Chapter Twenty-Four
Brad
The weekend had been one of the best of Brad’s life. The “baby talk” had proven not to be the mountain he’d considered it would be. Lionel was just the most perfect mate.
“Boss… Boss… Boss, what the heck is with you? Your weekend being a lovebird make you deaf?” Vene shouted right in Brad’s ear making him jerk and drop the level he was using—supposed to be using—to check the wall alignment now that the plaster was dry.
It clattered to the floor sending up a plume of dust.
He glanced sideways and scowled at Vene, who gave him a toothy grin. “There’s no need to shout in my ear. I’m not deaf .”
“Seems like you are when I call you three times and you don’t answer.” Vene pointed out, cracking Barney up, who bent double laughing as he was. “Seems sex is messing with your head.”
All was forgiven between them, and the morning had been a dream compared to Friday.
Brad aimed a hard stare at Barney, who didn’t notice as he was too busy wiping his eyes with the back of his dirty hands, still working on trying to get his laughter under control.
“That’s right, laugh it up,” Brad griped.
“You wait till you find your mate. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh. ”
“Nah, I’m far too long in the tooth for that nonsense,” Barney finally managed to croak out.
Brad eyed the other man, realizing he wasn’t exactly sure how old he was. He’d been on Dad’s crew before Brad had left college. He shrugged it off and switched his attention to Vene, who wasn’t that much older than Brad. Jabbing a finger at him, Brad cackled, “There’s still time for you.”
“Leave off, I’m a confirmed bachelor. I don’t need no beta or omega coming in thinking they can change me.”
It was Brad’s turn to laugh uproariously at how adamant Vene was. “Fate,” he spluttered, “she doesn’t listen when she knows best.”
Vene paled and rubbed at a spot of dirt on his hand, shaking his head. “Don’t need no fe—male working her juju shit on me.” On that note, he scurried out of the room like his ass was on fire.
Barney glanced at the doorway Vene had left through, brows drawn together. “Wonder why he’s acting all weird, we were only messin’.”
“Who was messin’?” Brad said all teeth and attitude.
Barney rolled his eyes. “What’s next?”
Brad glanced back at the walls, bent to pick up the level, only to pause at the screech from above that was loud enough to send a chill down Brad’s spine. “What the fuck,” he shouted, already running for the stairs leading up from the basement.
There, in a heap at the entrance to the café kitchen, was Hector, out cold, and an ashen-looking Morty clinging to Toby.
“What is it? Is it the baby?” Wasn’t it too early? Brad was clueless about such things. His gaze moved between the two men assessing exactly who had screeched when no one seemed inclined to answer him.
“My water broke,” Morty panted, sweat popping out on his forehead, then Toby became pale, his eyes darting to Morty’s legs. “I got a little freaked out, and I scared Hector into a dead faint.”
Brad had to bite his lip, and hard, because it was that or burst out laughing at how Morty looked at his mate. It was a cross between pissed and highly amused.
He couldn’t say which would win out right then.
Brad figured out one thing, they couldn’t have the baby here. “Vene, you help me get Hector up. Toby, the bedroom in the upstairs apartment is finished, and I believe the bed that arrived has been set up, so let’s take Morty there.”
Morty was shaking his head before Brad had finished speaking, making his tummy dip and dive. “I’m not ruining a brand new mattress.”
Morty wore a look of determination, and Brad didn’t consider trying to argue with how pale he was and when his eyes held hints of pain.
“Okay, then we use the bathroom, the boys cleaned it last Thursday after they’d finished fitting the wall cabinets.
I’m sure there’s a sack of towels bundled up in one of the storage closets. ”
“I’ll get them,” Niall said, appearing in the kitchen.
“Who’s going to run the café?” Morty gasped, a hand clutching at the apron, his belly rippling beneath.
“I asked Lydia to hold the fort over the lunchtime rush,” Niall replied. “The shelves are stocked”—Niall grinned cheekily at Morty—“and it’s not like you’ll be baking anything else. She can work the coffee machine. I’ll close up after that.” He directed that to Toby.
“You can stay with Morty, I’ll close up,” he said lightning fast.
“No, it’s all good.” Niall was backing away from them, hands up. “I’ll leave it to the experts and go grab the towels.”
“E-experts,” Toby stuttered and, if at all possible, got paler than skimmed milk.
“It’s fine, I’ll stay and help,” Brad offered, seeing that the friends were about to argue. Brad’s poodle was right there showing an interest.
This is great. It will help prepare us for when we have babies.
Prepare who? You won’t be the one giving birth. Brad pointed out sarcastically.
Insignificant details.
If you say so.
“Morty,” Hector moaned, “Morty, where’s Morty?” His eyes fluttering open.
“Right here, Hector. Come on, love, we’re about to have a baby.”
Brad skipped back as Hector jumped up so fast the room must have been spinning as he banged off the wall and nearly collided with Morty.
Vene reached out at the same time as Brad to steady Hector. They both held an arm and, after one glance at each other, guided Hector towards the back of the kitchen to the entrance of the apartment above. “Toby, you bring Morty.”
Preoccupied with Morty, it took Brad minutes to sense that something was off with Lionel.
The distance meant he couldn’t quite figure out what or if it was actually Lionel or just what was going on with Hector and Morty.
He focused on Lionel, on their connection, and his stomach took a nosedive.
Nausea came and went, but a fluttering in the pit of his stomach remained.
He got the urge to ring Lionel, but Morty chose then to screech once more, and all chaos let loose.
Everyone working on site seemed to appear, and all had views on what Morty needed. Niall had deposited the towels and had disappeared quicker than sand in an egg timer.
Morty had made friends with all of Brad’s men, and it amused and frustrated him when they didn’t seem to understand they needed to keep working in the places where that could happen. The baby was coming on its own timeline despite Brad’s plan.
“You lot go, Morty doesn’t need an audience.” Brad added with so much authority to his voice, the bathroom cleared in thirty seconds by his estimation.
“Wow, we might get Uncle Brad to use that voice if the baby misbehaves,” Morty chuckled, then winced as Toby backed away.
“I—”
“Whatever excuse you’re about to use, forget it,” Brad said to Toby. “You’re helping.”
“I don’t know what to do!” he squeaked with alarm.
“Me, either. If I can figure out building regulations and plans, then this should be a walk in the park,” he assured Toby. “Place the towels down in the bath. Hector, lift Morty into it, and then we can remove his pants and apron.”
The first bit went according to plan.
“Ouchhhhhhhhhhh,” Morty screeched the second his bottom landed in the tub, his hand reaching out and grabbing Hector’s shirt, ripping the buttons clear off in his attempt to bring his mate closer, which, with the tub between them, was impossible.
A dead person, Brad was sure, had more color than Hector, who was wild-eyed and hyperventilating as he crowded over Morty. “I’m so sorry. How can I make it better?” Hector sobbed.
Maybe Brad had miscalculated this whole birthing thing. “We need to get his pants off before the baby comes.” That was logical, right?
Even Brad was starting to doubt himself. What had he signed up for? This was most definitely not in the contract!