Chapter 12

Nolan

Things I love?

Watching Rabbit dance around the kitchen and karaoke oldies from Elton John.

Cindy Lauper.

Or in today’s case, The Four Tops.

“ Ohhhh ,” she dramatically sings into the parmesan cheese shaker while theatrically pointing at me. “ Sing with me, Mutt. ”

I merely grin, shake my head, and fold my arms across my chest, amused by her captivating pre-cooking performance.

What can I say?

She really knows how to move her hips and has got good taste in music.

Typically, anyway .

Every so often she puts on shit that damn near breaks me out in hives.

Like dubstep.

Seriously.

What the fuck is that shit?

All of a sudden, The Kid enters the apartment, prompting Rabbit to redirect her singing his direction. To no surprise, he lovingly chuckles out, “Hey to you too, baby.”

She winds her container free hand around his neck, leans in a little closer, and sings another line to “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)”, barely pausing when he does his best to sneak in kisses.

Kisses that he gives freely to her yet hasn’t to me.

Not since our spat in the hospital waiting room.

He won’t even let his fucking hand rest near mine when we’re holding her.

It isn’t until Rabbit returns to grabbing items for dinner that I warmly greet, “Hey, Kid.”

The smile he’s wearing instantly falls.

Fades into tar-filled abyss.

Is replaced by an undeniable grimace that’s followed by a barely grunted. “Hey.”

Things I hate?

This. Shit.

This watching him love and adore her but practically fucking ignoring me.

Treating me like an old, cracked window tint that’s irrelevant.

Listening to him cheerfully talk shop to every Tom, Dick, and Fuckboy that walks into the garage for work but won’t so much as ask me to hand him a goddamn wrench.

I get it.

He’s pissed.

He’s been pissed.

He’s probably gonna keep being pissed until he stops doing laps at the Angry 500 and actually fucking talks to me about what’s on his mind.

Not that I’m looking forward to that talk.

But it beats the fuck out this silent treatment bullshit I’m way too fucking old for.

Kid’s focus along with his smile return to Rabbit. “Want help?”

A familiar flirty smirk is given. “You mean you want me to want help.”

“I always want you .” He waggles his eyebrows. “ Full. Flag. Stop. ”

She gives a playful tug to his work shirt prior to pointing. “Wash your hands.” Unexpectedly, she throws me the same order. “You too.”

“Why?”

“You can both help.”

I prepare to shoot back a snarky retort when I spot the silent pleading.

Ah.

This isn’t actually about needing assistance.

It’s about getting us all in the same lane again.

Maybe even the same car.

“Got it,” precedes me moving to the sink to be beside Kipp who immediately displays displeasure once more.

After taking two pumps of the fruity hand soap Rabbit loves, I expect him to offer it to me or at the very least push it over my way.

He doesn’t.

In fact, I swear he nudges it in the opposite direction as if to wordlessly request I fuck off.

Which is new for him.

And shit I don’t care for.

A lot like dubstep.

I stretch across the small space to steal a dab of soap at the same time he turns on the water. “How was work?”

An uncomfortably long lull passes before he bluntly answers, “Busy.”

“What was wrong with that Odyssey?”

“Tires.”

“What about that Enclave?”

“Oil change.”

“And that S-Class?”

“Valve cover gasket replacement.” There isn’t time to ask for details due to him grabbing the dish towel and moving elsewhere. “Where do you need me, baby?”

“Let’s work together at the kitchen table,” she casually informs. “There’s more room to maneuver here than at the counter.”

Both impressed and irritated by his dedication to isolate me from his life, I grumble my unhappiness under my breath and quickly scrub up to join them.

Out of all the years I’ve been in his life, he’s never once put up this level of roadblocks between us.

I keep trying to go around them, but it’s not working.

All alternate directions are unavailable.

And no detours are being suggested.

Accepted.

It’s like I have no choice except to sit here and wait for whatever shit construction is backing up traffic to finish its no end in sight project.

Drying my hand with a different dishtowel is done enroute to the table where Rabbit seems to be making mixtures of some sort. “And what are we cookin’ good lookin’?”

“Parmesan crusted porkchops.” Her beautiful brown gaze lifts to meet mine. “Posie sent me this super easy recipe that I’ve been dying to try.”

“Want me to make mashed potatoes, Kid?” My suggestion is attached to a crooked grin. “You know my insta shit is pretty hard to beat.”

I’m not even granted eye contact as he opens the packaging. “We can have whatever Bunny wants.”

“What Bunny wants is the two men in her life to be back on the same side of the fucking spreadsheet.” At that, she receives both of our stares. “ Talk to each other. ”

“I’ve been talking,” I thoughtlessly grunt in tandem with grabbing the box of breadcrumbs to open. “I’m the one not being talked to. ”

“I’ve talked to you,” Kid emotionlessly counters. “You ask. I answer. That’s talking.”

“That’s childish.”

“And name calling isn’t?”

The unexpected, returned jab has me slamming the box down and biting, “I wasn’t calling you a child. I was saying that behavior – your behavior – is childish.”

“I see.” He crumples the plastic wrap into a ball. “When you do something, it’s acceptable. When I do the exact same thing, it isn’t.” His no look, one handed throw impressively makes it into the garbage. “Got it.”

“Kid-”

“What else can I help with?” Kipp finds our woman’s gaze again. “You want me to season anything? Everything?” Mischievousness muscles it way into his expression. “I’m very good at making things shake in my hand.”

“How about I season?” She sassily slides around his frame, forcing him to switch places with her, putting him closer to me. “And you crack the eggs?”

“You got it.”

“You wanna crack the eggs?” There’s no hesitation for me to move the carton out of his reach. “You actually fucking talk to me.”

“Oh, you mean like you talk to me?”

“ I do talk to you. ”

“When I ask something. When I accidentally discover shit. But never … never do you just…fucking…talk to me,” The Kid growls in an unfamiliar tone. “You keep secrets. And your fucking secrets have secrets. And those secrets have a past. And the only person who knows any of that shit – besides you – is the man you claim doesn’t mean to you nearly as much as he fucking does.”

“Kid-”

“And that’s fucking fine, Nolan. I get it. You have friends outside of me. I have friends outside of you . You have a life outside of me. I have a life outside of you . You have an identity outside of me. And I have one outside of you. But wanna know what the big fucking difference is?” His palms land flat on the table. “ My hood is always and has always been popped for you. ”

Shame lands mercilessly on my shoulders.

“You know everything and anything you want. When you want. And me? I can’t even get you to unlatch the fucking thing until you decide it’s fucking necessary .”

Additional guilt spreads along my back.

“And everything is about when you decide and why you decide and how you decide and I’m so fucking sick of feeling like I’m a full-sized fucking spare to be kept in the trunk until I’m absolutely needed.”

Regret rolls the length of my spine.

“ I’m done .” He defiantly states during an intimidating lean forward. “I’m done waiting in the dark. Done burning tread. Done roaring my engine for someone who clearly doesn’t want me for anything more than fucking show.” His chin kicks to the object I’m holding. “ Eggs. ”

Despite my somewhat shaky grip I slide the object back in his direction only for Rabbit to intervene by snatching it away herself. “ No. ”

Surprise hits us both as we face her.

“I didn’t get to run away when shit got hard, so you don’t get to call it a race because the shit storm is a little hard to manage.”

Kipp attempts to defend himself, “But-”

“ No. ” She cradles the carton to her stomach. “There’s a very real possibility that we are about to bring a baby into this relationship, meaning we need to all get out of the red, and into the black. Together. ”

Fuck, I still can’t believe she might be pregnant.

Alright.

Fine.

I can believe it.

We bang like bunnies.

Pun intended.

But it’s never been a scare I’ve had before.

Dono if that’s because I’ve got slow swimmers or just good luck.

What I do know is if she’s got a bun in that oven, it’s ours.

All. Of. Ours.

And I’m gonna fucking love it until I take my last breath.

The way a parent fucking should.

The way I never got.

“You’re right,” Rabbit continues, eyes locked with our boyfriend. “You shouldn’t be left in the dark, Kipp. And you shouldn’t have to beg for information-”

“ Thank you. ”

“ However ,” she boldly snips, “have you ever fucking considered that it’s not about keeping shit from you so much as protecting himself? Protecting himself from the past he left. From whatever it is he escaped ? From the things that haunt him? Have you ever fucking considered that maybe… just maybe… I’m not the only one around here who reinvented themself to save themself?”

“You want a popped hood?” I quietly inquire to The Kid who doesn’t bother looking my way. “Fine.”

At that, he glances over.

“My old man had alcohol and anger issues. And he took that shit out on us. Daily. My mom and older sister, Millie, got the worst of it because they didn’t fight back. They were easy targets for whatever set him off for the day. Out of milk. Stubbed his toe. Lost a sports bet. Got a pay cut at work. Whenever something shit on his mood, he physically took it out on them. They were his marks. I wasn’t as often because I refused to just take his shit. From the first hit I can remember, I swung back . With toy trucks. And bats. And eventually bottles. And pans. I fucking brawled. When I was in that house…and so was he…I fucking fought. ”

His entire body angles itself to better receive the information.

“ For them. For me. One day after school, I came home to find Millie hopping on the back of her boyfriend’s bike. She didn’t say shit. She just offered me a sympathetic smile and bailed.”

A small flash of compassion crosses his face.

“ That was the last I ever saw and heard from her. Mom never searched. Never asked about her. Never even said her name again. And my old man? Erased her from existence. Tossed her shit in the garbage. Tried to set some of it on fire. Drunkenly ripped up photos.” Removing my wallet from my back pocket is effortlessly executed. “I have one picture of her.” I yank it out from the spot behind my license and toss it on the table for him to see. “And you know why? Because Garcia’s mom had taken it at some holiday party, and he printed it for me.”

The Kid’s jaw cracks yet doesn’t stop me rambling.

“The Garcias were the only thing that kept me alive. I spent more time there than I ever did at home. They kept me fed and clothed when my own mother could barely hold down a fucking job because that shit’s difficult when you can’t breathe due to broken ribs or see due to swollen eyes or stop sobbing because you don’t know if you’re gonna live to see tomorrow.”

Another futile movement of his mouth occurs.

“I learned basic survival health shit from his mom. What to avoid if dumpster diving. How to play a restaurant for discounted meals or scraps they have to throw out at the end of the night. I learned injury treatment shit from his old man. How to survivor patch wounds with household items. I learned car shit from one of his cousins. How to hustle at pool and poker from another. His family taught me neighborhoods to avoid. The right people to always charm. How to benefit from a broken system while understanding certain systems weren’t built for me. I learned to survive and eventually thrive because they gave a shit about me. Because they never stopped giving one.”

Rabbit carefully lowers the eggs back to the table.

“And the night that I came home to find both of people I had to call my parents dead, that was the night I left Spike Village.” A defeated shoulder shrug barely escapes. “I left that poor, neglected, abused kid there and became someone else. Someone who would do whatever it took to protect those they loved, damn whatever the costs.” I let my wallet flop onto the furniture beside the box of breadcrumbs. “Yeah, I had a whole fucking life before you Kipp, but the one that matters most to me, that’s always mattered most to me, that will always be the only one that matters to me is the one I have with you. ” Shoving down the lump of tears in my throat is almost impossible. “ I love you, Kid. ”

Against his own volition, he melts. “Full flag stop?”

“ Full. Fucking. Flag. Stop. ”

I’m finally given a grin.

An actual grin.

An actual grin that possesses the strength it takes to move the fifty thousand pounds of pressure sitting uncomfortably on my chest.

All of a sudden, the sound of my cell ringing has me diving into my pocket to retrieve it.

Fuck work.

I’m not going anywhere until this shit is actually done.

Until The Kid gets from me what it is he needs.

Understands that there is no giving up on me.

Or us.

Accepts that I’m really no better at this relationship bullshit than he is.

Seeing the contact information on the screen has me cautiously glancing up prior to announcing, “It’s the doctor’s office.” Their expressions shift to nervousness at the same time I answer on speaker. “ Nolan. ”

“Hey, Nolan, it’s Dr. G,” she warmly announces as if I didn’t already know that. “Is B around? I finally have all of her test results.”