and then hug you.”
“Because I love everything about you?” I fight off a smile.
“Yes. I don’t know why you love me or why you find my beach-ball stomach sexy, but I’m tired, Cooper. I’m tired of fouling off pitches. I’m ready to strike out now.”
Her use of baseball terms stirs my dick.
“I’m tired of fighting you.”
“Thank fuck.”
She laughs, and I’m sure my comment is inappropriate, but dammit. “Seriously, I haven’t been able to sleep, all I do is worry about you and the baby.”
“Psh. Of course, you haven’t, hardhead. When I get there, you can have sex with me, that way you can nap, and I can encourage this freeloader to come on out so you can hold him some too.”
“I think I can handle that.” I’ve missed this—the banter, her smile, her pussy.
“Good, but I’ll need a shower first because I’m disgustingly sweaty.”
I shake my head. McKinley might like her men unapologetic, but I like my women the same.
“If you pulled over, you could shower at a hotel while you wait on me to dirty you up again.”
Her laugh is genuine. It’s been over a week since I’ve heard it. “Cute but—oh no. No, no, no.”
“What?” I’
m on my feet, already heading toward the family room looking for Maverick. I should have left the minute I knew she was on the road.
“Lu… uh…” She almost sounds embarrassed. Almost.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“Calm your tits, Lexington. Lu just needs a breather. At least she managed to get us over to the emergency lane this time.”
“This isn’t funny, McKinley.” Grabbing a set of keys off the counter, I don’t bother telling anyone where I’m going. All I can think is that I won’t be able to get to McKinley for hours, no matter if I manage to catch a flight or drive.
“Where are you going?” I’m jerked to a stop by a hand on my shoulder.
“McKinley is broken down somewhere in Arkansas. I’m going to get her.”
“I’m fine,” I hear her hollering through the phone to Maverick, who still hasn’t let go of my shoulder.
“You won’t make it today,” my brother notes, unhelpfully.
“I can if I don’t stop.” Shrugging off Maverick, I meet Pops’s eyes across the room. “I’m going to get our girl.”
“About fucking time.” He stands. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, I can’t stop ninety-five times for you to pee.”
“Meh,” he mutters but sits back down. He knows he pees more than a toddler. “Bring back dessert then. The pecan pie is a little…”
I look at my brother and grin. “Burnt?” Ainsley, bless her heart, is not a baker.
Maverick rolls his eyes. “I made the pie, fuck you very much.”
“Then it was terrible,” Pops adds. “At least Ainsley can claim exhaustion from dealing with your baby. You have no excuse.”
Pops is just kidding. A little.
“Behave,” I tell the old man. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful.”
I nod, watching as Pops’s face lightens with knowing I’m bringing his girl back to him. He’s been extra ornery since Mac has been avoiding us. Even with Ainsley and the new baby, he hasn’t been as sarcastic as he is when he has his bestie.
“Coop?” McKinley’s voice is off. “You should probably hurry.”