Chapter 23 #2
Amelia turns pink. "I don't have a—"
"Kyle," Ruby says. "You're with Amelia."
Kyle, who is mid-sip of his coffee, chokes. "I'm not—we're not—that's not—"
"You're right, you're not a couple. But you need a partner for the game and so does Amelia, and you've been sitting three feet from each other at every gathering for the last month pretending you're not memorizing each other's coffee orders." Ruby crosses her arms. "Consider this a public service."
Kyle's face is the color of Darla's pickled okra. Amelia is studying the floor with the intensity of someone looking for an escape hatch.
"Fine," Kyle says. "But this is under protest. Official protest. I'm filing it with the Prank War Regulatory Commission."
"You don't have a clipboard anymore," Ruby says. "I stole it."
"That theft is UNRESOLVED."
"What's Kyle's coffee order, Amelia?" Ruby asks.
Amelia's face goes a deeper shade of pink. "Black. Two sugars. He stirs it exactly four times."
Kyle stares at her. "How do you know that?"
"You get coffee every time you're at Vesper. I work at Vesper."
"That's observation, not—"
"It's the same thing," East says.
Ruby turns to me, her arms still crossed, her chin lifted. "See? I'm basically a matchmaker now. First I bedazzled Knox's bike, then I stole Kyle's clipboard, now I'm assembling couples. My reign of chaos is producing results, Nash. Quantifiable, romantic results. I should get a badge."
I laugh.
The sound comes out before I can stop it. Low, my shoulders shaking once before I lock them down. Ruby's head snaps toward me, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open.
"Oh my GOD." She points at me. "He laughed. Nash laughed. That's twice this week. Twice. This is unprecedented. This is historic. Someone write this down."
"I have a spreadsheet," Knox says.
"Knox, if you put Nash's laughs in a spreadsheet, I will love you forever."
"Already creating a tab."
"Call it 'Evidence of Humanity' Subcategory: 'Confirmed Laughs.' Cross-reference with Ruby proximity."
"Done."
I look at Ruby. She's grinning at me, full wattage, bouncing on her toes. My mouth pulls again, and I let it.
"Stop," she says. "Stop doing that. I can't handle the smile and the laugh in the same five minutes. My heart isn't built for this. I need medical attention."
Darla shifts in her chair again. This time her face tightens longer, her breath catching, her hand pressing hard against the side of her belly. She exhales through her teeth.
Sloane's head turns. She's been watching Darla all afternoon, I realize. Her eyes have been tracking every shift, every wince, every hand pressed to belly. She pulls out her phone and checks the time.
"Darla." Sloane's voice is calm. Professional. "That's the fourth one I've counted in the last hour."
"It's Braxton Hicks. I've been—"
"Braxton Hicks are irregular. Those have been coming every fifteen minutes, and the last two were closer to ten." Sloane stands, crosses to Darla, takes her wrist. "With twins, we don't wait for them to get closer. We need to get you to the hospital."
East drops his coffee mug. It hits the table, doesn't break, coffee sloshing over the rim. He doesn't notice. "What?"
"Contractions. Real ones. Twelve minutes apart."
He pales. "But she's—It's not—The due date isn't for two more weeks!"
"Twins come early, East. I told you this." Sloane looks at Darla. "How's the pain? Scale of one to ten."
"Six. Maybe seven when they peak." Darla's face has gone pale. "Oh god. Oh god, is this happening? This is happening? Right now? In the middle of a war room briefing?"
"The twins have great timing," Ruby says.
"The twins have TERRIBLE timing," Darla says. "I was about to win the couples game. I had answers prepared and MATERIAL."
East is on his feet, his chair scraping back. "We need to go. We need to go to the hospital. Right now. Everyone needs to—We need—Where are my keys?"
"Your pocket," Knox says.
East pats his pocket. Pulls out the keys. Drops them. Picks them up. "Okay. Hospital. Let's go. Darla, can you—Are you able to—"
"I can walk, East. I'm having contractions, not losing my legs."
"Right. Right. Walking. We're walking." He turns to the room. "Everyone needs to get to the hospital. All of you. This is a full-club situation. My children are coming into the world. I need everyone there because I am going to pass out and someone needs to catch me."
"Nobody is going to catch you," Darla says.
"SOMEONE needs to catch me."
East grabs his jacket, grabs his keys again because he put them down, and bolts for the door. His boots thunder across the main room. The front door opens. Slams.
The room is quiet. Darla is still in her chair.
"He forgot me," she says.
The door opens again. East stands in the frame, breathing hard, his face a shade of white I've never seen on a man who runs fight circuits without flinching.
"I forgot you," he says. "I forgot you. I am the worst person alive. The worst father in the history of fathers. I left the mother of my children sitting in a chair while I—"
"East." Darla holds out her hand. "Come get me."
He crosses the room in three steps, takes her hand, and helps her stand. He pulls her against him, his forehead pressed to hers, his hand on her belly.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. I panicked."
"I know." She touches his face. "You're going to be a wonderful father."
"I just forgot you."
"And you came back. That's the part that matters."
He helps her toward the door, one arm around her waist, matching her pace. As they pass me, East stops. Looks at me. His eyes are bright, wild, and terrified.
"Nash." His voice cracks. "You're about to be a godfather."
The words hit. My chest tightens. Beside me, Ruby grabs my arm.
"Wait." She looks at me. Looks at East. Looks at Darla. "Does that mean I'm the godmother?"
East grins through the panic. "Who else would it be?"
"Oh my god. OH my god!" Ruby's hands come up to her mouth. Then she drops them. "Wait. I don't want to assume. I'm not assuming. Darla, am I the godmother? Because if this is just an East decision and you haven't been consulted, I completely understand. I don't want to overstep and—"
"Ruby." Darla reaches over and squeezes her hand. "You've been the godmother since the baby shower."
"Since the BABY SHOWER?"
"Since you threw a baby shower for a woman you'd known for three months and bought matching onesies that said 'My Godmother Is Unhinged.'"
"I did buy those onesies." Ruby's eyes fill. "I bought those onesies as a JOKE, Darla. I didn't think—I was just—Are you SERIOUS?"
"I'm having contractions twelve minutes apart. I've never been more serious about anything."
Ruby turns to me. Her face is wet. Her grin is enormous. "Nash. I'm a godmother."
"I heard."
"We're godparents. Together. That's a thing. We're a thing and we're godparents. I need to sit down."
I pull her against my side. She presses her face into my chest, laughing and crying at the same time, and my arm wraps around her.
"Let's go," I say. "Our godkids are coming."
Ruby pulls back and wipes her face with both hands. She looks at me, bright, overwhelmed, grinning through the tears.
The clubhouse empties. Everyone moves. Malachi and Candace.
Knox and Sloane, Sloane already on the phone with the hospital.
James and Maggie. Kyle and Rider. Frankie.
Arden. Amelia. Lawrence and Raine, her mother gripping her father's arm as they follow the crowd.
They're not my in-laws yet. But watching Lawrence follow his daughter's motorcycle club to a hospital to welcome two babies into a family that didn't exist a year ago, the word feels closer than it should.
Ruby takes my hand. We walk to the bike.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"Drive fast."