20. Jinx
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jinx
My phone buzzes incessantly like a mosquito trapped in a cup, the vibration rattling with a persistent hum. I glance at my smartwatch with a gloved hand, paused mid-clean, and let out a long sigh.
Notifications. A seemingly endless stream of them.
My phone screen illuminates with names that instantly twist my gut—Bruno, Thomas, Rowan—appearing one after the other in a relentless parade.
I take a deep breath, my gaze shifting back to the snake in front of me. Lilith, secretly my favorite, is coiled elegantly around a thick branch, her scales gleaming under the soft light as if she’s casting judgment on my turmoil.
I smirk at her serene indifference.
“They’re sorry, Lily,” I mutter, my voice low as I scoop the old substrate into a bin with precision. “Guess miracles happen.”
Another buzz, another message. I don’t even need to read it to know the tone: it’s all heartfelt and fumbling, tangled with emotions, because of course it is.
The weight of it makes my chest tighten, but I can’t decide if it’s with anger or a reluctant sense of relief.
I don’t reply. Not yet.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about it,” I mutter to her as I scrub down her glass terrarium.
The scent of cleaner tingles my nose, sharply contrasting with the earthy odor of the reptile bedding and the warm, humid air that clings to my skin. My thoughts feel denser than the air in this room.
“Maybe they mean it,” I continue, pressing a paper towel into the stubborn grime in the corner of the tank. “But… do I even want to go back?”
I glance at the phone lying silent on the table. Its screen is dark and reflective, showing my own image back at me: messy burgundy hair tied back with a bandana, dark circles shadowing my eyes, and a smudge of cleaner streaked across my cheek.
I look exhausted, like someone who hasn’t slept in days.
“I want this baby,” I whisper, the words hanging in the air, suddenly making everything feel more real. The prospect fills me with a mixture of terror and excitement.
Still, the certainty of wanting doesn’t bring clarity to the chaos that follows the decision. I’ve never envisioned my life with a white picket fence.
But definitely not a harem, either. And certainly not having my relationship status splashed across national headlines.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts as I focus back on the task at hand, wiping the glass clean once more.
“Let’s just get your house in order,” I mumble to Lilith, watching her lazily bask under her heat lamp. “I can deal with mine later.”
The tank’s almost complete, just lacking a final touch. I want to adjust the stubborn log that won’t stay put. Carefully, I grab Lilith and set her down on the table, before placing the log back in.
I stretch my arm out, planting my foot on the second-highest rung of my rickety old ladder, which creaks under my weight.
“Hold still,” I murmur, gently nudging the log with my fingertips.
It teeters precariously.
So, I extend a little further, balancing on the ball of my foot like a clumsy ballerina in knee-high socks.
Just one more inch.
And then it happens.
I feel the balance of my hips tip the ladder too far, and it sways violently beneath me.
Gravity seizes me, pulling me sideways.
I yelp as I plummet off the step, reaching desperately for the nearby shelf and missing completely. Air rushes past my ears, and I crash onto my side, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
I lie sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling, disoriented.
A groan escapes me as I curl an arm protectively over my stomach. Pain radiates through my body.
“Ow,” I mutter hoarsely to myself. “Fuck, Jinx, be careful.”
My heart races, panic tightening like a vise around my chest. My side aches fiercely, but it’s the heavy sensation in my belly that truly alarms me.
The baby!
My hands fly to my stomach, trembling with fear.
“Please be okay,” I whisper urgently.
It wasn’t even that big of a fall, just a slip on the slick tiles. But as I went down, my forehead collided with the edge of the tank frame, sending a jolt of pain through my skull. A dull throb is now pulsing above my left eyebrow.
My wrist, twisted awkwardly in the fall, has already started to swell, the skin tight and inflamed. The sharp ache shoots through me when I attempt to move it, prompting a grimace.
I gingerly push myself up into a sitting position, using my uninjured hand to steady myself on the cool, hard floor. The room spins slightly, as if reality has shifted sideways, and my vision blurs.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog clouding my sight. A metallic tang clings to the back of my throat, unpleasant and persistent, while the air around me is thick with the scent of reptile bedding and a lingering trace of old disinfectant.
My heart pounds against my ribs, a rapid, uncontrolled beat. A cold, clammy sensation spreads across my skin, and a wave of dizziness washes over me, reminiscent of the disorienting spins from detox days gone by.
Not even the queasiness of morning sickness compares to this disconcerting vertigo. I close my eyes, focusing on slow, shaky breaths as I try to calm the storm inside me.
I look up to Lilith to see her slitted eyes fixed on me with what seems like a disapproving glare.
“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, my voice coming out rough and strained. “That was fucking stupid.”
I sink back onto my heels, my hand moving instinctively to rest over the gentle curve of my belly. Beneath the persistent ache in my wrist and the rhythmic pounding in my skull, a deeper sense of worry seeps in like a slow, creeping tide.
It’s not the kind of worry that buzzes or stings—it’s the kind that settles heavily, like a stone sinking into the depths.
Normally, I’d reach for a couple of painkillers, maybe sleep it off on the worn-out couch. I’ve powered through worse—enduring the relentless needle of tattoo sessions, shrugging off the bruises from bar fights, and bracing against the icy chill of late nights in freezing hockey arenas.
Fragile isn’t in my vocabulary. Fear isn’t an option.
But now?
Now, there’s a tiny life inside me that I have to consider. Someone small and vulnerable, who doesn’t have a say in whether or not I take risks.
My throat constricts, and for a fleeting moment, I feel the urge to cry. Not from the physical pain, but because the reality of it all hits me with full force.
The baby.
The responsibility.
The weight of what’s at stake.
I inhale deeply, pushing aside the sharp sting of tears threatening to spill, and fumble for my phone, the device feeling slippery and unfamiliar in my trembling hands.
My fingers tremble as I type out the message. I fell. Nothing major, but… maybe someone should take me to the ER. Just to be safe.
The words hang there, stark and unchangeable, and I hesitate before pressing send. It’s done. No take-backs.
The screen hasn’t even dimmed when my phone buzzes urgently in my hand.
It’s Rowan calling.
I answer, cradling the phone against my ear with my good hand, the other resting awkwardly by my side.
“Jinx? What happened? Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Is the baby—?” His voice is a rapid-fire mix of concern and questions.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, and it’s barely audible over the thudding in my head. “I just… I think I should get checked out.”
“We’re coming right now,” he insists, his tone firm and reassuring.
“I—thank you.” My voice wavers, cracking on the last word as I struggle to hold back tears.
He continues, his voice a stream of inquiries, listing off items they’ll bring and asking if I need anything specific. The noise is overwhelming, a relentless wave crashing against my already frazzled nerves.
I end the call abruptly.
It’s rude, I know, but my head pounds like a relentless drum, and my stomach churns with anxiety. I can’t handle the clamor right now.
I just need to find stillness, to breathe deeply, and hope they arrive soon.
It feels like an eternity, just me and the relentless thud of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears, until the front door slams open with a bang loud enough to make me flinch.
The guys burst in like a frantic rescue squad—Rowan’s voice slices through the air first, low and sharp with panic as he calls out my name.
Thomas crashes into the room next, skidding to his knees beside me, his face a mask of worry that looks like he’s about to cry.
“Oh god—Jinx, babe, are you okay? Are you—did you hit your head? Are you dizzy?” His hands hover in mid-air, fluttering like nervous birds, unsure where to land without causing me more pain.
Bruno barrels in right behind him, his questions firing off like a machine gun. “Did you lose consciousness? Can you move your fingers? Do you have vision changes? Nausea—wait, you already had that. Did you?—”
“Bruno,” Rowan snaps, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip crack. “Stop, the woman just fell, why are you rattling off questions like a cop?!”
I groan, pressing the heel of my palm firmly to my forehead, hoping to quiet the throbbing. “Can you all just… be quiet for a sec?”
They all instantly freeze, their eyes widening as they look at me like I’m a delicate glass sculpture, not a woman who just had the bad luck to trip off a step ladder.
My head’s pounding, and the dizziness lingers, but with them here, the fear ebbs away, replaced by a heavy weariness. And… weirdly, a feeling of safety wraps around me like a warm blanket.
Thomas and Bruno each slip an arm under mine with the utmost care, as if I’m a fragile porcelain doll that could shatter at the slightest mishap. Their eyes are fixated on my face, scrutinizing every expression, every wince, looking for any hint that I’m downplaying my condition.
I can read their fear in the clenched set of their jaws and the rigid tension in their shoulders—they’re terrified of what might happen next.
Rowan follows closely behind, poised to catch me at the first sign of instability, ready to spring into action if I waver.
“Okay, okay,” I mumble, my voice unsteady as I stand, trying to breathe through the sharp pain. “Let’s go, but—wait.”
They all stop abruptly, like a film paused mid-action.
“Someone needs to put Lily back before we leave,” I say.
Thomas stares at me incredulously, as if I’ve grown a second head. Rowan’s grip tightens on my elbow, his brow furrowed. “Seriously?”
“She’s gonna escape. And she hates the living room,” I insist, gesturing feebly toward where my enormous snake, Lilith, is sprawled across the table.
Bruno mutters something under his breath in Slovak, a string of words that sound distinctly like a complaint as he trudges over to the table. He approaches her cautiously, like he’s handling a live wire, mumbling to himself the whole time.
“Don’t you dare bite me, little lady, or I swear you’ll be a belt by morning,” he warns, his voice a mix of teasing and genuine concern.
Once Lilith is safely nestled in her glass enclosure, Bruno secures the lid with a decisive click and turns back toward us.
“Done. Let’s go before one of us ends up needing a ride to the ER too,” he says, urgency threading his words as we prepare to leave.
Before I can protest, Thomas effortlessly lifts me into his arms, as if I’m as light as a feather. His chest presses warmly and securely against mine, and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his uneven breaths.
I let my head rest on his broad shoulder, too drained to protest but comforted by the firmness of his embrace, as if he’s a fortress keeping everything else at bay.
Rowan’s hand finds mine almost immediately, his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles in a gentle, calming rhythm. He fumbles in his pocket for his key fob, pressing the button with a click that sends a reassuring beep echoing from the distance.
“You scared the shit out of us,” he murmurs.
Behind us, Bruno closes the front door with a solid thud, turning the key twice in the lock before jogging to rejoin us. As he reaches me, he gently tucks a few stray strands of hair behind my ear, his eyes a blend of gentle reprimand and deep, worried affection.
They hover around me like protective satellites, buzzing with anxious energy. I should be rolling my eyes at their fussing. I should be feeling annoyance prickling at my skin.
But I’m not.
Instead, a warm sensation flickers deep inside me, as if their care is seeping into my icy core, thawing the chill I’ve carried for too long, like an ice cube slowly melting under the heat of their concern and warmth.
Three men who’ve never once made me feel like I need to pretend, who accept me wholly as I am.
Three men who dropped everything and came running the moment I reached out.
I nestle closer into Thomas, my body aching and unsteady, but something within my chest, something that has been hard and jagged, begins to smooth and soften.