Page 82 of Surrender

Fuck.

The only solution is to wait for her to come talk to me. I can only hope she does soon.

Someone’s going to investigate if I don’t return to the party. I straighten my shoulders, clear my throat, and lift my chin. Ready as I’ll ever be to leave this room.

No one appears to notice as I slip back into the party. As if I didn’t just spend at least fifteen minutes in the bathroom. I grab a fresh beer and plant my feet beside Jude.

“You alright?” He gives me a quick once-over.

The can cracks open loudly, and I chug a good third of the beer. “I’m great.”

I mean it. Reentering the room where my family is has settled the swirling storm inside. These people have loved me since they picked Jude and me off the streets in our teens. We fuck up from time to time—we’re all human—but never have I felt like they’d turn their backs on me. Not once.

This thing with Whitney will need to be discussed, but it doesn’t have to be today. I can give her a little while, try to suss out her mood, and find a way to bring the test up in a couple of days. The only thing for certain is the possibility of her being pregnant doesn’t scare me in the way it used to.

“Is that her?” Mom slinks up to my shoulder, quiet as a cat. I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Yeah,” I mutter, not bothering to argue with the implication of her statement. “That’s Whitney.”

“She’s as pretty as I remember.”

I don’t bother giving her statement a response.

“And her kids? They’ve all been staying with you?”

I look down to find Mom’s eyes twinkling at me, humor flashing in the depths. “Well, I wasn’t going to make them sleep outside, but now that you mention it...”

She smacks me backhand across the chest. I grunt and smile. “Jack, you might be a grown man, but you will respect your mother.”

I wrap my arm tight around her shoulders and draw her into my chest. She’s so much smaller than she seemed growing up. Her head tucks nicely beneath my chin. For a moment, I just hold the woman I owe my entire life to. She seems to understand words aren’t necessary as she squeezes me back around the middle.

I always appreciated her methods. Nancy Powell raised five boys into strong men. She taught us values and the meaning of hard work. She built our confidence from the ground up, brick by brick, and not once did she impose her wishes onto us as a burden. She didn’t pester us with talk about girlfriends and wives or about having kids and making her a grandmother. I appreciate now more than ever that she didn’t make us feel rushed into a future we weren’t ready for.

“I’m proud of you,” she says quietly, punctuating her words with a gentle squeeze. I cough at the onslaught of emotion rushing up my throat.

“Thanks, Mom.”

As easily as she snuck up on me, she meanders away to tell another of my siblings how much she loves them.

Nancy Powell is a never-ending well of unconditional love. That woman is an angel on earth.

I flit my attention through the space filled with my family. Corjan and Bree whisper with their heads together at a table. He strokes her knuckles and gazes at Charlotte sleeping in her mom’s arms. Lee sits on the edge of a booth with Juniper on his lap while they talk to Aiden. My youngest brother looks beat, circles beneath his eyes, his skin a little wan in the yellowed lights overhead, but nothing can remove the exuberant smile from his face. Juniper’s brother, Lincoln, and my nephew, Oliver, laugh about something over the buffet table where they fill their plates with all the appetites of two teenage boys.

Cortney and Sebastian talk quietly off in a corner, her back to the room, his expression serious. I shake my head and move on. My sister is a big girl and can decide what’s best for her, even if I think something about that guy is off.

Mom stands a few feet to the right of me, coaxing one of the rare smiles from Jude. He gazes down at her with all the adoration we’ve felt over the years.

These are my people. I don’t know where or who I’d be without them.

With that sentiment secure in my chest, I allow myself to seek out the other person I know in this room. The one I spot in a booth near the front. She’s on a knee, picking something up from the floor. Bennett is tight to her hip, and she looks up at Lucy with a dazzling smile.

She removed her jacket at some point. The satiny red shirt dips at her cleavage and hangs slightly away from her chest before tucking in neatly at her waist. The line of her curves is perfectly accentuated by the clingy material and the denim stretched over her hips.

I pull out my phone and line up the shot, waiting patiently until she tips her head back again with that smile. I click the shutter button, preserving the moment of the three of them on my phone. I check the image. Satisfied, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and resume drinking my beer.

21

Whitney

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