Ava Reynolds
By the time me, Livia, and Zahra made it back to the house, my arms were sore from carrying bags.
Zahra needed to grab a few last-minute things she needed for the baby, but the shopping trip had been harder on me than I thought it would.
Everywhere we turned, there was something else I wanted to stop and look at too, like little sleepers, bottles, blankets, all the small things I was going to need sooner than later.
I had to keep acting like I was only there for Zahra, like I didn’t have my own reason to care about every aisle we walked down.
It made me even more ready to tell my sister the truth, but I still wasn’t ready for the drama that was going to follow.
And I definitely didn’t want to take the attention off her baby shower with my mess.
Royal was asleep against Livia’s chest, knocked out with his fat little cheek pressed against her. He was almost two years old by now.
Zahra shut the front door behind us and rubbed her belly. “I’m telling y’all now, if this baby ends up being a boy, Saint is going to act even more ridiculous than he already does.”
Livia laughed softly so she wouldn’t wake Royal. “I hope it’s a girl. Girls humble men.” Livia adjusted Royal on her shoulder and smiled. “And Saint need a little humbling.”
I snorted and shifted the shopping bags higher on my arm. “I think it’s a boy.”
Zahra looked at me. “Why?”
“Because this baby already acts like Saint. Dramatic, extra, and always got you out of breath.”
She giggled. “Shut up.”
Livia grinned. “No, for real, I want it to be a girl, a little tiny Zahra with an attitude.”
“A little tiny Saint would be cuter,” I argued.
“Absolutely not,” Zahra rejected. “That would be stressful.”
We were still laughing when we heard Saint’s voice from the kitchen. “Nigga, I said hand me the gold one.”
“That is gold,” we heard Icon reply.
“That’s not gold. That’s beige.”
“You’re arguing over icing colors like you’re a bride or some shit.”
Me and Livia looked at each other curiously as we listened to Saint and Icon arguing.
Zahra frowned. “What the hell?”
We followed their bickering to the kitchen, and the second I stepped into the doorway, I almost dropped the bags.
Saint and Icon were in the kitchen piping cookies; actually piping them.
Liquor bottles sat open on the counter. Saint had flour on his shirt and some kind of icing on his hand. Icon had his sleeves rolled up, tattoos all out, looking irritated and focused at the same time while holding a piping bag over a cloud-shaped cookie like this was normal behavior for them.
The whole island was covered in cookies in the shapes of moons, stars, clouds, onesies, and little baby sleepers, trays of cake pops, chocolate-covered pretzels, sprinkles, gold dust, and little brushes.
Livia let out a laugh. “What in the hell?”
Saint looked up, saw Zahra, and smiled like he was proud of himself. “Look, baby,” he said to Zahra proudly. “I couldn’t find anybody to make the treats you wanted on time so I made them myself.”
“Oh my God.” Zahra rushed farther into the kitchen, slow because of her stomach. Looking closely at each treat, tears flooded her eyes.
Icon looked over at Livia and lifted a brow. “Baby, tell this nigga this icing is gold.”
“It’s gold,” Livia said, still giggling.
“Thank you,” Icon muttered.
Zahra stared at the spread like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Y’all did all this?”
“Mostly him,” Icon said, nodding toward Saint. “I’m just helping.”
Saint sucked his teeth. “Don’t do that. You was in here locked in too.”
Livia stepped closer, careful not to wake Royal, and looked over the trays. “These are actually cute.”
“Actually?” Saint repeated. “What the fuck that mean?”
“It means I didn’t expect this.”
Icon gave her a look. “That’s fair. I didn’t either. This nigga really did this shit, though.”
Zahra looked emotional with one hand over her mouth while staring at the cookies with “Baby” written across little cloud shapes in gold.
My smile stayed on my face, but my heart ached.
Because this was soft. Funny, yeah. A little ridiculous too.
But soft. These were dangerous men. Men who had blood on their hands and cities on lock.
And here they were, standing in a kitchen with icing on their fingers, trying to make something special for a baby shower because they loved their women and they loved their kids.
Saint had leaned all the way into being a husband and father.
Icon and Legend had too. And all I could think about was the fact that Reek would never be standing in a kitchen doing this for me and my child.
He wasn’t going to be excited. He wasn’t going to suddenly turn domestic and family oriented.
He had barely wanted to deal with me before this. Now I was carrying his child.
My eyes started burning so fast it caught me off guard. I looked away before anybody could clock it. Then I hurried out of the kitchen.
By the time I made it to my room and shut the door, tears were already falling.
I dropped the bags on the floor and covered my mouth, trying to keep the sound in. My whole body shook with the effort of not breaking too loud.
Standing there watching Saint and Icon with all that care and all that intention made it painfully clear I had gotten pregnant by the wrong man. And no matter how much it felt like I loved Reek, no matter how good he felt, I knew he didn’t want a life with me or my baby.
The next day, I was standing in a mansion, which was rented out as an event space, admiring the amazing decor for Zahra’s baby shower.
Saint had to have dropped a bag on this shower, the kind of money only a man in love and already obsessed with his unborn child would spend without blinking.
Cream and beige draping hung from the ceilings.
Gold accents gleamed in the afternoon light.
There were huge balloon installations, custom signs with the baby’s name covered up for the reveal, fresh florals that probably cost more than somebody’s rent, and a dessert table so pretty it almost looked fake.
Even the little favors for the guests were wrapped like luxury gifts.
Saint had spent at least twenty thousand on the decorations alone.
Zahra looked so pretty, full of emotions, soft, and loved.
Her dress hugged her big belly, and Saint hadn’t let her take more than three steps since she came downstairs.
That man had to have his hands on her at all times.
One hand was always on her lower back. The other hand often found her belly or was fixing her dress.
He was constantly bringing her water or kissing her temple.
Watching them made my heart ache. Because this was what I always envisioned my pregnancy to look like.
Then I saw Reek. And everything else in that room blurred. For a second, I forgot where I was standing.
I had seen him on social media while I was in Thailand. Reek rarely posted on social media, but I would catch him in the background of someone’s stories, in pictures others posted, in clips where he wasn’t even trying to be seen. But none of that shit had prepared me for seeing him in person.
He stood across the room with a drink in his hand, beard perfectly lined, fitted hat riding low, and tattoos showing beneath the sleeve of that fitted shirt, looking every bit as dangerous and fine as I remembered.
He looked sexier, like he had become more beautiful since I’d been gone but that was just what distance and missing a man did to a woman’s brain.
Either way, he took the air right out of me.
My heart started acting stupid instantly.
I wanted to stare. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide behind the nearest centerpiece and never come back out.
Partly because he looked too good and also because I wanted to hide my baby from him.
I folded my arms loosely over my stomach on instinct, reminding myself that it was still easy to hide.
My little bulge wasn’t much yet. Loose dresses and the right posture still hid it.
Then his eyes found me and stayed there. He looked as if he were in disbelief that I was in his eyesight, then his eyes softened.
I felt it all over again; that chemistry, lust, and the same tension that had followed us before I ever got on that plane.
Then he tore his eyes away from mine. I swallowed hard and found something else to focus on. But all I could find was Saint loving on Zahra like she was carrying the sun.
I sunk into a chair, hiding behind an obnoxiously large centerpiece, thinking that my own reveal was going to be nothing like this.
There will be no softness, joy, or romance.
There will just be drama and a man looking at me like I ruined his life.