Chapter 21
Soren
A nother night with barely any sleep. I look at the clock on my phone for the millionth time, and decide it’s fine to go wake Mickey up now. I’m not the type to panic, but right now, I can feel my pulse in my throat as I bang open Gail’s bedroom door. “Get up,” I growl, urgency knotted tight in every word.
Gail startles awake with a small scream, sitting up so fast the sheet glides down, exposing her delicious tits. “What the—”
“Christ, Soren, what the hell?” Mickey’s voice is a groan from beneath the tangled mess of sheets, his silver eyes glaring at me through the dim light. “Is it even morning yet?” he asks, squinting.
“Get dressed,” I order, purposefully not addressing the fact that calling it morning would be very generous.
“Can’t it wait? It’s…” Mickey looks at his phone, “…barely morning.”
“Why do I have to get dressed?” Gail whines with a pout that’s beyond fucking adorable. And hot.
“Not you,” I say. “You can go back to sleep, but Mick needs to move his ass. Up. Now.” I don’t budge from the doorway. My mind is a fucking wreck after staying up all night.
With a string of curses, he kicks off the sheets and stumbles out of bed. On his way to the bathroom, he flips me off and grumbles under his breath.
Satisfied he won’t go back to sleep, I bounce back down the stairs. The kitchen feels alien without the usual morning rituals—no clinking mugs or rich scent of coffee. My laptop is already perched on the kitchen counter, and my million tabs are all bookmarked and open in case I need them. Fuck me, I’ve been up all night and I’m flagging. But thanks to a not-so brilliant realization last night, there’s no longer caffeine in the house.
That reminds me, I need to find out if it’s only bad if Gail drinks caffeine, or if she can’t be around it either. I pick up my phone and open the Notes app, writing the question into the document filled with more questions for the doctor.
If only I’d had this fucking epiphany before we went to Dr. Patel’s, I’d already have my answers, but I didn’t. Hindsight fucking sucks.
Mickey mumbles something incoherent as he joins me in the kitchen, heading straight for the coffeemaker. Half-asleep and fully annoyed, he fumbles with said coffeemaker before swearing under his breath. “Tell me we’re not out of coffee,” he grunts, slamming the empty tin on the counter.
“I threw it all out,” I say, scratching the back of my neck where the spider web tattoo always seems to itch when I’m on edge. “It’s not good for Gail.” Now, as I’m in a more rational headspace, I realize she could just not drink it, or sniff it, or whatever. But what’s done is done.
“Perfect. Just perfect,” he huffs, slamming a cabinet shut. The sound ricochets in my chest, an echo of the frustration knotting inside me. “So I can’t have coffee because she fucked some guy and now wants our money. Yep, that seems fair.”
Rolling my eyes, I lightly punch his shoulder. “Fuck off.” When he bares his teeth at me, I chuckle. Jesus, he never used to be this bad in the morning. “Look, I know it’s early,” I say, leaning against the counter, feeling the cool granite press against my inked arms.
“Early doesn’t start to cover it, man,” Mickey shoots back, but there’s no real fire behind his words, just the dull burn of disrupted routine. “And now you’re denying me coffee. What’s next? Want me to walk around with a pillow under my shirt so we can all get fat together?”
I grin. “That’s not a bad idea—”
“It’s a fucking terrible idea,” he volleys, his silver eyes flashing with anger. “What’s this really about?” He crosses his arms over his bare chest, half-awake and fully annoyed.
“She’s over two months along, Mickey, and we’re just finding out.” The words taste bitter, heavy with the sting of betrayal and fear. My stomach churns, a roiling mess of emotions that I can’t quite put a name to.
“So?” His brow furrows. “You expect me to throw her a baby shower or something?”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Last time I checked, you weren’t the baby shower type.”
“Damn right,” he mutters, but there’s an edge of concern that wasn’t there before. He’s in this, whether he likes it or not.
“Look, I spent the entire night reading through the material Dr. Patel gave us. Then I dove into every mom blog and online forum I could find,” I confess, running a hand through my hair, feeling the inked skin stretch with the movement. “We need to know what we’re dealing with here, man.”
“Great. So now you’re an expert on pregnancy?” There’s skepticism lacing his tone, but it’s not enough to mask the undercurrent of fear.
“Far from it,” I admit, scratching at the base of the tattoo peeking from under my sleeve. “But I’ve got a crash course on prenatal vitamins, morning sickness, all the first-trimester crap she’s dealing with.”
Mickey exhales sharply, the sound filling the space between us. “This is real, isn’t it?” Then, as though he didn’t mean to admit that, his eyes darken. “What does that have to do with me? I’m not letting another bitch lie to me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying really fucking hard not to snap at him. The thing is, I get where he’s coming from. To Mick, this is basically like a walk down the worst part of memory lane, and I fucking hate that for him. It’s also so much more than that. This isn’t one of those situations where you can pause and weigh your options. This is happening with or without us.
“Remember what I said the other day? I can’t turn my back on family. Whether the baby’s yours or mine, it’s family.” My tone is stern and unyielding because I really need him to get this.
While he continues to bitch about Gail, I focus on the sea of prenatal tips I’ve read my way through all night. It’s a strange new world—one that Gail has unexpectedly thrust us into. There is so much more to this than I ever imagined. Then again, I’ve never given it much thought, so I shouldn’t be surprised by how clueless I am.
Feeling like I need to say something, I look at my friend, who still looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. “Look, Mickey,” I start, but I’m cut off by the shake of his head, the distrust etched in every line of his face.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he snarls. I let him stew as he runs a hand through his white hair, the fight ebbing away as he looks anywhere but at me. “Fine. So what are we doing?”
“First things first, we make sure she’s got all the stuff she needs. Prenatal vitamins, food, whatever other witchcraft these blogs talk about.” My attempt at humor falls flat against the tension hanging between us.
Mickey finally meets my gaze, a silent understanding passing between us. We’re in this, whether we like it or not. We may not trust Gail—not yet, maybe never—but there’s an innocent life caught up in our mess, and that life doesn’t give a damn about past sins.
“Alright,” he mutters, a reluctant ally in the chaos that’s become our lives. “But don’t expect me to start being nice to her.
“And if it’s you?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. “Are you going to step up?”
Panic flicks across his expression before he grinds his teeth so hard only anger and tension can be seen and felt. “So what is it you want, Soren? Want me to go shopping for her?” he spits. When I nod, he lets out a strangled laugh, so I quickly shake my head.
“Not for her,” I quickly clarify. “With her.”
Mick grumbles up a storm, mostly about not wanting to be seen with her, and definitely not wanting to go shopping on his day off. I get it, I really do. But when it all comes down to it, there’s not much of a choice.
“She needs things we don’t have,” I say, my tone making it clear I’m being pragmatic. “And not all of it can be bought online. Well, it can, but I want to…” I stop talking when I realize I’m rambling.
“Just answer me one thing,” Mickey asks, his tone grave. I nod. “Is this for her or for you?”
He isn’t asking about the things, but the gesture itself. Shit, maybe going shopping today is a bad idea. It could give her the impression I’m on her side, which I’m not. Far fucking from it. My plans for today have everything to do with my guilt, and nothing to do with her.
Kinda.
“For me,” I admit.
Mickey studies me for so long I start to feel like an object on display, but then he finally grunts and nods which I take to be his way of agreeing.
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the shoulder, knowing that’s the best I can hope for. It’s a small victory, but a necessary one. Because when it comes down to it, we’re all we’ve got, and that has to count for something.
The first rays of dawn are sneaking through the blinds when Gail shuffles into the kitchen, her presence like a storm cloud on a clear day. She’s in a pair of pajama bottoms that hang off her hips and an oversized hoodie that swallows her frame, looking every bit the lost girl she is.
She mumbles a morning greeting that hangs awkward in the air until I respond. “Morning.” My voice a gruff echo against the stainless steel appliances. Mickey doesn’t say a word, just turns his back on her, his posture rigid as if bracing for a hit. I can’t blame him; the anger sitting in his chest is a living thing, breathing fire into the room.
“Look, Gail,” I start, clenching my jaw to keep the frustration from spilling out. “We need to get you some stuff. For the pregnancy.” The words are pragmatic, but inside, I feel like I’m right in the eye of a damn hurricane.
“Shopping? Really?” Her voice wavers, a mix of irritation and resignation. “That’s not exactly how I pictured spending my day.”
“Welcome to reality,” I say, watching as she nervously toys with a strand of her hair. “You need stuff—pregnancy stuff—and we’re going to get it.” I do my best to ignore the skin on her stomach that becomes exposed as she stretches and yawns. Her mouth forms the perfect O she had at Cupid’s Court when I slid my cock between her lips, and…
“Okay,” she says, a softness in her voice that almost sounds like hope. Dammit, why does that tug at something inside me? She stands up straighter, her oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, revealing a hint of collarbone. “Now?”
When I nod, she turns and heads back upstairs, and I track her ascent, trying not to let my eyes linger on her round ass as it sways seductively with every step. It doesn’t help that I know just how fucking delicious she is.
The sound of resignation coming from Mickey brings me back to the present. I can read the distrust in his eyes, and I get it. I don’t trust Gail as far as I can throw her, which, given my build, might be a decent distance. But trust isn’t the currency we’re dealing in right now—it’s necessity.
“Let’s just get through today,” I mutter mostly to myself as I hear Gail’s footsteps fade upstairs.
Mickey scoffs again, his silver eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away. It’s clear he’s here physically, but mentally? He’s somewhere else. Probably in the past that’s fucked him up more than I think even he realized.
“I’m not going,” Mickey declares, his voice rough like gravel.
Shaking my head, I let him see my disappointment. “Just be here when we get back,” I say, not in the mood to argue.
I could point out that I don’t get the fucking big deal since he spends every night with her, inside her, but I don’t. He has to work through this shit himself. If I push him too much too soon, he’s likely to lose his shit completely.
Reaching for my cap, I slap it onto my head, pressing it down over my forehead. It’s not just about keeping a low profile—it’s armor, a way to shield myself from prying eyes and whispered judgments. Underneath it all, I’m just Soren Taylor, the guy with too many tattoos and a history of bad decisions, now trying to do right by a woman I don’t even trust.
Gail reappears, wearing something more presentable for public viewing, and I catch a glimpse of determination in her gaze. It’s like she’s gearing herself up for battle, or maybe it’s just a trip to the store. Either way, she nods at me, a silent agreement to follow my lead.
“Let’s go,” I say, opening the door to a day that promises nothing easy.
As we step into the cold, my phone buzzes in my pocket—a reminder of the list I compiled last night, an inventory of necessities for someone else’s future. I glance back once at the house, at the window where I know Mickey is watching from behind the curtains, his silhouette a ghost.
I flip him off as we drive away, and as I do so, I swear I see him smile. Huh, okay, so maybe he’s not as far gone as I suspected.