Sidebarred: A Legal Briefs Novella (8 page)

“Yeah. You pretty much ruined me, too, Chelsea.”

****

That Tuesday, I’m in the office going over my messages when Brent—and his very round, very pregnant wife—walk in. Kennedy’s wearing pink velour sweatpants, one of Brent’s Batman T-shirts, and a pair of fuzzy beige boots that probably cost an obscene amount of money. She looks like a homeless person who raided a dumpster in the fashion district.

“Hey, Kennedy.”

“Hi, Jake.”

“How are you feeling?”

She rubs her protruding belly. “Like a tick ready to pop. Today’s my first day of maternity leave.”

Her due date is next week.

“Congratulations. What are you doing here?”

She sighs, pushing back a strand of light-blond hair. “I had planned to put my swollen feet up, cuddle with the cats, and reread a Stephenie Meyer novel, but . . .”

Her eyes slide to her husband.

Brent raises his hand guiltily. “I had a dream last night that Kennedy went into labor and I missed the whole thing.”

“So he dragged me along with him today.”

“You can put your feet up on my office couch. We’ll hang out, it’ll be great.” Brent snaps his fingers and pats his leg, vibrating with more energy than usual.

Kennedy notices, too. “Why don’t you go for a run?”

Brent is shocked by the suggestion. “I can’t do that. What if your water breaks while I’m gone? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Kennedy’s brown eyes roll to the ceiling. “It’s impossible for you to miss anything, Brent! If I stop short you’re going to go straight up my ass.”

Brent smirks. “Wouldn’t be so bad—it’s my second favorite place to be.”

Kennedy pulls at her hair and she looks to me. “Help.”

I shrug. “You married him.”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Knock it off, you two. You’re going to hurt my feelings. I’m sensitive.”

He says this while walking past me to Stanton’s closed office door. He opens it, stands inside for two seconds, and mutters, “O-kay.”

Then he turns around and walks back out to the common area. When I try to pass him with a file Stanton was looking for yesterday, he holds up a hand.

“You don’t want to go in there, trust me.”

I was Stanton’s roommate for four years. I know him well—I’ve seen things.

“What? Are they screwing in there?”

“Yep. In the desk chair.” Then he grins. “Did you know Sofia got a tattoo?”

****

An hour later, Stanton and Sofia emerge from the love cave—only slightly red-faced. Which Brent attempts to rectify.

“You dirty dogs . . . what if poor Mrs. Higgens walked in on you?”

Sofia takes a bottle of water out of the minifridge. “Sorry about that.”

“Work up a thirst, did you?” I tease.

Stanton slips his tie around his neck and ties it. “Samuel’s been coming into our bed at night. Every night. It’s made things . . . hard.”

Sofia winks.

Stanton gestures to Brent, Kennedy, and me. “See what y’all have to look forward to?”

“Wait a minute,” Brent interjects. “Is that like a rule? Are we not supposed to have sex in our offices unless there’s a reason?”

His eyes meet Kennedy’s. She shrugs. “Oops.”

****

I get home late that night—after midnight. The house is dim and quiet; only Cousin It is up to greet me. He hangs out with me on the couch while I eat the plate of food Chelsea left on the stove.

When I walk into our room, I find her stretched out on the bed—awake but tired. She’s got one hand on her stomach, peeking out from the snug-fitting tank top, and the other hand holding a thick book.

“Hey.” She smiles at me.

“Hey.” I loosen my tie and start to unbutton my shirt. “How’d it go tonight?”

“Everybody’s good.”

I crawl up the bed and kiss her stomach before laying my cheek against the warm, taut skin. “What are you reading?”

She puts the book down and runs her fingers through my hair, rubbing my scalp. “A book on baby names.”

“Ahh. Find any good ones?”

Her fingers keep moving and my eyes roll closed under her ministrations.

“I was thinking . . . if we have a little boy . . . we should name him Atticus, after the Judge.”

My eyes pop back open, meeting her soft, tender gaze.

“That is a good name.”

Chelsea hums her agreement.

I lift my head and press my lips against her stomach again—right next to the belly button that’s popped like a well-cooked turkey. “But what do you think about, if it’s a boy . . . Robert?”

After her brother. I know it would mean a lot to her—and if it wasn’t for him, Chelsea and I wouldn’t have met.

Her eyes seem shinier—wet and adoring. “That’s a good name, too.”

I nod. “And this little one’s already going to have a different last name than the rest of the brood—don’t want him to feel like an outcast around so many
R
s.”

“Good point.”

“So it’s settled then? If it’s a boy, he’ll be Robert Atticus Becker.”

I will never get used to the beauty that is Chelsea’s smile.

“I love that,” she says softly.

“Me too.”

One more kiss later, I drag myself out of the bed and head into the shower.

****

When I walk back into the bedroom, I’m greeted by the sight of my naked wife standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner, turning left to right—checking herself out.

And damn if my cock doesn’t appreciate the view.

“Starting without me?” I tease.

She bites her lip, smiling at me through her reflection in the mirror. “No. I’m just looking.” She cocks her head thoughtfully, running her hands up over the mound of her stomach, to her full, heavy breasts. “It’s such a strange shape. I’m fine with it, it’s temporary, but it’s just so . . . odd.”

Her suddenly vulnerable blue gaze locks on mine. “Do you still think I’m pretty?”

I can’t stop the snort that escapes me. My steps are purposeful as I approach her from behind and press up against her, my hard chest against her delicate spine, my cock sliding between the globes of her supple ass.

A sigh seeps out from my lips, like I’m thinking it over. I sweep the hair from her shoulder and scrape my teeth against the skin of her neck.

“You’ve never been just pretty, Chelsea. Heart-rippingly stunning—definitely. Unbelievably gorgeous works too.”

My palms skim from her hips over her stomach, cupping her tits in a gentle massaging squeeze, then across her collarbone and down her long arms.

Her breathing picks up and her heart thumps in her chest.

I fucking love the way she looks with me pressed against her. The contrast of the colored tattoos that cover my arms against all her pale, smooth, flawless skin. My hand glides back down, coming around her front, resting, then rubbing between her legs.

I groan when I feel her—already slippery and hot.
Fuck
—this woman. It should be terrifying, the way she owns me. But there’s too much joy in it . . . to leave any room for fear.

I kiss a trail up her neck to her ear, sucking, nibbling on her lobe.

“Jake . . .” She sighs.

I back up a few steps, taking her with me, until I’m seated on the edge of the bed. I cup one breast in my hand and bring my lips close to its rosy peak, blowing so gently. Then my eyes roll closed as I lick the firm nub. I close my mouth over it, sucking deeply. I could do this for hours—licking her, suckling.

A thought flashes through my mind about what it’ll be like after the baby’s born. The milk she’ll carry—what it’ll feel like, taste like. It seems kinky in a way. I’ve never really been interested in kink. But, goddamn, I could learn.

I release her nipple with a wet pop. And look up into her simmering eyes.

“I want to suck on you until you lose your mind. Then I want you to ride me.”

I then spend the whole night showing Chelsea exactly how not-pretty I think she is.

Chapter 9

June

Kennedy goes into labor the first week of June, and she gives birth about a day and a half later. Brent doesn’t miss a single second of it. Chelsea and I pay them a visit at the hospital the day after that. Them . . . and their brand-new baby girl.

There’s strong hugs and kissed cheeks all around inside the flower-and-pink-balloon-filled room. Kennedy lies in bed, with tired eyes and the sweetest smile I’ve seen. Brent places a tiny, pink-blanket-wrapped baby in my big hands.

“This is Vivian,” he says, total adoration in every syllable.

Chelsea rests her head against my arm, gazing down. “She’s so beautiful.”

I catch my best friend’s eyes—because Vivian sounds familiar.

“You named her after a comic book character, didn’t you?”

Kennedy laughs. And Brent shrugs. “Of course. She’s extraordinary, so she had to have an extraordinary name. Vivian Rose Victoria Randolph Mason is the long version.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“She’ll get used to it.”

“How was the delivery?” Chelsea asks.

She’s addressing Kennedy, but Brent beats her to the punch. “Awesome. Don’t let anyone scare you, Chelsea. This birthing babies thing is a piece of cake.”

Then Kennedy gives the real answer. “Take the drugs, Chelsea. Take
all
the drugs.”

****

Two weeks later, I’m in court. Smack-dab in the middle of continuous cross-examination. My phone sits in my pocket, dead as a doornail, because my charger picked this
morning to crap out on me. Chelsea is home and still a week from her due date, so I figure it’s no big deal. Until the commotion in the back of the courtroom reveals exactly what a big deal it is.

Riley, Rory, Rosaleen, Regan, and Ronan file in, waving their arms and gesturing wildly to me.

“Why are there children in my courtroom?” the cranky judge booms from the bench. “Is this a class trip?”

I raise a finger. “They’re mine, Judge.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring-your-child-to-work day was a few months ago, Mr. Becker.”

I watch Rory make a giant arch in front of his stomach, then squeeze his face like he’s got a bad case of constipation—and my heart skips three fucking beats.

“My charade skills are rusty, but I’m pretty sure they’re here to tell me my wife is in labor.”

“Yes! That’s it!” Regan yells.

“Shhh!” Rosaleen hisses at her.

“Don’t shhh me!”

Rosaleen opens her mouth with a comeback, but the bang of the judge’s gavel stops her in her tracks. I should really get a gavel for the house.

“Emergency continuance, Judge?”

He nods. “Granted. Good luck, Mr. Becker—looks like you need it.”

As soon as he strikes the gavel again, I’m in front of Riley, her face pale and wild. “Aunt Chelsea is in labor.”

Okay, okay—we planned for this. It’s not like we didn’t know it was coming. My mother’s lined up to stay with the kids; Chelsea’s bag is packed.

“Is she at the hospital?”

“No, she’s home. Raymond’s with her. She didn’t want to go without you and you weren’t answering your phone, so I came to get you. Everyone wanted to come and I didn’t want to waste time arguing about it, so I drove the truck.”

“You drove the truck?”

Riley has never driven the truck—it’s a lot of car for a teenager.

She nods. “I took out two mailboxes on the way here and didn’t stop to leave a note. Am I going to get a ticket?”

I take her arm and guide her out the door with the rest of the gang following behind us.

“No—we’ll figure it out.”

Five minutes later, everyone is buckled in and I’m driving like a NASCAR champion to get to my wife. In the passenger seat, Riley lowers her phone.

“They’re still not answering.”

“Why the fuck aren’t they answering?” I squeeze the steering wheel—only just managing to keep my shit together.

“Why are you guys freaking out?” Rory asks from the backseat.

“Because Aunt Chelsea’s having the baby!” Rosaleen snipes.

“So? Chicks have babies every day. What’s the big deal?”

Regan joins the conversation. “You’re such a moron, Rory.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Be.
Quiet
.” I don’t yell. I don’t have to. The steel in my tone snaps all mouths closed.

We pull up to the house fifteen minutes later. I barely get the car in park before I’m sprinting through the front door.

“Chelsea!”

The house is shockingly still. Almost eerily so.

“We’re back here!” Raymond calls from my bedroom.

I sense all the kids coming in behind me as I take long, quick strides down the hall. Raymond stands outside our closed bathroom door—ashen and worried.

“Something’s wrong, Jake. She keeps saying she’s fine but she doesn’t sound fine.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Okay, I’m here.”

I walk into the bathroom and know right away that Raymond is correct.

Chelsea is definitely not fine.

She sits on the floor, propped up against the wall; her face is colorless and damp with sweat and tears. There’s fluid on the ground between her legs and soaked into the hem of her yellow sundress.

She grips the phone tight in her hand when she sees me. And says weakly, “You’re here.”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, baby, I’m here. Looks like you had a busy morning.”

She manages a small laugh, then speaks into the phone. “Yes, my husband, Jake, is here. I’ll put him on.”

In an instant I’m kneeling next to her. She passes me the phone. “This is Earl. Nine-one-one. I called for an ambulance but there’s a water main break so they’re going to be a while.”

I take the phone but don’t bring it to my ear. “I can take you to the hospital now.”

Her face pinches in agony and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jake. This is all my fault.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

“All the books say it takes hours and hours . . . I mean, Kennedy was in labor for two freaking days! So when the contractions started this morning, I thought I could wait until you came home. I knew you were in court . . . I’m such an idiot.”

“It’s all right, Chelsea.”

“Oh God, it hurts. I need to push so bad, Jake. We’re not going to make it to the hospital.”