[Camden]
I wake up with a vicious hangover, the sunlight streaming through the blinds feeling like spears in my eyeballs. My stomach rolls with the whiskey I ingested the night before, and I reach out for Kendall, groaning.
She’s not in bed, and I sit up quickly, more pain spearing through my head.
“Kendall?”
She pops her head into the door. “I’m making pancakes,” she chirps, and I blink, feeling like my eyelids are sticking together.
“You are? With one arm?” I ask incredulously.
“It is kind of hard,” she admits, laughing a little, and I can’t believe she’s in such good spirits after everything that happened.
She’s pregnant. The thought slams into me like a train, and I feel sick all over again, bolting out of bed and barely making it to the bathroom before throwing up in the toilet. I groan and brush my teeth and wash my face before coming out of the bathroom.
I head into the kitchen to see Kendall standing there at the sink, washing up the dishes.
“I’ll do that,” I mumble. “You should be resting.”
“I feel better,” she insists, and I sit down at the table because the room is spinning. She laughs at me. “How much did you drink last night?”
“Too much,” I manage, and when she puts a bottle of water down on the table, I drink half of it.
“It was a rough night,” she says, and I nod, agreeing, before wincing because it hurts my head.
“Rougher than most,” I agree. I’m thinking about the baby. Staring at her lower abdomen, all I can think is that there’s part of me floating around in Kendall’s stomach right now.
She continues to make breakfast, humming and flitting around the kitchen, doing everything one-handed. I know that I should get up and help her but it feels like my head is going to split open if I move too fast.
“I never really had a father,” I comment, not sure what I’m saying, and Kendall freezes, turning around from the stove and looking at me. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” she says, just like she had last night, and I frown.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t mind being a single mother,” she says easily, and I huff out a breath.
“I’m going to be its father,” I insist. “I’m going to take care of you both.”
She snorts. “Did you just call our baby ‘it’?”
“We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, and I’m violently hungover,” I defend myself.
“Fair enough.” She goes back to flipping the pancakes and makes me a plate of pancakes with tons of syrup and bacon.
I look at it as if it might bite me, feeling acid rise up in my throat.
“I don’t know if I can eat,” I admit.
“You should try. Soak up some of the whiskey,” she suggests.
Just her saying the word “whiskey” makes my stomach roll, but I take the fork and grab a big piece of pancake, shoving it into my mouth.
I do feel a little better once I eat a few bites, and I drink the rest of my water and some of hers.
She eats happily, not seeming to have a care in the world, and I just stare at her, unbelieving.
“Aren’t you worried?” I ask her finally.
“Worried about what?”
“The baby,” I say incredulously.
“Why would I be worried? I think I’ll be a great mom,” she says easily.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it? I told you, you don’t have to do anything.”
“Stop saying that,” I grumble. “Of course I have to do something. It’s my baby.”
“Please stop calling our child ‘it’,” she pleads, and I couldn’t stop the laugh escaping my lips.
“You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl,” I say.
“Of course I don’t know. I’m not far enough along. The baby’s just a peanut.”
“My mom says all mothers have a feeling about it. She says she knew I was a boy and Elora was a girl.”
“I have no idea,” she admits, looking down at her belly. “I don’t have a feeling one way or another.”
“Do you think I’ll be a good dad?” I ask her quietly. This question haunts me. I’m not sure I’m ready for any answer she gives me, but I really need to hear her answer.
Kendall looks at me. “I think you’ll be a wonderful dad,” she says softly, and my heart clenches in my chest.
“My dad was never around,” I tell her. “Not even when he was alive. He was always out on a job. I don’t want to be like that. I want to be there for my kid.”
“If you want to be, you will be,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“You’re not afraid? I mean, with the life we live?” I ask.
It’s something I’ve always wondered about. Not that I ever wanted to have children, but I know Dante is having one, I know some of my friends want a family.
I don’t know how to separate my family life from the wiseguy life, and I don’t know how to tell Kendall that.
“You keep me safe,” she says. “You’ll keep us both safe.”
“Of course I will,” I say, but I’m not so sure. I haven’t done a great job so far. I see that she’s removed the bandage from her cheek and the scar is still angry and red. Just an inch upward and it could have taken out her eye. I wish I’d taken the time to pull out that guy’s eyeball before I killed him.
I finish half of the pancakes and groan. “I’m going back to bed,” I say.
Kendall stands to clear the table and I take her wrist in my hand, stopping her. “You’re coming with me,” I order.
“Am I?” she asks, smiling.
“Damn straight. You’re pregnant and injured and you need to rest.”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbles, and that goes straight to my dick, making my lower abdomen heat up.
I stand up and she leads me into the bedroom. I plop down and grab her around the waist, pulling her with me, and she squeaks, protecting her bad shoulder.
“Sorry,” I mumble, but she doesn’t seem hurt. I kiss along her back. “Do you think it’s okay to still fool around?”
“It better be,” she says promptly, and I laugh and then sigh heavily.
“I guess better safe than sorry.”
“Absolutely not,” she says, pouting, trying to crawl into my lap but I block her with a frown.
“I’m not going to touch you until Jimmy says it’s okay,” I say firmly.
Kendall pouts and sits on her knees, staring at me. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” I stare right back at her.
She leans forward to kiss me and I groan.
“You little brat,” I mumble. “I say I’m not going to touch you and then you try to kiss me? Tease.”
“I’m not being a tease if I’m going to put out,” she says, exasperated, and I laugh.
I know that I should be worried. I know that I should be freaking out about being a father, and part of me is. But I walked around all night, drinking too much and wanting to smoke so bad and thinking about what it would be like to have a son or a daughter, and I’ve come to some kind of understanding.
I don’t mind having a child. I just don’t know if I want to be with Kendall forever. I don’t know if I want to be with any woman forever. But Kendall doesn’t expect that from me, does she? She hasn’t said so. She hasn’t told me that she wants me to get married or anything like that.
Maybe I’m worrying needlessly. Kendall told me that I don’t have to do anything, so surely she’s not looking for marriage.
Of course, I’m concerned about what it means to be a father, but I feel excited, too. It’s like a new chapter in my life, a curveball that I didn’t expect.
I’ve always considered myself good at rolling with the punches. This is just one that I didn’t see coming.
“Not until the doctor comes and says it’s okay,” I say firmly.
Kendall clearly doesn’t like it but she curls up into bed next to me, yawning.
Taking in her perfect features, my breath hitches.
Mio Dio.
What is she doing to me.