24. MARCY
MARCY
It’s snowing again.
Big, lazy flakes drift past the window, coating the porch, the bikes, the entire front lawn in soft white. The kind of snow that silences the world. The kind of snow that makes even a town like this feel untouched, like nothing bad could ever reach you inside it.
The bar’s closed. The blinds are drawn. Even the clubhouse down the block went dark this morning. Most of the town’s lying low. Not surprising after the month we’ve had.
Inside CJ’s house, it’s quiet. Warm. Safe.
There’s music playing low in the background—something classic and bluesy, probably Ryder’s choice—and the mingled scents of cinnamon, garlic, and cookies that Hawk made from scratch earlier this morning.
“I heard some people are moping today,” Hawk announces as he steps into the living room, a beer in one hand and a mischievous glint in his eye.
CJ doesn’t even look up from where he’s building a fire in the hearth. “Let them mope.”
I smile from the kitchen, shaking my head as I slice potatoes and try not to let my nerves get the better of me.
Bianca bailed on me this morning. Something about her mom surprising her with church and an aggressive brunch spread. I told her it was fine, but the truth is… I really could’ve used her here today. Because today’s not just Christmas.
Today’s the day I finally tell them.
I went to the clinic two days ago—alone. It confirmed what I already suspected. I saw a tiny, flickering heartbeat on a fuzzy monitor. It was surreal and beautiful and terrifying all at once.
And now it’s real. I’m pregnant.
With one of their babies.
Ryder steps in behind me, wrapping his arms gently around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Need help?”
“Can you slice these without trying to seduce me over the stuffing?” I murmur, half-laughing.
“No promises,” he murmurs back.
Hawk grabs the tray of rolls and balances it on one hand like he’s showing off. “I’m the delivery guy. You cook, I carry.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “You just want to get out of peeling anything.”
He winks and disappears into the dining room.
CJ joins us a few minutes later, Sam in tow, his face flushed with excitement as he rattles off what he and CJ “secretly” wrapped for me. I pretend not to hear. Sam’s practically vibrating with sugar already.
Finally, everything’s on the table—mashed potatoes, roast chicken, garlic green beans, rolls, stuffing, and sweet potato pie.
CJ lifts his glass—filled with root beer, for Sam’s sake—and says, “Alright. Everyone gets one thing they’re grateful for.
No skipping. I’ll start.” He looks around, that familiar weight in his gaze.
“I’m grateful we made it through this year.
We lost some ground, but we’re still standing. Still together.”
Ryder nods. “I’m grateful we’re not in holding cells right now.”
That gets a chuckle.
“I’m grateful for the food,” Sam pipes up, shoveling mashed potatoes onto his plate.
Hawk raises his glass next. “I’m grateful for stubborn women who crash into our lives and never leave.”
I go still. Four pairs of eyes turn to me.
This is it.
I open my mouth. My heart thuds.
“I…” I pause, breath hitching. “I’m grateful for… everything that brought me here. For you. All of you.”
They smile. Ryder reaches for my hand under the table.
But I’m not done. I draw in a breath, press my palm flat over my belly.
“And I’m also grateful for what’s coming next.”
CJ tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
I glance around the table. I shrug, my nerve getting the better of me. “Just us, together, like this.”
“Marcy?” CJ prompts again.
I take a deep breath. This is it. “I’m pregnant.”
Silence. The moment the words leave my mouth, time seems to stretch.
CJ’s eyes widen first, shock flashing across his face like thunder in a clear sky. Hawk’s fork is frozen mid-air, his mouth slightly open like he didn’t quite process it. Ryder’s still holding my hand under the table, but now it tightens, firm, steady—but even he is stunned into silence.
And then?—
Sam.
His little voice breaks the stillness. “Wait… like, a baby baby?”
I blink, looking at him. “Yeah, bud,” I whisper. “A baby.”
His eyes go comically wide. “Are you gonna have, like, a big belly and stuff?”
That breaks the tension. Hawk huffs out a laugh, choked and disbelieving, rubbing both hands over his face.
“You’re serious?” CJ finally asks, his voice low, still catching up to the moment.
I nod, eyes misting. “Went to the doctor. Got it confirmed. It’s real.”
Ryder leans in closer, resting his forehead against mine, his voice rough. “You should’ve told us sooner.”
“I was scared,” I admit, the words small and bare. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”
CJ stands slowly and walks around the table. Suddenly, he’s just there, dropping to his knees in front of me, hands coming up to rest carefully on my belly. “You don’t ever have to be scared with us,” he says, voice thick. “Ever.”
I nod, tears slipping free.
Then Hawk’s beside me, too, pulling me into a tight, one-armed hug from behind. “This is the best news I’ve ever heard.”
Sam stands up in his chair and blurts, “So does that mean I’m gonna be a big brother now? Or like… kind of a cousin?”
We glance at each other. Sam is too young to understand the semantics of our relationship. “You’re going to be a big brother soon,” I tell him gently.
He smiles. “I can’t wait!”
CJ reaches up and pulls Sam into the circle, lifting him off his seat and hugging him close. For a moment, it’s just the five of us.
When we’re done eating, Ryder and CJ carry the empty dishes to the sink, bickering goodnaturedly over who’s better at stacking the dishwasher. Sam hovers nearby, “supervising,” while I wipe stray crumbs from the table.
Hawk appears behind me, hands sliding around my waist. He presses a soft kiss to my neck. “Dish Duty looks covered,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “Come upstairs with me?”
My heart skitters, and I nod.
We slip past the kitchen doorway—Ryder catches my eye and gives a quick wink of approval—and climb the stairs, fingers intertwined. Upstairs, the hallway is dim, the only light coming from the bedroom at the end.
The moment we step inside, Hawk nudges the door closed with his boot and pulls me into a slow, lingering kiss.
His palms skim my hips, and the warmth of his body seeps through my dress.
I tug at the hem of his Tshirt, lifting it enough to run my hands over the hard planes of his stomach. He exhales in a half-growl, half-sigh.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
In answer, Hawk cups my belly. “Wanted you two all to myself for a while.”
“Aw, aren’t you sweet,” I say, smiling. “You know I never got you a present.”
“You’re my best present,” he says, kissing my forehead.
My heart swells, but I’m determined. “Sit,” I whisper, guiding him to the edge of the bed.
Hawk sinks onto the mattress, eyes dark and intent on me. I drop to my knees between his legs, palms sliding up his thighs. His breath catches, one hand threading gently into my hair.
“Marcy,” he rasps, voice rough with need. He’s already hard, the thick outline of his cock straining against worn denim.
I look up at him, lips curving. “Let me take care of you.”
His answer is a shaky nod as I take his cock out of his jeans.
I ease him back, taking my time, delighting in every soft sound that escapes him before gulping down his cock, my throat protesting when it hits the back.
I bob up and down as I continue to swallow him, tasting his pre-come on my tongue.
Hawk’s free hand fists in the sheets as his head tips back, a low moan vibrating in his chest. His breath hitches as his fingers flex, then tighten in my hair. I set a slow rhythm—hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue on every upstroke, letting him glide over the slick heat of my mouth.
He mutters a curse, his hips lifting involuntarily. I brace one hand on his thigh, the other still stroking the thick base that won’t quite fit. Each time I sink down, I swallow around him, loving the rough sound it drags from his chest.
“Look at me,” he rasps.
I glance up, meeting molten brown eyes as I take him deep again. His lips part on a shaky exhale, the sight sending a thrum of heat straight between my own thighs.
I speed up, bobbing faster, twisting my wrist in counter rhythm. His cock swells, veins rigid under my palm.
“Gonna—” He cuts himself off with a groan.
I hum around him, the vibration tipping him over the edge. Hawk’s head falls back, a raw sound tearing from his throat as he spills over my tongue, hot and salty. I swallow, milking him with slow strokes until the tension eases from his body.
When I finally release him, I wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and rise. Hawk’s eyes are half lidded, chest heaving. He grabs my wrist, pulls me onto the bed, and kisses me.
“Your turn,” he murmurs against my mouth, already sliding his hand up the inside of my thigh.
Hawk’s palm trails up my thigh, over the swell of my hip, and he pulls back enough to study me—every soft curve, every shiver under his touch. “Perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with praise. “All of you, perfect.”
The words make me ache. “Spank me,” I whisper, bracing on elbows and knees.
A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Anything for you, gorgeous.”
His hand comes down on my ass. I gasp, and he soothes the spot with a gentle rub before delivering another, harder swat.
“So good,” he praises, kneading the tender flesh. “Love seeing my handprint on you.”
I rock back into his touch, needing more. Hawk grips my hips, angles me higher, and the blunt head of his cock nudges my entrance—slick and ready. One hard thrust, and he’s buried to the hilt, stretching me full. A broken moan tears from my throat.
“Take me, beautiful,” he growls, snapping his hips.
The pace is hard, fast, each stroke driving me forward on the mattress, breasts swaying, skin tingling where he spanked me. He peppers my back with kisses and more praise.
“So tight… so perfect… mine”
Hawk’s fingers dig into my hips, guiding the rhythm, his cock sliding slick and relentless. I push back to meet him, chasing the edge, and when he slaps my ass again, pleasure detonates, white-hot, pulsing around him.
Hawk follows with a raw groan, thrusts turning ragged as he spills deep inside me. He stays pressed close, chest to my back, murmuring soft, breathless praise while my heartbeat slows.
The mattress dips as Hawk eases to one side, still breathing hard. I’m sprawled on my stomach, skin buzzing, when the bedroom door clicks open.
Ryder leans against the frame, sweat dampened hair curling at his temples from the kitchen heat. CJ stands just behind him, arms folded, a slow smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Room for two more?” CJ asks, voice a low rumble.
My pulse kicks. Hawk’s answering grin is pure sin. “Always,” I say.
Ryder’s gaze sweeps over me—flushed, marked, still trembling—then locks with mine. Hunger, yes, but something softer, too. He steps inside, CJ following, the door clicking shut behind them.