Page 4 of Inevitably Yours

Walker and Michaelreturned with the new horse mats for the gym floor. They laid them out and began the process of rearranging the equipment on top of it, and John had to admit Michael was right.

He straightened and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Good call on the flooring. Just as shock absorbing as the foam flooring they sell for gyms.” Of course, Michael would know best; exercise was one of his areas of expertise.

Michael puffed up at the compliment. “Yep, and at less than half the cost.” He added a hop to demonstrate the pride he had in his stamp on Gus’ room.

John paused for a moment to enjoy Michael’s genuine happiness. It had been a long time coming. There was a connection between the two men that wasn’t present with the others. Michael reminded John of his brother, Troy—the brother he raised like a son, only to lose way too soon. You never get over losing someone you love, but when their suffering is so unbearable they take their own life, then, even making peace with it sometimes seemed impossible.

Looking at Michael now gave him hope. There were parallels between Michael and Troy’s lives. They had both been raped by a woman, and no one understood the impact of it. Troy’s attacker accused him of the crime, and he was convicted and incarcerated. It was too much for the man who was barely an adult, and he ended his life in a dirty cell before his nineteenth birthday.

Michael, however, was finally flourishing—happy, healthy—and that was the calm John latched onto. With the tenth anniversary of Troy’s death looming, Michael finding his way out of the darkness was allowing John to come to peace with his brother’s death. He couldn’t explain how or why—he was sure Gus or Tori could—but he couldn’t. John just knew it was a good thing, and he could use a good thing in his life about now.

That contemplation ushered in thoughts of Augusta. Before he could throw himself a pity party, Walker interjected some much-needed levity into John’s darkening mood.

“So, Big Dax, what do you say we close the door and let your brothers here in on your little secret?” John had started to chuckle by the time Walker said “so.” It was the same thing every time they got in a room together.

John had always known his sister was many things, traditional was most certainly not one. It seemed Stacy found her perfect match in Dax. He was about as far as you could get from typical too, just in a different way. One thing they were in total agreement on was the social convention of marriage. They were as married as any two people he knew, just without the legality of it. But they took the commitment to the extreme and decided on what they called “claiming tattoos.”

He shuddered every single time he thought about his sister’s. It was nothing a brother ever wanted to dwell on for sure, but to each their own. According to Stacy, Dax tattooed exact replicas of his ears on her upper, inner thighs. Not that John had caught more than a glimpse, or would want to, because as far as he was concerned, his sister only existed from the neck up. Though Dax never tired of teasing him about Stacy being so much more.

Knowing Stacy, her claiming mark on Dax would make his look like child’s play. As of now, only Stacy, Dax, and Walker—by default of being the artist—knew what Dax’s tattoo was. And Walker hadn’t shut up about it in the months since he did the work. He was always dropping hints and trying to get Dax to drop trou. That, at least, gave a clue to the region, so it had to be hilarious considering the couple.

“You might as well show them on your terms, big guy, or else Walker will bust out the pictures and project them on the wall at the next Reid family barbecue.” Stacy’s voice from the door captured everyone’s attention. Everyone except John. His interest wasn’t on the woman leaning against the door jamb with her arms folded over her chest, it was on the glowing woman behind her to the left.

Augusta was a vision of maternal bliss, intriguing innocence, and womanly wiles all wrapped up in a petite package. She dyed her short golden locks a shocking magenta with purple tips before the pregnancy, which had now faded to a soft pink and lavender. It wasn’t something John would normally find attractive, but on Augusta, it just added to the illusion that she was a pixie, as his sister called her.

John’s mind drifted further down the rabbit hole. He realized he had never found a color to describe her eyes, even to himself. He just closed his lids and saw it, but if anyone were to ask, he would have been lost. The same was true with her skin, her lips, her…everything. It seemed her hair was the only thing he could detail with words, everything else was just burned into his mind in Technicolor clarity.

When she gifted him a timid smile, he realized he was staring, and it seemed the other occupants of the room were content to stand silently by while he did so. Asses.

“Donald Trump’s bad comb-over. If it will finally shut you guys up, then fine, but then we’re done.” Dax’s ire seemed faked. His words said anger; his face said pride. Yep, perfect match for Stacy.

“Excuse me, did he just say—” Augusta’s soft, lyrical voice inquired.

Stacy waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, this month it’s politicians, last month was fictional law enforcement, next month, who knows. Okay, babe, show ‘em.”

John’s eyes were glued on Augusta. When she averted her gaze and started snickering, he took that opportunity to appreciate the movement of her growing breasts without anyone noticing him leering. Almost immediately, the room erupted.

Stacy was clapping her hands like a child on Christmas morning. John ripped his attention from the hall and turned it toward the gym. In the middle stood Dax, jeans around his ankles, shirt lifted up, and embarrassment apparent, even under all that facial hair.

Right there on his right ass cheek, in photo-realism, were two strips of bacon. John turned toward his sister and raised an eyebrow. When she finally noticed, she took on an air of innocence, complete with shrugged shoulders and open expression. “What, I love the fuck out of that ass.”

Chalk it up to Gus’ presence diverting the blood from his brain, but it took him a moment to put it all together. Growing up dinfast—cooking breakfast for dinner—meant love, a way of taking care of each other. It was one of the memories of their parents that had endured all these years. It was also how Stacy was first able to express her true feelings to Dax. So, when she said she loved his ass, she showed it with bacon.

When all this finally clicked in John’s brain, he joined the hilarity, which was still in full swing. Walker was holding his side and spoke between bouts of laughter, “Thank fuck you finally caved, bro. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep that to myself.”

Dax pulled his pants up—thank God, since he was commando. I’ll take things I didn’t need to know about my sister’s man for five hundred, Alex.

“Go ahead and yuck it up.” After re-dressing, he went to Stacy and kissed her cheek. The glow in her eyes did John’s heart good. She found her happiness, and he suffered a moment of weakness brought on by it. If Stacy could find a happily ever after with her anti-relationship stance, then maybe I can too.

John’s attention returned to Augusta, as it always did. Letting his mind wander freely to the possibilities put a flutter in his gut, until his gaze landed on her rounded belly. The flutter transformed into a lead weight, sinking his momentary hope and poisoning his blood.

Dax was still speaking, but John barely heard. “My woman loves me, and if a little bacon on my ass makes her happy, then she can tattoo a whole breakfast platter on there, for all I care.” Then they started making out like their ship was going down.

John shifted his gaze up. His eyes collided with Augusta’s since she was staring at him intently. A sad, borderline horrified look overtook her hazel eyes. That, coupled with the protective hold she engaged around her belly, told him she had been staring for a while and was misunderstanding, yet again, his disappointment at her condition.

John opened his mouth to explain, but it was so dry, not even a squeak exited. Augusta gave him a sad smile and managed to stoop down, while steadying herself with a hand to the wall, to pick up Lynyrd, who was circling her legs. When she regained her feet, she turned toward the kitchen.

He sneezed and followed her down the hall. Bacon, Dax’s ass, gym equipment…all of it faded into the background. Augusta was hurting, and it was his fault. He was afraid he’d continue to cause her pain until he could get a grip on his feelings about this pregnancy. Maybe he would have to make himself scarce until she brought the baby into this world and then find a way to let it all go.

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