Chapter 20

Nolan

The overly attractive saleswoman leans slightly forward to give us a better view down her white, button up shirt at the same time she asks, “Would you like me to giftwrap these?”

“Yes, he would,” Garcia instantly claims on my behalf, grin growing obnoxiously charming. “He would love that.”

I let my head slowly turn his direction in silent question.

“And I’m sure you have the perfect paper, ribbon combo for these, don’t you, Monique?”

She giggles.

Ruffles her long chestnut hair.

Giggles again and flirtatiously coos, “ I have the perfect combo for many things, Mr. Garcia. ”

“You can just call me Garcia.”

“You can just call me Mon.”

“And you can just throw that shit in a bag,” I interject on a sardonic smile. “Someone will wrap it later.”

“Who?” My oldest friend challenges on a quirked eyebrow. “It damn sure won’t be you. You can barely tie a tie.”

“Then you.”

“We both know that’s not happening.”

Fucker was all too willing to jump at the chance to go Christmas shopping with me and pick out the most expensive shit possible yet can’t lift a literal finger when I need a different type of help?

He’s lucky he needs all those fingers to file the paperwork that’s getting him paid and my family a new fucking house.

“Val.”

“Your girlfriend?” curiously questions Monique, directly to Garcia.

“ Sister. ”

The bashful beam she presents has me immediately rolling my eyes.

He was never good at being a passenger.

Even when his ass volunteered to be one, he still ended up being the main driver while I had to just go along for whatever ride and keep whoever else was around occupied while he figured out how to hotwire them out of there.

Looking back?

It probably saved my ass from more than just a few hangovers and trips to the emergency clinic due to some uncomfortable itching.

But right now?

Right now, I need him to just put his shit in park and make sure I’m not going completely off the map with these purchases.

I’ve never done anything like this.

I…honestly never saw myself doing anything like it either.

Then again, I never pictured falling in love.

Having a baby.

Family.

An actual life.

“And Val’s not giftwrapping shit either,” Garcia declares when his glare finds mine again.

“She could.”

“She won’t.”

“She might.”

“ She can’t. ” Amusement doesn’t hesitate to hope into his expression. “Let’s just say…there’s a reason why Santa only brought his shit in giftbags to the Garcia household each year. An inability to cover shit in paper, tape, and bows is hereditary.”

Rather than continue what’s clearly becoming a pointless conversation, I reach for my wallet while surrendering to the saleswoman, “Yeah. Go ahead and add giftwrapping to the bill.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he promises on a cheeky wink.

Easy for him to fucking say.

He’s never skidded away from spending this many zeroes at one time.

“In fact, let me pay for the giftwrapping,” the man who’s basically a brother to me insists to Monique. “I’ll take that and you ,” he gestures a pointed finger towards her, “to dinner tonight.”

His continued pussy trolling invites me to check my cell in hopes of finding a reason to rush this shit along.

“How do you feel about Italian?”

“I um…” the machine dinging for me to insert my card interrupts her response as well as my phone retrieval. “I love it.”

“White or red?”

“White.”

“Then I expect to see you in red ,” Garcia arrogantly proclaims split seconds prior to an error sound blearing from the machine.

Seeing my card declined instantaneously pulls my brow tightly together. “ What the fuck? ”

“Problem?” He cautiously ponders while peering over.

“There shouldn’t be.” Our eyes lock. “I should have way more than enough. This shit wasn’t window shopping gone fucking wrong. I…fucking… planned …for these.”

Which wasn’t exactly hard to do as long as I wasn’t home where they could accidentally walk in and see.

Like I did.

It’s how I know The Kid got Rabbit this artsy journal kit thing with every type of fucking pen a person could think of including some glitter shit I am not looking forward to seeing in our shower.

I wonder if her skin scribble disorder thing is genetic.

Part of me wants to ask Val – off the record.

Away from my counterparts.

The last thing I want is Rabbit and Kid worried about what could go wrong with the addition to our family versus simply being excited we’re getting one.

I can do the worrying.

And the stressing.

And the house planning.

And all the nightmare, headache shit that keeps dropping onto our front doorstep.

They should be celebrating.

Arguing over baby names.

Colors of the baby’s future room.

Car seats.

Strollers.

I want our child to be born into that shit – that overabundance of love and having the best of everything shit – not the anxiety over how much it costs.

Or is going to cost.

Or what possible complications we may have to deal with when it gets older.

Fuck.

Should I be worried about other issues if it was my sperm that took?

I mean I know men can knock a woman up pretty much at any age, but does older, dustier sperm come with more fucking risks than if it were Kid’s swimmer who “won” the gold?

In general?

I couldn’t give a fuck who it “technically” belongs to because as far as we’re all considered, it – fuck, I can’t wait to stop calling it an it – is all of ours, but do we need to know the specifics in case there’s some sort of biological concern?

“Have you had any other problems with your accounts?” Garcia cautiously inquires, the under the hood text easy to exam. “Have any of you?”

Shit.

Did McAdams figure out a way to get into my fucking account?!

Theirs?!

“Not that I know of.”

“ Check ,” he commands with a firm chin tip. “And as for this ?” His head motions to the unpurchased presents. “Worst case scenario is I’ll pay for the shit now and you can pay me back.”

“No.”

“Ace-”

“ Fuck no. ”

“But-”

“If this were any other shit ? Fine. Fuck. Whatever.” Pulling out my device precedes my stare falling to it. “Not this.”

Kid would lose his fucking mind – as is – if he knew we were out shopping together right now.

Especially. For. This.

I can’t “taint” his gift.

I just fucking can’t.

One, keyed in passcode, later reveals to me a missed call from Post along with an alert text from the credit card company. Quickly opening the message has the knot of dread that’s growing in my throat promptly dissipating. “Fraud alert.” After typing the correction option, I look back up at Garcia. “Due to the large, unusual purchase, it was flagged as fraud.”

“Are we sure it’s not?” he playfully pokes. “This purchase is unusual for you of all the fucking people I know.”

“You can refrain from being an asshole to me and resume being a charming asshole to her .”

Monique struggles not to snicker while I try my card again.

“I’m not an asshole,” Garcia slyly segues, sending his attention with it. “And I look forward to proving that to you tonight, Mon.”

“I look forward to that too,” she replies around the time my purchase is approved.

“How do you feel about the white that sparkles? Like champagne? Particularly vintage. The restaurant I’m thinking of has a 1996 Boerl & Kroff Brut Millesime that’s well worth the cost.”

Instead of blocking or assisting or really having any additional parts to whatever Jingle Bell Cock shit he’s stirring up, I merely put my card back in my wallet.

Grab my cell again.

Occupy myself with sorting through random work-related emails from both the shop and the tow company.

This time of year – similar to when we’re in festival season – is pretty fucking busy.

Between people wanting to winterproof their cars – a lot like their houses – and people not being smart enough to abide by the fucking weather patterns – ice sucks more than snow – there’s very little downtime.

I swear it feels like from sunup to sunup again I’m behind the wheel of something .

Whether that’s towing or tuning or traveling to meet with contractors or city members regarding our rebuild or Garcia to discuss the suspicious lack of activity from McAdams, I’m rarely idling for longer than it takes to get my dick wet.

Or The Kid’s sack empty.

Or hear Rabbit pleading for mercy.

Fuck, even most meals I have are on the goddamn go.

They’ve even started packing them for me in containers knowing I’ll most likely be eating them on the road.

Originally, I agreed to slow down, but once we found out Rabbit was pregnant, I knew I needed to pick the shit back up.

At least for a bit.

Secure a literal nest egg.

I’m gonna wanna be around to help when our baby is born.

Grows.

I don’t wanna be fucking absent or take a backseat to all the shit.

No, I don’t wanna fuck things up, but I think not being around will fuck up our mini more.

Man, I hope it is a mini.

A mini mix.

The car gods know I couldn’t handle just a mini Kid or Rabbit.

I’d never sleep again, and my wallet would always be empty over random shit.

Forfuckssake, how can I say no to a pregnant woman who wants to make us “dirt pudding” at two in the morning?

Post’s name and photo unexpectedly interrupt my deleting, encouraging me to answer his call, unfortunately for him, however, it’s at the same time Monique investigates, “And how would you like the tags signed?”

Hitting ignore is done in tandem with replying. “Sir.”

“Okay.” She stands up a little taller. A little more professional. “My apologies.” Her slender face angles itself about an inch to the side. “How would you like the tag signed, sir ?”

“What?” There’s no stopping my head from shaking. “ No. ” Shoving the device back out of sight in spite of its vibrating is followed by me sighing. “I wasn’t telling you to call me sir. I was saying that I want them signed from Sir.”

“Oh!” She squeaks yet remains confused. “I thought these were personal gifts for your significant other.”

“ Others, ” I effortlessly correct. “And they are. One is for my girlfriend, the other my boyfriend. Sir is…a nickname.”

“ Oh… ” Monique retorts in such a way, it’s obvious she’s jumping to shitty conclusions.

Doesn’t matter.

She can think whatever shit she wants.

It’s no one’s business but ours.

And I don’t have to justify our shit to anyone else.

“Crazy, huh?” Garcia smoothly steps in. “This asshole can be in a successful relationship of three while I’m still struggling to find someone to make mine a two.”

“Maybe your struggle is about to come to an end.” Mon suggestively winks before dropping her stare back to the tags.

Doubtful.

We’re talkin’ my unborn coming out of the womb and saying his or her first word right then and there doubtful.

Garcia doesn’t really do commitment.

And neither does Val.

The irony of course being that their parents have been married since they were eighteen.

Maybe that’s why?

Maybe the fear of not wanting to miss shit like they think their parents have is what’s led them both to racing around the Can’t Commit 500?

Doesn’t make sense to me because their parents seem happy.

They’ve always seemed happy.

Even when they were fighting, there was always a “love you just don’t like you right now” sense in the air.

Me, Kid, and Rabbit are happy like that.

Little fucked up most of the time but happy together.

How do we teach the little one she’s baking not to fear falling in love?

How do we teach it to have a healthy relationship someday when we’re still figuring that shit out ourselves?

Fuckme, how is it every day I wake up with a fresh from hell worry regarding messing this child up?!

I need a drink.

Is it too early?

Collecting my purchases doesn’t take long, and thankfully, neither does the two of them exchanging numbers. Our stroll back to the lot where I had no choice but to park – my tow truck isn’t exactly the clientele this high-end strip center wants around unless it’s to take away someone who has broken their beloved aristohat rules – is mainly filled with Christmas dinner questions I know he’s been ordered to retrieve and laughter regarding what to expect on the big night.

“Okay, so, Woods likes cake, but not birthday cake?” Garcia investigates upon our arrival. “Or not birthday cake flavor ?”

“That one.”

“How does he feel about Dulce de Leche ?”

I pause with my empty hand wrapped around the handle. “Don’t know if he’s ever had it.”

“ Qué??? ” He croaks in Spanish, a rarity for him. “You don’t know everything about the man you’re trying to give your last name to?”

“ Fuck you ,” is impishly grunted. “I know enough. ”

“And by enough, you mean how well your dick fits in his ass?”

“Exactly.” We share another round of chuckles that’s followed by me getting into my vehicle. Once I’m settled, I shift the bag from my grip to his. “Hide that shit well. The last thing I need is one of your holiday fuck arounds finding it and thinking it’s for them.”

He lets the corner of his lips kick upward. “It’s going in my safe.”

“Personal or office?”

“ Personal. ”

That one’s more secure.

Before another juvenile comment can make it past my lips, he shoots me a sincere smile. “I’m proud of you, Ace.” His fingers adjust their hold on the bag. “For settling down. Having a family. Getting married-”

“ If they say yes. ”

“They will.” The grin widens. “We both know they will.”

An unexpected heat flushes my cheeks. “ Fuck, I hope so. ”

“I’m proud of you for finally getting your shit together and moving forward rather than just staying stagnant.”

It’s impossible not to jab back as I shove the key in the ignition. “Keep smiling, fucker. You’re. Next. ”

“Can’t hear you,” he loudly proclaims on a slamming of my door shut. “Too busy making millions and sleeping with supermodels.”

Flashing him my middle finger receives one last round of chortles and him wandering off for his own vehicle.

After turning my truck on, I grab my phone from my pocket to check for possible clients yet discover two more missed calls from Post and one from The Kid.

Shit.

Calls from Post are one thing.

The man calls if one of his plain clothes fucking thinks a bird is flying around too much.

But Kid?

Kid rarely calls.

Text?

All the goddamn time.

But a call?

A call means there’s a real problem.

Alarm swiftly begins spreading along my spine as I hit the green button to reach him.

What if it’s Rabbit?

What if something’s wrong with her?

Or the baby?!

What if that motherfucker got to her while she was shopping?!

Hurt her?!

Our little thing?!

I knew she shouldn’t have been going fucking anywhere on her own!

Relief is briefly offered in the form of hearing Kid’s voice calmly answer, “Woods.”

“Kid,” I forcefully state, to help indicate who’s calling, “what’s going on?”

“We need you,” he retorts without hesitation but pauses prior to reiterating, “ I need you. ”

“Where?”

“Population sign.” His small sniffle has my heart stopping. “There’s a body.”

My voice turns into almost all air. “ Tell me it’s not Rabbit’s. ”

“ It’s my mom’s. ”