Chapter 5
Five
R eaching into the car seat resting on the park bench, I give my baby its pacifier. I let go and smile, feeling it catch in a strong suction. I place my hand on the carrier handle of the seat, and gently push it back and forth, creating a soothing rhythm. I glance up to the kind sun.
Damn.
It’s such a gorgeous fucking day.
The perfect day to bring the baby out for fresh air. One day, my baby will be able to crawl on the plush green, rolling grass. My child will love to ride a bike on the narrow, winding pavement along the manicured lawn. I can hear a park full of a happy crowd but saw no one but my baby. It was just perfect.
I glance at the baby once again to confirm it was asleep. Then I pull a pen and writing pad from the baby bag and begin to write down a grocery list. Most of it is for my baby, which is why the memory occurs for me to double my list. My baby has a sibling.
The reminder turns my stomach. Suddenly, my father appears. His big stature promenades toward us while holding three ice cream cones and blasting the biggest smile. A torrent of emotions come crashing onto me instantly. I drop the writing utensils and leap to grab my baby’s car seat. Swiftly, I move in the opposite direction.
“Hayden!” my dad calls out, expression crestfallen. “Where you guys going?”
“Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.” I move briskly, hauling my pride and joy.
“I’m here to have ice cream with my princess and grandbaby.” He finally stops, holding the melting cones in the air aside him. “Why are you doing this, baby girl?”
“That isn’t necessary. We’re fine.”
“I know, ba —but that doesn’t mean there’s no room for me to be with you two. Children need their fathers. My grandbaby does, too.”
“I didn’t need you. I don’t have a father. Neither does my baby.”
Dad looks stumped as I walk backwards. Confusion darkens his face. “You mean babies?”
That shit stuns me into stillness. My grocery list comes to mind.
Two babies…
I glance down at the car seat. There’s only one. But I feel two. My hands inspect my flat stomach. I know what pregnancy feels like. There’s nothing here. So, why do I sense a second baby?
Overwhelmed by anger and confusion, I snarl, “Don’t come near me and my baby ever again. From my experience, after conception, dads aren’t useful or mandatory.” I lift my empty arm and the other holding my baby. “Here’s proof!”
Instantly, his face flushes, heating to a ruddy hue. His thin lips tighten as he crushes the dripping ice cream cones in his leviathan hands. “Then fuck it! Fuck all three of yous!”
My eyes blinked open. Immediately, across the room, I saw the roiling ocean. It reminded me of where I was. The doors to the balcony were closed, keeping the cool air inside. The room felt chillier. I pulled the sheet over my shoulder then turned to see him. It was a feat. The baby was up and kicking, making me wonder if that’s what had awakened me from that weird ass dream.
All three of us? I counted my baby and me, but who was the third?—
Ishaan was gone. The bed was cold, and Ishaan was gone.
Fuck .
Don’t let this be another time where I wake up to find he ghosted me. We were past that.
Right?
Before I could consider it, my bladder screamed. Off to the bathroom I went. While there, I washed up once again, even brushing my teeth. The simple task caused me to feel hungry. Would I be leaving the resort? If so, I could pick up something before hitting the Parkway . B-Way Burger always hit the spot.
But I needed to be sure Ishaan was gone before leaving. So, I went to his closet and grabbed the first top and bottom I was able to identify and slid them on. Toeing down toward the front of the suite, the first thing coming into view was a stacked tray on the dining room table. It was another spread, this time with an array of deli meats, breads, rolls, cheeses, veggies, fruits, and spreads. Rashly, I reached for several selections to make a sandwich. As I chewed, hardly tasting the food, my gaze swept the place. The living room and kitchen were both empty, and I could see clear to the balcony where there were floor-to-ceiling windows boasting the ocean.
He ghosted me, softening the blow by leaving behind food and the best view of the Atlantic Ocean …
I chewed hard and fast, smacking the food around my mouth. Over the masticating, I heard a titter. Turning to peer over my shoulder, I heard another. That’s when I realized I wasn’t alone in the suite and there was a bedroom on the opposite side of the dining room. I’d never thought to look there. Curiosity had me toeing in that direction. The door was cracked, and I could hear distinct voices, one being feminine.
Stopping at the opening, I leaned into the door frame.
“So, you still think your down south boys have a chance at the College Football Playoffs after dropping games to teams ranked under them?” That voice was indisputably Ishaan’s.
He was in a barber’s chair, facing an illuminated vanity. Over him was a woman with a hairstyle similar to his, only with locs, and her hands were in his hair.
My damn heart thudded in my chest. His hair. Half of it was in its usual long, box braids—braids I’d abhorred on mature-aged men but had recently decided were incredibly sexy on this guy. They were a statement, a shield from his complicated identity. They expressed a specific beauty in his bloodline. They communicated a man who simply didn’t give a fuck. To some taking a cursory assessment, the style did not reveal his sexuality because, while the look along with his complexion presumably softened him, I knew his sensual nature was that of a warhorse.
And her hands were in his hair. His shoulder-length, glossy, wavy hair.
“To be honest with you,” the woman’s cords produced soft but flat, “…even after the loss to Tennessee, I still feel BAMA should be considered as one of the top ten teams in the country.”
Ishaan laughed hard. I mean, it was so raucous the woman steeled behind him and glared his way through the mirror.
“Come on, T. I’ll give you Tennessee , but the shit that happened with Vandy in Nashville and the narrow escape against an unproven South Carolina is the reason they’re not viewed as top ten caliber. You can also add the undisciplined behavior the players display as a contributing factor, too. I mean, DeBoer has no control over his team.”
The woman continued attempting to part his hair as she shrugged in agreement. “Emotionally, the discipline is lacking a little with some of the players, but I think the biggest contributing factor is youth,” she explained, using logic. “They’ve been forced to play a lot of freshmen from game one, and I’m not referring to redshirt freshman. I’m talking about ‘true freshman’ who’ve never been in the type of environment BAMA plays in every single week. Everyone in the country wanna beat BAMA , even the referees sometimes.”
Annoyed by her presence and the fact that I agreed, I pushed the door open fully and found his peanut-hued face. Ishaan’s gaze was on me immediately, expression impassive as a lollipop twirled in his mouth.
“Boo-baby.” Those two syllables ignited a hunger in my core those three orgasms earlier today couldn’t quell. “You’re up from your nap?”
Alerted, the woman turned to face me. Her resting glower wasn’t friendly. From a frontal view, I could make out the beautiful moles decorating her chestnut face. Her expression was initially that of a scowl as she inspected me. When her eyes landed on my bulging pouch with a dark line running down the center, she visibly leaped. Me holding the last bite of my thrown together sandwich decorated her assessment of my condition.
“I know you ain’t trying to use the referees as an excuse, T,” Ishaan continued their conversation. Catching herself, she resumed her work. “And those boys do not display the discipline Nick Saban required during his coaching tenure there. The man says it himself every week on College GameDay : if Nick hadn’t retired at the end of last year, BAMA would be undefeated, and still the number one team in the country because they wouldn’t have lost as many players to the transfer portal.”
Now done eating, and with crossed arms between my breasts and belly, I toed over to an empty seat in the miniature parlor. I couldn’t help but to interject, “This coming from a diehard Cowgirls fan who still feels they have a chance to make the playoffs this year, even though they’ve already lost four games this season?” As bothered as I felt about her presence and proximity to his hair, I acknowledged the woman. “She’s right. BAMA has a young team, but they should be ranked higher than fifteen. It’s hard to imagine there are fourteen teams in the country better than them, especially since the number four team in the country’s only loss came at the hands of BAMA .”
The woman’s head whipped over her shoulder my way. “She knows college football, and that your beloved Hogboys are overrated? Yo, what am I missing here, chief?” That’s when her beam from shock brightened the room.
This woman was beautiful, her smile blinding.
Ishaan, sporting a sheepish grin, continued to eye-fuck me through the mirror, now twirling that lollipop between his lips.
Damn .
I was suddenly jealous of the damn candy, too. This was insane.
“Hayden, meet my hairstylist and confidant, Tina. Tina, Hayden here is a queen for the Kings , regretfully. I had no idea her enthusiasm for football extended beyond professional ball.”
“Because you think since I’m a girl, I don’t know anything about the Kings besides the names of the players who have their business plastered all over Spillin’ That Hot Tea and TMZ .”
“That’s misogynistic,” he suggested calmly.
“And very problematic.” My brows hiked.
Tina snickered, returning to her task. The sports rhetoric continued, but I let them at it alone. Instead, I watched her finish parting and braiding his hair. Then she shaped him up masterfully, using several clippers. Her handiwork around the tattoos on his neck mesmerized me. The eagle.
Bitch, don’t fuck up the fine details!
I eyed her from the brown Air Jordans , army fatigue cargo shorts, and to the `brown t-shirt. Did she get off on playing in his hair? I would.
Tina, you want Ishaan?
Ha…
You wanna fuck the tatted COO?
You wanna taste the skin above the beating artery your blades are roving over right now ? —
“Hayden.” Ishaan’s velvety cords snatched me from the subconscious space I had no idea I’d retreated to.
My eyes widened and chin lifted. “ Hmmm? ”
“I see you. Don’t do Tina like that, Boo-baby. I’ve never fucked her.”
My mouth shut closed.
Oh .
Tina’s titter filled the room as she finished his lineup.
The truck pulled up to the side of the house. In the backseat, I closed my laptop and gazed through the window to see the sun had begun setting. I peered over to find Hayden in her phone while rubbing her belly.
“Everything okay?”
She glanced up. “ Hmm ?” Then blinked. “Yeah. Just incessantly checking my email to see if my visits this morning were impactful.” Her grin was cheap.
I reached over to kiss her cheek. “Your visit to me this afternoon was hella impactful. Relieving, too.”
She spat, “Ishaan!” before breaking into cute giggles.
I pushed my lips into her strained neck. “I’m happy you’re with me. Thank you.”
When I pulled back to see her pretty face, Hayden’s eyes narrowed.
She didn’t speak, seemed stumped, so I asked, “You ready?”
Hayden glanced around through the tinted windows of the Tahoe . “For what?”
“My last task of the day.”
She scoffed, “It’s crazy how you’re still working after six at night.”
“This is light work,” I snorted. “This isn’t exactly labor. I cut a few meetings that would have run well into the night because you’re here. You hungry?”
Still peering out of the window curiously, she asked with apparent sarcasm, “Is this a restaurant?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the house. “It is actually, but we’re not going inside. They’re having something outdoors.”
“The restaurant? I’m confused. This is a house.”
We sat at the corner of a residential neighborhood on a busy street in Atlantic City. “Yeah. It’s a non-traditional style. There were a few of these down here: restaurants nestled in two-story homes.” I watched as uniformed staff ran trays of food from the rear of the house, near the valet parking driveway, to the backyard. Learning popular restaurants ran out of Victorian-styled homes blew my mind, too. “But here’s where we are. Hopefully, I can feed you again, too.”
Fighting back the cutest fucking blush—because she was light enough for the hue change—Hayden rolled her eyes and faced the opposite side toward her window. I took that as my cue to leave the truck. Crossing over to her side, I opened the door and helped her out. As we approached the property, I recognized a set of eyes who waved me on toward the backyard.
I made sure Hayden had space on the narrow walkway in her heels. My tracks were on the grass as we approached the festivities.
“Oh, heeeeey , Ishaan!” a woman shouted from the table. It was Cecilia, the woman of the house. The Calhoun family’s backbone was all of five feet even as she approached me. En route, she couldn’t seem to help stealing glances at Hayden. I stopped as she neared me with open arms. “My prized child,” she cooed, frail stature leaning into me. “I’m so glad you had the time to come.” Cecilia stepped back but her hands remained on my arms. “Who the hell am I fooling? You never have time for shit.” She peered over to Hayden while laughing. “Am I right?”
Smiling, Hayden seemed to not know how to respond.
“You know I’d make time for my guy.”
Cecelia motioned for me to come into her personal space again. I curled over, allowing her to kiss my cheek again. “You always do,” she whispered. Then she moved on to Hayden, offering her hand. “Cecilia Calhoun, Ishaan’s surrogate mother. I love him just as I do my sons released from my womb.”
I peeped Angeline headed our way from the big tent where the festivities were being held as Hayden met Cecilia’s palm with her own. “Hayden Washington. Pleased to meet you.”
Angeline carried a glass of white wine and wore the biggest beam in her approach the way she’d always done since I met her as a young woman. But when she recognized Hayden’s belly, I noticed her stride slowed. Still, she approached with a broken smile.
“Ishaan.”
I reached down and hugged her. “Hello.”
She blinked, struggling to contain her surprise and confusion. Then Angeline thought to address Hayden. “Hi. Angeline.” They shook hands. “I guess it’s been a while since Ishaan and I have caught up.” Her eyes glided down Hayden’s babydoll dress. “Unless that’s just the style of the dress.”
Hayden chuckled, her hand going to her belly for a rub. “Oh, no. There’s a live one in here. But you and Ishaan here haven’t missed much.”
My eyes rolled up to the sky instead of addressing that comment. The ladies laughed.
“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Cecilia jeered, “…would you mind if I feed you?”
Hayden peered up to me, checking in.
“Nah—well, not just yet. I want to pay respect to the big man first. Hayden’ll be okay. I’ve had her on a schedule.” Then I glanced down at Hayden. “Just a few minutes more. Okay?”
She slapped my arm. “I’m not starving, my guy!”
The ladies laughed as I decided to direct Hayden deeper into the yard. It was dope as hell back there. Under the tent were restaurant-styled tables topped with wine glasses, utensils, and floral centerpieces. It was cooler inside temperature-wise, making it clear the room was air-conditioned. This was good for the big dog.
The space was half-filled with mostly white people seated at tables eating, drinking, or standing around and socializing. There was a line at the back of the tent where I could pick up his round frame sitting. While we waited, I returned a few texts and emails. I ignored calls and converted the ones I could into text messages. Work never fucking ended, which was why I was out of my goddamn mind…
My eyes fell over and down to Hayden. She’d been in her phone as well. As she often did, her free hand polished her distended midsection. Hayden was still mostly belly. Her pouch had visibly grown in the past two weeks, though. This baby wasn’t due till fall, but the summer would be drawing to an end soon, and there was still so much shit to do to prepare. There was no proper home decided, no furniture, no names thrown around, no nothing. The days surrounding Mehki’s birth were a blur at this point, but I vaguely recalled a room full of boxes and bags to take care of him with.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
There had never been enough hours in a single day to complete tasks at work—for any of my businesses—or to meet every need of my son independently. Shit. I didn’t even have sufficient time for a social life.
“ Helloooo …” Those two syllables from her broke my web of inner thoughts.
I leaned down toward her, angling my head. “I’m sorry. I missed that.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Oh. Birthday. Gus doesn’t like the idea of birthday parties, so you likely won’t see anything to indicate it. He’s a tough cookie. The only way he allows his family to celebrate his birthday is if they don’t call it a birthday party.” I snorted and went back to my vibrating phones.
I started to text Rayna. Typing into my phone, I went into my contacts then delayed. When I realized she’d gotten quiet again, I chanced a glance at her.
Hayden had been watching me. “What?”
I didn’t hesitate. “What are you doing about a baby shower?”
“I’m just going to let my cousins do their thing. They’ve been talking about it.”
“And what about your mother?”
“What about her?”
“She wouldn’t want a say?”
Her shrug was cavalier. “She doesn’t have a choice.”
“And your sisters?”
Her eyes slanted and forehead lifted then Hayden rolled her eyes away, murmuring, “I don’t have sisters.”
She did and I knew it, thanks to her pillow talk with Rob Whitter at the restaurant two weeks ago. I’d looked further into it for confirmation but wouldn’t push her on it right now. Tonight, I wanted to earn back her comfortability with me.
His mucus-filled cough is what gave away his proximity to me. When I looked up, the guy in line in front of us was making his way to Gus, but Gus’ hard, dark, and stoic eyes were on me. He lifted one fat palm in the air to the gentlemen now in his personal space and used the other hand to wave me over to him. The guy backed away, understanding the command. Without hesitation, I motioned for Hayden to follow.
“The man of the hour,” I greeted him.
Peering at Hayden, Gus grunted, “You’ve been busy.”
I pulled the stuffed greeting card from the inner pocket of my jacket. “I stay busy. You know that.”
When I handed it over to him, Gus performed a neck bow but couldn’t keep his eyes from Hayden. She seemed off, possibly nervous. Perhaps it was the sight of a six foot eight, over four hundred-pound, brute of a man. He was a sight for sure, but just not as intimating as he was during his ring days. Hell, even years after being shot, the man was cut up.
Born to a Scottish father and Black American mother, Gus Amato was a terrorist thug from Jamaica Queens, New York. He was a feared miscreant, robbing and running with a nefarious group of his peers. He spent years going in and out of jail. In his late teens, he linked with a boxing trainer who saw talent in Gus and took him under his wing. Within three years, his name rang out professionally across the country. Gus had begun using the boxing ring to release the rage and anger he endured out in the streets, but the profession didn’t quell all of his demons.
One night, after coming from off the road, he walked in on his sister being raped by a guy from his crew. Gus stole a few from him off the top. Knowing who Gus was, the perp was able to get to his heat and let off two. Gus caught the first one in the back, narrowly missing his spine. The second was to his shoulder, shattering his scapula. Needless to say, that ended his career. Also, it put Gus in danger with his crew. He killed them. One by one, their lives expired. Cunningly, he left his sister’s rapist for last. When he shared the story with me, Gus explained he did it to guarantee the man’s last days would be lived in fear of his life. It was artistic.
Lucky for Gus, he was suspected of the deaths and questioned, but never arrested or formally accused. He laid low, now having lost his career. Needing to survive, he sought less than moral ways to make a living.
About fifteen years ago, Gus and his new crew ran into some issues with a younger irritable gang, setting the streets of Queens ablaze with a blood bath. The state and the FED s were pulling their hair out by the roots. That’s when he and I linked. What began as a contractual relationship, blossomed into a meaningful mentorship. In fact, that qualifier could have perhaps offended the Amato family. They adored me, and I more than respected them.
Gus handed the greeting card over to one of his men standing behind him. “Nice you were able to make it,” he wheezed, unmoved. “I’ve got something to hip you to.” Then he peered at Hayden again, this time expectantly.
I struggled not to shake my head. “Boo-baby, my guy, Gus, is waiting for an introduction. Hayden, this is my dear friend, Gus Amato. Amato, Hayden’s mine.” Then I pivoted just a little to point at Cecilia. “Lady C is ready to feed her.”
Cecilia was at an adjoining table, looking to be having her staff rearrange it. “I’m ready for you, sweetheart. At least here, you’re close to him.” She winked.
Hayden’s eyes brushed past me before she shifted to face Gus again, offering her hand for a shake. Ignoring her gesture, Gus gaped at her, or at least that’s what those who didn’t know him would think. I stood patient because I had a feeling the perceived coldness was something else.
That was confirmed when Gus took her proffered hand after seconds of awkwardness and pulled it toward him. Hayden had to grab the table with her free hand. My guy kissed her knuckles while staring deep into her eyes. Once done, he sat back in his suffering chair. Hayden turned to me for cues.
I wanted to laugh but knew better. Kissing her forehead myself, I murmured, “Go chow down. I’ll be right over.”
With a hesitant nod, she obeyed. I watched her make it to the matriarch then returned my attention to the big man.
“You,” Gus called out to me. “Let’s take a walk into the yard.”
Without a word, I rounded the table to assist him to his feet. He left the oxygen tank behind, and we exited the tent in the rear. A few of his men followed us well until we were away from the tent. Eventually, they stopped and posted up.
A few feet later, a sweaty Gus turned to me and tapped me on the arm, preempting his conversation. “Your guy’s a dead man.”
“Who?”
“The Whitter guy. Your scholar from Hampton .” Rob . I deduced and waited until he caught his lungs to continue. “I made a few calls and didn’t come up with much other than he’d fucked up. Then I had coffee with Frank Marino, the outcast of the family.” Gus laughed soundlessly from his gut, something he was known to do with his condition. “Anyways, he tells me your kid may have been on the scene when the Harris guy was exterminated.”
Lavonte …
“Your college kid had been itching to get into the game,” he continued. “What you offered him at KAHRI Resort & Casino wasn’t enough. He wanted in these hot streets. Anyway, the Marinos believe he talked to the men in blue. So, now, there’s a bounty on his head. Frank mentioned they were able to trace him to Vegas. But that’s all he shared.”
Rob had left Vegas, at least two weeks ago when he had lunch with Hayden. Since, he’d been bouncing around. We’d been looking for him as well. The kid knew a lot of people, but not many powerful ones who could hide or protect him. I’d find his ass. That was something I was sure of.
My palm met my chest. “Respect. I appreciate that.”
Gus tossed his head unimpressed. “Street shit never changes, Patterson, only the players.” One of his men appeared and whispered into his ear. The big guy nodded, dismissing him. “Come on. Let’s get out of this fucking heat. Aye?”
I did the slow walk with him back to the tent. Once inside, I joined Hayden, who’d already begun eating. Fried calamari coated with a glaze and topped with banana peppers made all thoughts of the fuck up with her and Whitter two weeks ago momentarily disappear. For the next hour, I got lost in food, Hayden, and humor. I learned she had a silly side to her when embarrassed about gorging. Shit. My ass ate more than she did. I was pregnant right alongside her. Cecilia packed us up a serving of fried calamari when we were ready to leave.
Just before we headed out, Hayden had to use the restroom, and I paid my final goodbye to Gus. His reaction was in his usual stoic fashion, with a grunt, nod, and shake. But when I took off, he called me back.
“Don’t worry about Angel.” His forehead squeezed while his attention was toward the table. “I’ll talk to her.”
Confused out of my mind, I asked, “Talk to her about what?”
“About moving on.” Gus waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve always been respectful with her. But you weren’t going to marry her no ways. Hell, you didn’t even date her. She’s going to have to move on.”
“I don’t understand. Move on why?”
This time his hand swung, gesturing the area behind me. “You’ve got a baby on the way, Patterson.”
I scoffed, “I ain’t never tell you that shit?—”
“You did. You brought a beautiful ass woman with a loaded belly to my place. You don’t have to verbalize shit. You’re like a son to me, young man. I know what you needed. You’ve gotten it.” He jerked his chin. “Now go. I got it here on the home front. Just bring the baby to see Cecilia every once in a while. You know?” he asked, still not looking at me.
Stuck as hell, I nodded and took off as he ordered.
I couldn’t fight this yawn. My mouth stretched open to release a big one rivaling the music flowing in my car. We were in North Jersey now, on the Parkway , leaving the Essex County towns. I still couldn’t believe he was driving us back in my five-year-old Ford Fusion . Ishaan had to only be accustomed to luxury cars. Although I’d only driven with him in his R8 , his masculine posture in my humble sedan made me feel Ishaan could look good driving anything.
I fought him at first. When we arrived back at the resort after leaving the birthday gathering, Ishaan needed to pack a bag and asked that I give him a few minutes to do so. The hour was running late, but no part of me wanted to break from his heavy and intriguing energy. Once he was done and asked where I parked, we headed to the respective garage, traversing the massive property.
Finally at my Fusion , I was prepared to part ways. That was until Ishaan asked if I minded if he drove. I was speechless at first. Not embarrassed, though. I didn’t even want the man seeing what I drove, not that I was ashamed. I’d bought this baby and paid it off early. It was what I did. I independently took care of me. No parents. No man. All Hayden.
Then again, maybe I was embarrassed …
Ishaan reached over for the radio. His long arm looked fully covered in clothing in the flashing shadow of the car at night, against the highway lights. But it was the coverage in ink giving it that appearance.
I looked his way.
Quickly, he glanced at me. “You tired?”
“As a mug!” I joked, yawning again.
“Change your mind about staying with me tonight.”
My mouth drew up into a pout. “Why would I do that?”
His words were delayed but soft when he emitted, “Because I don’t want to separate from you yet.” Those dark eyes went between the road and me. “I’m not ready.”
Neither was I but I couldn’t just up and spend the night out at this point in my life. I was in my third trimester. I needed my tools and, most of all, I relied on familiarity. And while it had only been two weeks since I’d left his home in Alpine, the Jacobs’ luxury Manhattan apartment had become a haven of safety and solitude for me. I needed stability at this robust size of my belly.
“I get what you’re saying. I swear I do.” I took a deep breath then squealed, “But I require so much to sleep now. It’s too late to be traveling beyond the City at this hour. I have work in the morning.”
Why was it hard telling Ishaan ‘no?’ What had I owed him?
I pondered on that as we traveled through the Holland Tunnel, crossing over into the City. Waiting for him to ask for an address, I noticed he glided straight to the building with familiarity.
When Ishaan pulled out his overnight bag packed in Atlantic City, I couldn’t decide how to feel. On the one hand, it was rude for me to have guests at a home offered to me during a tumultuous time in my life. The flip side to that was Ishaan wasn’t a random stranger to me or to the people who owned said home. Besides, just as Ishaan said, I wasn’t ready to split from him quite yet.
So, when we passed the concierge, who gaped at us with curiosity, I ignored it, and returned his “good evening” greeting. Then I lifted my chin in the air as Ishaan and I crossed to the elevators where there was a bellman offering a similar expression. Once upstairs inside the high-rise, I began to ease. Exhaustion felt like hell after the day I’d had. The five-bedroom unit was empty, its night lighting in full swing, announcing a calming ambiance.
Quietly, while engaging his phones, Ishaan followed me to the back of the apartment where my designated room was. The bed was made, thanks to the Jacobs’ housekeeper. All I wanted to do was shower and dump myself onto the plush mattress.
“I’m going to shower,” I shared, kicking off my heels.
Ishaan nodded. “I’ll put the food in the fridge. Unless you want a night snack.”
I shook my head, too tired to eat. “I can do that.”
“Nah. You’re fine. I’m sure I’ll find my way there and back. You’re tired,” Ishaan correctly observed. “Do what you need to get comfortable.”
Acquiescing, I showered, washed the makeup from my face, and brushed my teeth. When I opened the door of the ensuite, I felt self-conscious regarding my sleepwear. Toeing to the closet, I was grateful Ishaan had the lights turned low. I wore thin, short cotton shorts and nothing else to bed. It was a new habit I’d formed since my belly had grown. For some reason, my body temperature rose significantly at night, so I shed the shirt and socks, only keeping the shorts.
I could feel him watch me as I pulled my favorite sleeping aide from the closet. Ishaan had begun shifting back in the bed to give me room. It took time for me to adjust to a nice snuggle into the body pillow. Then my head lifted, and I peered over to the nightstand.
Relief coated me when I located the bottle of unsweetened tea the housekeeper kept in stock for me. Once I was nestled into my sleeping position, Ishaan’s warm body scooted up to me. His bare chest rested into my nude back, long leg bent at the knee covered my thigh. And his big warm hand cupped my belly, earning a swift kick from my baby.
“Damn,” Ishaan grunted, affronted.
I giggled, seeing it from both sides. Ishaan may have felt excluded. And perhaps my baby was simply being friendly, and that was its way of saying hello. Again.