Looking at her, all she could think was, got his daddy in him, that boy.
All Tack.
All good.
Oh God.
“I do-don’t think . . . I don’t think I can—”
“Yes, you can,” Rebel said.
Naomi shook her head. “I c-can’t be—”
“Yes, you can.”
“I—”
“And you’re going to, Naomi.” Her voice was still quiet, but it was also steel. “Tabby’s pregnant again. You’re gonna get better and you’re gonna deal with what happened to you and you’re gonna sort your shit and you’re gonna make it worth his while to be sitting right there, Naomi. You’re gonna make it worth Tab’s while she rushed down here in the wee hours of the morning to be with her mother. You’re gonna do that, Naomi. And I’m gonna be with you every step of the way to make sure you don’t falter. Are you hearing me?”
Shit.
This bitch was kinda scary.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
Rebel smiled at her.
And the bitch had amazing cheekbones.
“Tabby’s pregnant?” she asked.
“You tell her I told you, I’m stealing your Jell-O cup.”
There was someone there to feed her Jell-O.
She turned her head and there was her boy.
“I won’t say a fuckin’ word,” she mumbled.
She felt Rush’s girl move away.
They let her boy get his sleep.
It was the first kind thing she’d done for him in ten years.
And when her daughter walked in, such beauty, the instant she saw her the wet came back to Naomi’s eyes.
And that was the first kind thing she’d done for her daughter ever.
Rush
Six twenty-seven the next morning . . .
Rush opened his eyes to the smell of bacon cooking.
He got out of Rebel’s bed, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, and headed out of the room, not hitting the bathroom, going straight to her crazy-ass kitchen.
She was in a pair of pajama bottoms in a wild print, a tight pink cami, a sloppy green cardigan falling off her shoulder. Her hair was wild with sleep and sex.
And she was bent over the open oven, pulling out a cookie sheet covered in fluffy biscuits with golden brown tops.
“Hey,” he called softly.
Those pretty blues came to him and she beamed.
“I’m making my bacon and egg cheesy buttermilk biscuit sandwiches!” she declared triumphantly.
“Wanna get married?” he asked.
She stood there, oven mitt on her hand, cookie sheet held aloft, eyes huge.
Then the cookie tray clattered on the counter and she was in his arms kissing him all over his face and neck.
He was taking that as a yes.
She jerked back and looked in his eyes.
“We’ve known each other, like, three months,” she noted.
“So?” he asked.
“Not even,” she said.
“So?” he repeated
“Elvira’s getting married next month. She’ll kill us if we steal her thunder.”
“We don’t have to get married today,” he pointed out.
Though he’d be totally down with marrying her that day.
She melted into his arms.
She knew he’d be down with marrying her that day.
“I wanna get hitched in Essence’s garden,” she whispered. “In the summer. When it’s green and full and pretty.”
“We can make that work,” he told her, though he had no idea how.
His brothers, their women, their kids, her brothers, their woman. It’d be a tight fit in that jungle if they wanted anyone to see them take their vows.
He just knew, if she wanted that, he’d make it work, somehow.
“So you love me?”
At her question, Rush focused on her beautiful face.
“No, I fucking love you.”
That face shone.
And she melted even deeper.
“I fucking love you too, Cole ‘Rush’ Allen,” she replied.
“That’s good, since you’re my old lady.”
Rebel giggled.
He loved that. He loved she could be vulnerable and badass and funny and smart and infinitely loving, and she didn’t laugh.
She giggled.
So she could also be girlie.
Serious, he just loved everything about her.
“We’ll get a ring today,” he murmured, “before we go up and visit Mom.”
“Okay,” she murmured back.
“Baby, you need to turn off the bacon.”
“Oh! Right!” she cried before she pulled out of his arms.
She turned off the bacon. Took the skillet off the burner and started to get busy finishing making his breakfast.
But he caught her hand, pulled her out of the kitchen, into her bedroom and they got busy another way.
When they got back to them, the biscuits were stone cold, and the bacon had sat in its grease for an hour and a half.
So she chucked it out and started fresh.
It took a while for him to sink his teeth in her egg and bacon cheesy buttermilk biscuit sandwiches.
But when he did, they were awesome.
Rebel Yell
Tyra
Two days later . . .
“What?” Rebel shrieked.
I stood at the top of the stairs outside my office that led into the garage and watched Rebel and Rush across the bays.
I heard Rush rumble something, but not what he said.
“But I can’t!” Rebel yelled.
I had a feeling she could.
Another rumble, and as it was happening, I felt him press up against my back, his chest to my shoulder blade, his hand lighting on my waist and gliding around to my belly.
In that position, me and my husband watched as Rebel, bouncing with excitement against Rush’s body, kissed him all over his face and neck.
“Just so you know, that’s how I felt when you gave me my baby,” I told Kane.
Done with the rain of kisses, Rush’s arms closed tight around his girl, he turned her, pressed her against the driver’s side door of the shiny indigo-blue ’Cuda he’d just given her, and the kissing got focused.
The boy done good. That princess-cut rock on her finger was even Elvira-approved.
“And just so you know,” Tack’s own rumble tumbled in my ear, “that’s how I felt when you got excited when I gave you your ’Stang.”
I twisted my neck to look at his face.
From the very first moment I saw him, I loved looking at Kane Allen.
After all these years, I wouldn’t have believed it if you told me, but I loved looking at him now more than ever.
Finally, my man was free.
And he’d given me goodness since the moment I’d let him in my heart. He’d given me a beautiful home and his beautiful children, and he’d helped me make two more. He’d kept me safe. He’d given me his love. And we’d had a ton of good times, heart-warming family holidays, loud raucous biker parties, truckloads of his amazing food, and astronomical amounts of great sex.
But in all our years together, seeing that in his face, in his eyes, I’d never been happier.
Not even when I had my boys.
That last was hard to admit.
But staring into my husband’s eyes as they were now, I had no choice to admit it.
Because it was true.
He put pressure at his hand at my belly and I was shifted, turned, then marched with Tack still at my back through the door into my office.
He shut it behind us. Flipped the blinds so they were closed. Then hit the lock on the door.
He turned me in his arms.
“You ready for me to soup up a new baby for you?” he offered.
Because he could.
He could now.
He could work in the garage, tinkering with a car, blowing time being close to me and doing something he loved to do.
Yes.
He could do just that.
Finally.
“You take my baby away from me, I’m not speaking to you for eternity,” I threatened.
He grinned.
Then he pulled me closer and he kissed me.
This got relatively hot and heavy until we heard an engine roar and a squeal of tires.
Only then did Kane raise his head and smile down at me, the crinkles by his beautiful blue eyes deep, the light in them dancing.