“We just do, babe.”
“But—”
“No,” I said, standing and pulling her away from the table. She came into my arms and I held her tight. Was her stomach bigger already? I reached down between us, cupping it. My kid was in there. I wondered what he looked like. Or was it a she?
Fuck. You better be a boy, you little shit.
“Becca, I promise . . .” I swallowed. “I promise I’ll take care of you and the baby. We’ll get through this.”
“All right.”
I put my face in her hair. Did she smell different? More . . . pregnant somehow? I couldn’t decide.
“Puck?”
“Yeah, Becs?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little scared. I love you.”
I bit back a nervous laugh, because I was a little scared, too. Then I pictured a little baby wearing Becca’s face, imagined her feeding it . . . My woman feeding my kid. Damn. How did that make me feel? Love seemed like such a pathetic word to describe something this intense.
“It’s okay,” I told her, hoping I was right. “I love you, too, Becs. And not just ’cause your tits are gonna get bigger . . . although I’m looking forward to that the most, I think.”
“Fuck you,” she said, slapping at my hand and laughing. I let her pull back just enough to think she might get away, then jerked her into my arms.
“Love you,” I whispered again, kissing the top of her head. “Fuck, I can’t believe you have a baby inside you.”
“It’s scary,” she whispered. “Are we really going to do this?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Okay,” I told her.
“Okay what?”
“We won’t fuck it up. I promise.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
This time I couldn’t bite back that nervous laugh, because I had no idea. I put my hand on her stomach again and shook my head.
Holy shit.
EPILOGUE
SIX YEARS LATER
BECCA
“You’re definitely gonna fuck it up,” I told Danielle, smirking at her. She sat at my kitchen table, clutching a cup of tea between fingers white from stress. “Everyone fucks it up. The good news is that kids are strong. They bounce. You’ll be fine.”
“But I want to be a perfect mom,” she said, her voice strained. “I always thought I’d have my shit together first. I mean, things are good but we run a bar, for God’s sake. How can I work at a bar and take care of a baby?”
“How could I finish school, start a relationship with Puck, and have a baby?” I asked, shrugging. “You just do it because you have to. I promise you—once that kid is born, you’ll be way too busy and tired to worry about getting it right. If the kid is still alive at the end of the day, you win.”
Danielle rolled her eyes and flipped me off. She thought I was playing around, trying to make her feel better. Hah . . . She’d learn.
“So, Regina wants to know what kind of cake to make for the baby shower.”
“German chocolate,” she answered, picking at a fingernail. “I still don’t see why we can’t invite the guys.”
“Because Blake paid me fifty bucks to make sure he wasn’t invited,” I told her. Before she could reply, my boy, Gunnar, came tearing through the kitchen.
“Katy is trying to shoot me!” he screamed, his little three-year-old tongue twisting around the words. “She’s going to kill me!”
I caught the boy and swung him up onto my hip.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Danielle. She nodded, scowling. Probably shouldn’t have ratted out Blake.
Stepping through the door, I looked out across our small lawn toward my daughter. Our house wasn’t much—just a little two-bedroom back in one of the canyons—but we were surrounded by woods and the kids loved running through the trees.
“Katy Redhouse!” I called. “Get over here!”
She came running, and I realized she’d been playing in the mud again. The kid was coated in it from the knees down. Covered her hands, too.
“Why are you trying to shoot your brother?” I asked. She grinned up at me, a large gap in the center of her smile.
“Because he pissed off the Silver Bastards,” she said proudly. “We can’t have that shit, you hear me?”
Oh, I heard all right. I heard her father’s voice coming right out of her mouth.
“I’m pretty sure the Silver Bastards can take care of themselves,” I replied, my tone dry. “Say you’re sorry to your brother, and then you guys can play with the hose for a couple minutes. See how much of that mud you can get off without my help. Once you’re totally clean, you can have a popsicle.”
Katy and Gunnar looked at each other and started shrieking with excitement. Then they tore off around the house to find the hose.
Perfect.
Walking toward the garage, I heard the roar of a Harley engine coming to life—yet another of Puck’s fixer-uppers. The first time he’d dragged one home, I’d thought he was crazy. Then he’d turned around and sold it for three thousand bucks profit. Suddenly he wasn’t sounding so crazy after all.
I knocked on the door and pushed it open. Puck crouched next to the bike, poking at the engine until it died with a sputter.
“How’s it going?”