Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(80)

No. No crying. Josie had warned her about hormonal up-and-down swings after the birth. For fuck’s sake, it’d been bad enough having them in the beginning of the pregnancy. More now? Didn’t seem fair.

And hormones or not, she felt lonely and empty, and no one was here for the celebration, even if, dammit, she didn’t feel there was much to celebrate.

She’d had a baby and felt…nothing.

Blinking hard, she sat up and bit back a grunt of pain. Yeah, her abdominal muscles were strained like she’d done a year’s worth of sit-ups in an hour. That labor shit wasn’t for wussies. The chair beside the bed looked comfortable, though, and maybe she wouldn’t feel like a…sick person…if she was out of the damned bed.

Moving like a…sick person…dammit, she shuffled the few steps to the chair and settled down despite the complaints from her stitched-up crotch.

Yeah, this was better. But still lonely. She pulled in an unhappy breath, trying to get her wayward emotions to settle.

And then the light from the open door dimmed as a huge man filled the space and walked in.

Ben.

“You’re up. Shouldn’t you be…” His heavy brows drew together. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

The concern in his voice was heartwarming. Strengthening. The lump in her chest, in her stomach, in her heart lightened as he walked over, a blanket balled up in one arm. He went down on one knee.

She pressed her hand against his rough cheek, and a day’s worth of beard growth scratched her palm. “I’m all right. I just feel…” She shook her head. “Empty?”

“Of course you do.” He smiled slowly. “Maybe this will help.” And he set the blanket in her lap.

She looked down, startled that she actually had a lap now, and stilled as he pulled a fold of the blanket back.

Oh. So tiny. Above a scrunched face, little fists like pink walnuts waved at her. Her baby was a grumpy pixie with half-closed eyes and pursed lips.

“Oh, Ben,” she whispered. She stared down. Ever so slowly, her heart filled, reached over-flowing, and expanded to the point of pain trying to accommodate the love. “We have a son.”

Ben’s gaze met hers, his eyes shiny. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “We do.”





Chapter Fifteen





It was Sunday afternoon, Eagles vs the Giants. And halftime.

As the teens and preteens raced out of Holt’s living room in search of provisions, he exchanged grins with the other two adults. Hell, if he’d known he’d be hosting a horde, he’d have stocked up. Duke and Wedge, the teens from across the street, sometimes came to games. Today, though, they’d brought along Carson and two of his buddies.

Then, before the teens had even settled, Jake had shown up. Apparently, Rainie and some friends had commandeered the television to watch It’s a Wonderful Life. “They were starting to cry, bro. I had to get out of there.” Duke had shaken his head—“That sucks, man”—and handed over the bag of Doritos.

The game had barely started when Vance arrived. Turned out his wife’s family from Iowa was visiting, and he and Galen had wanted Sally to have some alone time with them. Remembering Holt’s 65-inch, wide-angle television, the Fed had swung by to catch the game.

Eight people had sure made a serious crowd in the tiny living room. At least he’d staked out his recliner before everyone’d arrived. Holt looked over at Jake on the couch and Vance in an armchair. “I think I need a bigger place.”

Jake snorted. “I’ve been telling you that. There are a couple of places out by me.”

“Country living isn’t for me. I like having neighbors.” Holt pointed to the house across the street—the one with the basketball hoop. “With teens around, I always have someone to shoot hoops with.” He wadded up a Dorito bag and tossed it into the corner wastebasket. Two points. “However, if I’d known I’d be entertaining so many of them, I’d have bought more food.”

Vance glanced at the empty bags of junk food and grinned. “Teens are a black hole for snacks.”

“No shit.”

“They seem to be good kids though,” Vance said. “Did you say one of them is Josie’s?”

“Yep. Carson. He’s one of the younger three—slim, light brown hair.”

It was a shame Josie hadn’t shown up. Then again, yesterday, when he’d said goodbye, she’d looked as if she wanted to retreat again. Poor subbie. She really was torn. If she thought her doubts would make him back away, she was in for a surprise.

Did she know her kid was at his house? Probably not, but if she didn’t find him, all she had to do was listen. Being prudent, Holt’d left the front door open. Any touchdown got rowdy cheers and fumbles garnered so many catcalls the entire neighborhood must know where the kids were.

Jake laughed. “Carson might be smaller, but he ate as much as the rest of them did.”

And, in fact, here the kid came, leading the other two through the door. Yukio lugged two six-packs of sodas, Brandon had a container of cookies, and Carson carried a huge tray of something that smelled amazing.

“What’ve you got there, Carson?” Holt asked.

“Chicken wings. Whenever Mom gets stuck on some plot thing, she cooks. Or if she’s upset or worried or pissed-off or whatever.” The kid’s laugh was that of a boy who knew he was loved no matter how annoyed his mother got.