Page 99 of Seizing Control: Part Two

They steal my breath, make me weak at the knees, then disappear for a while.

I’m loath to ask to be taken to the hospital.

Not with the flare-up of tensions between the Shamrocks and the Maddison clan.

Everyone is on high alert.

I can’t be the reason we risk our people.

When Noah St. James’ badly decomposed body was found in the Swan River a week ago, the same day that Slash arrived home with a bandage on his head, the discovery led to a bloody surge of violence. Two club brothers were stabbed. A few of the cut sluts who also work at the Pink Haze strip club were ambushed and beaten. They all survived, but they are permanently scarred.

Our alliance with the Trinity hasn’t brought about the quick end to the attacks we expected.

“More potato?” his mother asks. Before Slash can reply, Crystal dumps a large scoop of mash in the middle of his plate. Right on top of his perfectly medium rare steak. Smiling sweetly, despite knowing her son hates mashed potato, she adds. “Careful you don’t choke, mo ionmhas.”

A titter goes around the table.

It dies when their president lifts his attention from the table to glare at them.

Look at me.

Please.

Again, my silent urging doesn’t register with him.

Slash returns his focus to his dinner plate.

As if on cue, Garrett starts to fuss. His cries quickly pick up pace. Noticing the rigidity that immediately stiffens his father’s spine, I push my chair backward, only to wobble on one foot as I forget to widen my stance to accommodate my expanding belly. When I reach the end of my sixth month, my centre of gravity shifted. My oversized stomach. The giant boobs. A plump backside that should act as a counterweight, but somehow doesn’t.

I barely recognise myself.

In the best way.

I know that I’ve never looked healthier, and everyone who sees me says the same thing.

On the cusp of becoming a mother again, I should be happier than ever.

The duo of bugs in the ointment... my silent husband and my missing first love.

Seeing Slash’s eyes widen as I flail one arm to catch my balance, I fill with hope. His attention leaves his plate to dart from my stomach to the baby I’m holding, back to my belly, then to my face. I know I’m bigger than most women at this stage, yet Slash hasn’t commented on that. He’d have to be speaking to me to do that. Maybe then, I could tell him the news I received at my twenty-week scan.

The Mayberry family curse—or blessing, I suppose—has struck again.

I’m carrying fraternal twins.

A boy and a girl.

One potential father knows this, but the other doesn’t.

As I steady myself with Toker’s help, my gaze locks with Slash’s. I offer him a tentative smile. My husband looks down at his ruined steak again. Crystal reaches over and slaps him upside the head. I’m grateful that even in her fury she didn’t hit the bandaged part of his skull. Just like he has all week, Slash accepts her rebuke without comment. Our son wails, his cries bouncing around the closed in room like a series of exclamation points.

“I’m going to take this one to bed,” I announce to our dinner guests as I bounce Garrett to shush him. “He’s a little fussy today.”

“You need to eat,” my mother-in-law interjects. When she pushes back to her feet, I shake my head, but Crystal persists. “I can look after the little man.”

“Not hungry...”

It’s true. My appetite has gone missing over the past twelve hours as the pain has started to take its toll. “We’re both overtired to be honest.”

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