Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
IVY
Iwatch as Milton slowly pushes the wheeled device over to me and then grabs a round stool to sit on. He pushes a few random buttons, and a fuzzy upside-down black and gray triangle appears on the screen.
“Let’s see what the bairn is up to in there.” His smile is reassuring, but the set of his jaw is all wrong.
He’s hiding something. I’ve gotten really good at telling when I’m being lied to, and Milton is not being honest.
Warm gel hits my stomach, and I jolt.
“Sorry, Hen. I should have warned you. I’ve been told that this used to be cold. All the women I’ve examined can’t tell which is worse.” He speaks as he moves a device over my stomach, moving the gel around.
“Well, hello there.” I flick my eyes back to the screen and see a blob moving on the screen, and I squint my eyes.
“Oh my.” I cover my mouth.
It’s a leg and foot.
“That’s his left leg and foot. Let me see if I can…Look at those bollocks!” I start to cry and laugh at the same time.
“Is this like a car mirror? Bigger than they seem?” I ask, and Milton snorts.
“I hope so.” I get lost as he points out all of my son’s parts, and then he grows very quiet as the room fills with his strong heartbeat.
“It’s so fast.” I close my eyes and just take it all in.
All the hell I went through, forgotten in a single second of hearing that one sound. He is the good I prayed for all those years, what gives me the strength to live one more day?
My eyes fly open, and I grab Milton’s arm.
“Is there a Scottish name for strength?” He stops moving as a slow grin spreads across his face as he thinks.
“Aye, Arran,” I repeat the name slowly in my mind and look at the screen where Milton has the image paused on a side profile of a tiny little face.
“Hello, Arran,” I smile and then gasp.
“Oh my God. I think he just kicked!” He turns back to the ultrasound machine and moves the wand to check.
Sure enough, his little leg moves, and I feel the strike again.
Milton types into the keyboard, and then the machine starts printing the image on the screen. When he hands me a strip of photos, I stare at my son and then sob when I see the letters in the top right corner.
Arran Milton Blair.
“Blair?” I look up from the photos, and he shrugs.
“A boy needs a good family name and a father. Since I plan on keeping his Ma, it’s only fair he has my mine.” Before I can even think to argue, a knock on the door stops our conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a guy out here wearing your family colors asking to speak to Milly?” The man at the door stares at me, confused, before looking at Milton.
“Shite, yeah, I’m coming. Seer, this is Ivy, our new resident. Ivy, this is Seer, the President of the club.” The man waves at me but doesn’t approach.
“Hello, welcome to the MorningStar family. I have your cut in my office. I’ll grab it while you clean up.” He’s gone before I can ask.
“Cut?” I wipe my belly with the towel as Milton hands me my pants.
“Aye, a vest like I wear.” I scrunch up my nose.
“I get my own?” I sit up and frown.
“Milton, where is my underwear?” He grins and ignores my question.
“All the old ladies have one.” My eyebrow arches.
“Underwear?” I repeat, and he shakes his head.
“You won’t need those, Hen. Now get dressed. We’re keeping my brother waiting.” My pulse surges.
“You want me to meet your family with no panties on!” His grin turns feral.
“I want you to be able to ride my face with one less article of clothing as an obstacle. Hamish does not factor into that equation.” I huff and pull my jeans on as he bends down to help me with my ankle boots.
“I’m never going to forgive you for this,” I swear under my breath.
“We’ll see later when you’re screaming my name as you ride my tongue.” A surge of pure lust goes through me, and I grab the table for support.
“I’ll make it quick with my brother. Let’s go.” We walk out into the clubhouse, and standing by the door is a younger version of Milton.
Thinner, more hair, no tattoos, but the same facial structure and eyes.
“Milly, you’ve avoided this long enough. It’s time to come home.” The entire room stops moving.
“Did that dude just call Skull Milly?” someone by the bar asks.
“I’m sorry, do you go by Weston here?” Milton curses and then holds up a hand to stop his brother from talking.
“How many names you got, Doc?” A tall man with dark hair and even darker sunglasses asks from the bar with a whiskey glass halfway up to his mouth.
It reflects the large grin he’s trying, but failing, to hide.
“He looks like trouble,” I murmur to myself, but Milton snorts and nods.
“Stay clear of Whip.” I frown and look back over at his club brother.
His vest names include Whiplash on one patch and Enforcer. I make a mental note to ask what the hell all the different names mean as I turn my attention back to the brothers, who are staring at each other across the room like an old Western standoff.
“Hamish, I’ve told ya I ain’t ken to come home. Now, have the attorneys draw up whatever papers you need, or I’ll call mine to do it.” Milton crosses his arms as if his words are final.
“Milly, they don’t want me. I’ve tried to reason with the board.
If you don’t at least claim the title in name only, they’ll revoke our lands, and we’ll lose everything.
Please see reason.” Before Milton can respond, the front door flies open, and a woman holding an infant walks in to bright flashes of cameras.
My heart rate jumps, and I grab Milton’s arm.
“Why the fuck is there a press crew outside?” The woman with dark hair asks the room.
Press?