Chapter 16 #4
“Ready?” Raiden asks, propping the door open.
I nod, but just as I step into the hallway, the strangest sensation I’ve ever felt stops me in my tracks.
I’ve noticed some flutters before, but nothing as distinctive as this.
I have to fight to keep my hand from touching my stomach, my fingers itching to track the movement and confirm what I’m feeling.
“Everything okay?” Raiden peers down at me, his forehead pinched with concern.
For the briefest moment, I contemplate blurting out everything I’ve held so close to my chest for the past six weeks.
I’d love to share the burden with someone else, but more than that, for the first time, a tiny spark of happiness just burst through the heavy cloud of despair I’ve grown so used to feeling when it comes to this pregnancy.
I want to relish in that with someone, to hear them tell me it’s okay to feel something aside from bitterness and dread.
Instead, I press my lips together and keep my thoughts to myself.
“Yeah, sorry,” I respond with a forced laugh.
“Just spaced out for a second.” Raiden’s eyes narrow the slightest bit, as if he wants to question me, but he ultimately accepts my shoddy excuse with a dip of his chin.
Exhaling in relief, I keep step with him as he leads us outside and opens the passenger door of his truck.
I give him a grateful smile and climb inside, my limbs sluggish from the past hour of wielding a baseball bat and then having a full-fledged breakdown.
My eyes are heavy when we reach the apartment, but Raiden insists on walking me to the door.
“Make sure you charge your phone,” he gripes, dropping a kiss to my forehead.
Little touches like that have become common with the guys, but they have no idea how much restraint it takes to keep from taking more.
I’ve been deprived of affection for so long that it’s hard to know what’s acceptable between friends and what borders on inappropriate.
I give him a half-hearted salute, knowing I’ll likely forget about the phone altogether because apparently pregnancy brain is an actual thing, then stumble inside when the door opens unexpectedly.
“For fuck’s sake, dude. Quit picking the damn lock and go the hell home,” Raiden snaps, his frustration boiling over as he glares at the man who clearly doesn't understand the severity of breaking and entering. As I’ve come to expect, Briggs ignores the order and simply slams the door in Raiden’s face.
His mumbled curses echo through the thick wooden barrier, knowing he’s fighting a pointless battle and any further complaints would only fall on deaf ears.
His voice fades with his retreating steps a few seconds later.
“That was rude,” I chastise the man-child who’s taken it upon himself to invade my temporary home whenever he feels like it.
“He’s annoying,” Briggs retorts, his bluntness no longer a shock.
“Are you hungry? I made spaghetti.” His swift change in conversation is a regular tactic he uses whenever my attention isn’t focused on him.
I’m convinced he’s needier than a newborn baby, and I’ll be able to confirm that theory in a few short months.
“Starving,” I groan, belatedly noticing the faint scent of garlic and tomato.
“And we both know this is Raiden’s apartment, so it’d probably be in your best interest not to piss him off any more than you already have.
He could easily trespass you,” I tease, a smirk quirking my lips at the annoyed look he gives me.
“Sit. I’ll bring you a bowl,” Briggs instructs, pointing at the couch he’s claimed countless times now as his makeshift bed.
“As far as Detective Hardass goes, let’s not give him any ideas.
” His bossiness never ceases to amaze me.
I tried to kick him out when he first ramped up his uninvited visits, but then he resorted to picking the lock in the middle of the night, so I’ve given up on that endeavor.
I can’t decide whether his persistent nature is a part of his charm or if he simply barks out commands and expects people to obey without question, but I generally cave to his wishes so I don’t have to hear him gripe and complain all the time.
I kick my shoes off and steal the blanket Briggs has clearly been using, sighing blissfully when I sink between the cushions.
“Eat up, Angel.”
I roll my eyes at the stupid nickname he insists on calling me and take the massive bowl of pasta he’s made me.
There’s no way I’ll be able to eat this much, but the first bite makes me groan appreciatively.
Briggs takes his place on the other side of the couch, flipping between TV shows every time a commercial comes on.
If I weren’t so focused on my food, I’d find it highly irritating that he’s so indecisive.
When I’ve eaten all I can, I set the bowl aside and fight back a yawn.
Without saying a word, Briggs lifts my feet and places them on his lap, gently massaging the arches.
It feels so good I can’t find the willpower to pull away, but I promise to head to bed shortly.
But five more minutes turns into five more, and the cycle repeats itself.
Before long, my eyes close for the last time and sleep fully claims me.