Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
HARRIET
FOURTEEN WEEKS PREGNANT
“A canoe?”
“Foot-long sub?”
“A zucchini?”
“A PENIS!”
Warren stands irritably next to the flip chart, massaging the bridge of his nose while glaring at his younger brother. “Why? Why, with every game we play, do you always bring something phallic into the conversation?”
Ben shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s a guessing game. What am I supposed to do? Stay silent?”
“That would be ideal,” Warren grits, though there’s zero malice to it.
As planned, he picked me up and drove us to his parent’s house for New Year’s Day celebrations.
The entire ride over, my insides were knotting and twisting with nerves until puking felt inevitable.
I worked a short shift at the distillery the night before and was home before midnight.
Rather than seeing the new year in with a bang, I spent the night tossing and turning, worried what his family would think of me.
Warren, sensing my anxiety, reassured me repeatedly they were excited about the newest family member and to meet me.
Easy enough for him. I was an outsider, and for all they knew, I was only here to trick their son into a loveless marriage and steal the family fortune before riding off into the sunset with a younger man.
Perhaps a tad dramatic.
The second Warren’s mom, Jackie, answered the door, my fears subsided. She tugged me into a mama bear hug and told me how happy she was I was there. One after the other, each family member greeted me with a hug, and by the time I got to his sister, my anxiety vanished.
It was slightly hectic from there, with no time to put my bags away before I was carted off into the living room and the first game of the evening began.
It sucks I couldn’t spend the holidays in Maine this year, but seeing Warren’s family tease and joke with one another reminds me of home, and not once have they made me feel left out.
Warren taps his pen impatiently. “Come on. It’s obvious.”
I stare at the scribble of black ink on the paper. I’m on the opposing team, so I keep my guesses to myself. It’s obviously a… Who am I kidding? It’s a fucking dick.
“Time!” their father, Oscar, shouts. He’s the spitting image of both his sons, though more like Ben in his personality.
Warren doesn’t seem to share his broody presence with any member of his family.
His stern demeanor is more lighthearted here, especially toward his nephew, who seems besotted with his “grumpy” uncle.
Every time they interact, my ovaries go berserk, as if they didn’t get the memo the man already impregnated me.
Because yes, I’m attracted to my baby daddy.
And yes, our bedroom chemistry was through the roof in the motel.
But that was then, and this is now. Meaning, I need my body to stop tingling every time I glance over at him in his maroon knit sweater and dark blue jeans clinging to his muscular thighs and tight ass.
Don’t get me started on the beard and smattering of gray hair at his temples.
Friends and co-parents, Harriet.
I pluck a cube of cheese off my plate and pop it into my mouth, wondering when it’s appropriate to go up to the buffet table for round two.
The sofa dips as Warren settles next to me on the sectional, his leg brushing mine, and eyes my plate. “Want me to get you some more food?”
“Are you inside my brain?” I laugh.
Confused, he shakes his head. “Should I be?”
I bite my lip. “No, actually. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Especially as I’m recalling how his quads felt under my palms as his cock glided in and out of my mouth.
He leans toward me, murmuring softly. “I hope this isn’t too much for you. If you want to go lie down or escape for—”
He jumps when I set my hand on his knee.
“I’m having the best time. Seriously. I was an anxious mess earlier, but everyone has made me feel so welcome.” I glance around the room, smiling. “It reminds me a little of my family gatherings.”
I turn to find him watching me intently. “I—we like having you here.”
He’s still bent forward, eyes level with mine. “You never mentioned Marcus is your captain. Is it weird?”
Flip goes the switch, and Warren’s relaxed exterior evaporates. “It didn’t seem important.”
I frown. “Isn’t the whole point of me being here, of us spending time together, to get to know one another? Your boss also being your brother-in-law seems a little important.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“I want to know about your job. Which station you’re at?
How long have you worked there? You must be busy this time of year.
” The tension filling the air is difficult to pinpoint.
Nothing about the way Marcus and Warren act toward each other gives me reason to think they don’t get along.
Actually, the opposite. “You probably want to switch off after a long shift, and I get it, I don’t always like talking about my job either—”
His gaze darts to the other side of the room as he swallows deeply. I almost think he’s going to avoid the questions when his response slips through gritted teeth. “I’ve worked at Station 82 for four years.”
It’s something at least. “Where did you work before then?”
He stills, body going taut. “Before?”
“Your dad mentioned you’ve been in the fire service for almost twenty years.” I’m regretting probing him as the discomfort rolls off him in waves.
“Before doesn’t… It doesn’t matter. It’s the past.”
Are we still talking about his job?
Warren springs to his feet. “Excuse me.”
Without sparing me a backward glance, he strides past the buffet table and out of the room.
My mouth hangs open, something between an apology and what-the-fuck-just-happened sitting on the tip of my tongue.
His parents and siblings watch him leave, and from the tight smiles they offer me, his reaction isn’t surprising to them.
It seems I’ve really put my foot in it. I suspect Warren wouldn’t appreciate me chasing after him and, from what little I do know about him, expressing himself doesn’t always come easy. Prime example: his brother’s wedding.
“Harriet,” Diana calls. “Are you ready for your round?”
I blink, clueless as to what she’s talking about until she waves the black marker in the air. “Oh, yeah, sure.”
“How about we take a break?” Marcus offers and hooks an arm over his wife’s shoulders. “We’ve been playing games non-stop for three hours. Harriet is probably planning her escape route out of here.”
“Sorry we’re a competitive group.” Her apologetic smile widens. “Oh, did you want something else to eat? Warren asked our mom to stock up on cereal for you.”
My face goes beet red. Tell Warren O’Connor your cravings once, and the man goes above and beyond to ensure you never go without.
At the mention of cereal, my stomach growls something fierce. I clutch my tummy, trying to muffle its rumblings.
Jackie beams at me. “You’ll find them all in the pantry. There’s quite a selection. Go nuts. We’ve got to keep that little baby you’re growing well fed, and if they’re anything like Warren, they’ll eat you out of house and home.”
“It’s an O’Connor trait. Freddie never stops eating,” Diana adds.
“I love Cap’n Crunch!” Freddie shakes his butt in a happy dance, proving his mom’s point.
Fucking adorable.
“Is it too late for him to have a bowl?” I discreetly ask his parents.
“The kid has been high on sugar throughout the entire holiday. What’s another day?” Marcus offers.
With their permission, I go on the hunt for a crunchy evening snack.
Jackie wasn’t kidding. There’s an entire shelf dedicated to cereal. I scan the rows of boxes and spy my target on the top shelf. Balancing on my tiptoes, I stretch up, my fingertips barely brushing the Cap’n Crunch. I catch the edge of the box when a sharp pain shoots through my abdomen.
“Ooft. Shit,” I hiss through my teeth, curling over at the waist.
Warm hands land on my hips from behind. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”
Warren’s voice is tight, and though I can’t see him, it’s easy to picture the concerned frown etched across his face, eyes pinched and mouth flat.
“I’m fine. Must’ve pulled a muscle.” It’s true; the pain disappeared faster than it arrived. It isn’t the first time and my OB-GYN warned me I might expect round ligament pain in the second trimester.
“Do we need to call someone? Go to urgent care?” Warren isn’t convinced, and when I face him, his grip doesn’t loosen.
“I swear it’s okay. It’s happened a few times; my OB says it’s normal. Unless it persists and gets stronger, there’s nothing to worry about.”
My reassuring words have the opposite effect. “Why didn’t you text me when it first happened? I could’ve helped.”
I want to smooth away the frown lines marring his handsome face. “How could you’ve helped?”
He considers this for a beat. “Come over so you could put your feet up. Cook you dinner. Um…a foot massage?” Jesus, this man.
I don’t think anyone has ever been so concerned and dedicated to my wellbeing before, which is depressing.
“I want to know what’s going on every second of this pregnancy.
You’re doing all the hard work, and I’m just… ”
“The guy who knocked me up?” I smirk despite my gooey insides and noodle arms.
“I want to make this easier for you, Harriet. I might not be able to carry the load physically, but I’m always available if you want to talk. We’re in this together. We’re a team.”
“I don’t want to bother you—”
“We’re a team.” Despite his stern tone, his expression is soft, and the determination behind his words hits me harder than I expected. “Say it with me.”
Studying him in the dim lighting of the pantry, I try to formulate a simple sentence.
Hypnotized by his proximity, I sway into him.
The pads of his fingers dig into my hip bones; not too hard, just enough to tell me he’s waiting.
I’m thrown back in time to when his bruising grip was on my ass, in my hair, holding my jaw. Jesus, these flashbacks need to stop.
Warren’s breath hitches. Is he remembering that night too? His shoes scuff along the floor, inching closer until my breasts brush against the hard planes of his chest. Smoke and spice swirl around me, a heady blend.
“Harriet,” he murmurs, voice thick and gravelly, scraping across my skin and hardening my nipples.
“Yes?”
“Tell me you know I’m here? No matter what? I promise not to let you down.” A darkness sweeps over him, a somber wave washing away any remaining humor. He’s serious; so much so, I’m not sure how to respond other than repeating his words back to him.
“We’re a team.” I squeeze his forearm twice.
“That’s right, sweetheart.” He brushes his lips over my hairline, not quite a kiss but leaving me in a puddle of confused, needy hormones. Oblivious to my reaction, he reaches past me and grabs the box of cereal. “Let’s get you fed.”
He backs away casually, grabbing two bowls and the carton of milk.
I’m fortunate the father of my baby is so eagerly involved. Or I was. Because how on god’s green Earth am I supposed to keep things platonic when he behaves like this?
This is going to be harder than I thought.