34. Configuration of Lines
configuration of lines
Mirren
I’m not, but I step out on the sidewalk of Music City and fight not to rush back to the hotel.
It’s long past sundown, the stars can’t be seen this deep in the city, and the black of night trips along the roofs of the buildings around us, even if the lights of the state capitol illuminate our way and push the darkness further out.
We’re back in our suite before I know it.
Strider shakes the bag expectantly. “I know it says you’re supposed to do it first thing in the morning, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”
Just to fuck with him, I say, “There’s no use in wasting them. Besides, I don’t have to pee right now.” Am I antsy to know? Yes. And no.
He slides a comically long water bottle from the end table.
“Those things are like eight dollars. I’m not spending eight dollars to take a test.”
He shrugs. “Eight isn’t much when we spent ten times that on tests.”
I shake my head at the thought. What? Shit. Babies are expensive even when you don’t know whether you have one.
I extend a hand, palm up. “Choose one.”
He hands me two.
“That’s not one.”
His lips tip up at the corners, and he pushes his glasses up at the bridge. “I seem to remember that I’m the only man to give you multiples. One will never be enough when it comes to you.”
I can’t help it. At that, I laugh. “Who am I to argue with that?”
I take the two into the bathroom, skim the instructions, and follow them as best as my frazzled mind allows. Leaving them on the counter, I return to find him lounging on the bed, back to the headboard, shoes and socks kicked off on the floor. “Come here,” he says, bordering on a command.
On wooden legs, I oblige. When I’m within arm’s reach, he tugs me onto his lap. I squeal as I topple.
“Tell me something. Anything. What are you most embarrassed about?”
My face flames. No way in hell am I playing this game. “My brother walking in on us with my vibrator on the island wasn’t fun.”
“That’s the most embarrassing moment of your life?”
I shake my head. “Not even close. But only because Zipper is the easiest to chastise. He’s mostly bluster. He has a huge heart and so long as his people are safe, he’s live-and-let-live.”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
My eyebrows rise. “You’re willing to give me fodder?”
“I’m trusting you not to use it against me,” he returns.
“Hit me.”
“When I was in high school,” he starts, his eyes darting up and to the side reliving the memory.
“A crew of guys went to the state fair. It was a fall weekend, and we thought we were big and tough. We were maybe sixteen, seventeen max. Anyway, the fair is almost an hour and a half away, and we didn’t tell our parents because we didn’t want the lecture. ”
“And you didn’t think your cell phone location gave that away? Or was this back in the flip phone days?”
Fingers tickle my ribs just enough that I cackle.
“I’m nearly the same age as Charlie. Not your grandpa.
Anyway. We drank a lot on the way. A lot.
Tony stayed sober and was the designated driver, but the rest of us were hammered.
So much so that after a couple of gnarly rides, I puked on a man in front of me.
Like everything in my stomach was all down his back from hairline to his knees. ”
“Gross.”
He holds up a finger and mimics the voice on so many commercials, “But wait. There’s more.”
My face must be a mix of horror and desire to hear the rest because he goes on.
“I ran. We all ran. Between the projectile puking and the running, I shit myself. I left my underwear in the parking lot and went commando as clean as I could be all the way home. That crew called me CSS for the rest of high school.”
At my questioning look, his shoulders drop. “Captain Shit Stain. Oh, and to top it off, the news reported the whole thing the next day. The man I emptied my guts onto? It was the Lieutenant Governor. He’s a U.S. Senator now.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. “You’ve puked on an American official. Okay. Okay. That does qualify as embarrassing.”
He waves his hand in my face. “I don’t care about that.
Captain Shit Stain in high school is the ultimate leverage.
Want to ask a girl out? Someone says ‘CSS after school. See you then’ or some other crap that keeps it in the forefront of your mind.
I’ve waited for it for years during a work meeting or a job walk. It’ll forever be with me.”
“And those boys didn’t do anything equally as bad during your high school years?”
“Oh, they did. It’s mutually assured destruction at this point. I’m guessing it’s like that for all guy groups.”
I smile at him. “Probably. I’m sure my brothers have dirt on each other in ways I don’t know.”
“And on you too. At least Mikey does.”
Shrinking, I whine, “Don’t remind me. Poor Kevin. Speaking of…”
“Nope. Tell me something you don’t want me to know.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to trust me with all of you—not just the things you think I’ll like.”
Strider
Mirren’s eyelids drop closed and in the smallest hint of whisper she says, “I’m scared that it’ll be positive because I know you’d do the right thing and take care of us.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper in return.
“I want you to choose me for me, not for chivalry or morality or obligation. I don’t want to ever question whether we would or wouldn’t have worked but can’t know because a baby forced it to happen.” A lone tear runs down her cheek.
Sliding a hand onto her neck, I use the pad of my thumb to brush it and the one after it aside. “Freckles? I need you to look at me.”
When her eyes open, they’re brimming with unshed tears.
“I chose you already. That’s a done deal. If it’s positive, we won’t have the time we planned, but we can’t fix that, so I’ll just have to prove it to you over time.” I lean down and kiss her softly. “And I will, because I’m in love with you.”
Her head jerks back, and her eyes go wide. She sucks in a huge breath before finding my thumb against her lips.
“Don’t,” I caution. “Don’t say I don’t or I can’t. Don’t say it back. But listen to me. Listen to what my heart is telling you. I’m in love with you. What happens next may be out of our control, but it’s not because of anybody else. It’s you. Of course, it’s you.”
I move my thumb and take her lips. This time it’s not soft. It’s not chaste. It’s a tangle of tongues and lips and even teeth.
My glasses mash between us and pinch in bad places. And I don’t give a single fuck. My hands on her face hold her to me, tilting her head for a better angle.
We’re both breathing heavy when we come up for air.
She studies my face long enough that I should be uncomfortable. Hell, I’m doing the same, loving the pink popping up on the apples of her cheeks and the glistening of her swollen bottom lip.
“I’m still scared,” she admits.
“Want me to go check and tell you?”
She nods sheepishly as if she shouldn’t want that.
I slide off the bed, faster than I’d like. “’Kay, but climb under the covers. I want to hold you and sleep next to you. It’s all I’ve thought about for days.” Without another word, I shuck my sweater and head to the bathroom.
Prolonging the inevitable, I brush my teeth and strip off my jeans and tee. It’s when I relieve myself that I see what I can’t look away from—two pregnancy tests, face up, waiting to be read.
I look at both—each shows the same thing— and I return to the bedroom, turning off lights as I go, sliding under the covers right to Mirren’s back and wrapping my hand low on her belly.
“Next time, we may have different news, Freckles, but for now, there’s no baby.”
She sniffles. I pull her tight to my chest and hold her in silence until her breathing evens out.
“I wasn’t ready. I don’t think we are ready, but… They wouldn’t have been unwelcome.”
“Yeah. A Jones Anderson mashup sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.” I kiss her temple. “Next time.”
“Okay, honey. Next time.”
She softens in my arms moments later, her breathing going rhythmic and airy.
But me… I lie awake, holding a woman I never want to be without, knowing that the result of those tests doesn’t matter. We would’ve been the same either way. She’s mine. I’ll find a way to make it work. And one day, one of those tests will show the configuration of lines we’re looking for.
And we’ll begin that adventure.
Together.