Page 44 of Paternal Instincts
“Oh, Mylanta, if I could give this kid an eviction notice, I would. This body is stretched to capacity. I hope you’re prepared. You have a bouncy, wiggly, never-tired-or-sleeping baby on your hands. They move constantly. All day and all night, jabbing my ribs, poking my bladder, and bouncing off my kidneys or whatever organs they can reach. Doing somersaults. Jumping jacks. I’m pretty sure there was a burpee in there last night. He or she will probably be into sports. Something with kicking or using a trampoline.”
Happy tears filled my eyes, and my voice came out gruff when I spoke. “I can’t wait. Tell me more?”
She did. About the sixteen-bazillion times she got up to pee the previous night. About the elbow or heel or knee causing a lump on the left side of her belly that no amount of poking resolved. About the baby getting hiccups, which I didn’t know was possible in utero until a few weeks ago. About how she couldn’t see her feet anymore. About her insatiable craving for sweet potatoes that lasted three days before ending abruptly, leaving her with such an aversion it made her want to vomit.
No one was around, so when a single tear escaped, I let it fall. “Thank you, Bryn.”
“Anytime, sweetie. Everything is fine and dandy. I promise.”
Bryn and I had a special relationship. She knew of my anxieties and constant need for reassurance and never hesitated to indulge me with how the pregnancy was going, sometimes to the point of extreme exaggeration, but I didn’t mind. She shared everything, knowing there was no detail too big or too small that I wouldn’t want to hear. Most of all, she made me laugh and eased my fears. We were lucky to have found someone so kind and patient to be our surrogate.
“I hear you caught a case.” Shetsked. “You were supposed to be done by now, mister.”
“I know. I’m going to wrap it up as fast as I can. I promise. It will not interfere. No contractions yet?”
“A few Braxton Hicks, but nothing regular. I’m keeping a close eye. Arden and Iggy are hovering to the point of annoyance. I’m just glad my mother is three hundred kilometers away. Trust me. I’m well taken care of, and Iggy’s a paramedic, remember? I could give birth on the bathroom floor, and he’d know what to do.”
“Yeah… maybe don’t do that.”
She laughed. “I don’t plan to.”
Knowing there was a paramedic near her at all times alleviated a lot of stress. I worried about Bryn getting to the hospital when her time came.
Arden was Bryn’s younger brother, and Iggy was his husband. Several years ago, when Bryn had found herself unexpectedly pregnant, she’d decided to give the baby up for adoption to a gay couple in Southwestern Ontario, where they were all from. After such a positive experience, seeing the joy she’d brought the two men and the family she’d helped create, Bryn decided to become a surrogate.
Her brother and his partner had moved to Toronto for work, and she was down visiting until she gave birth.
My call-waiting beeped, and I checked the screen.
Jordyn.
“I have to let you go. Duty calls.”
“I’m here anytime.”
“Give the baby some love from Daddy.”
“I will.”
I switched to the other line and barely got a word out when Jordyn announced. “World War III has begun. I need reinforcements.”
Chapter 11
Quaid
Aparade of vehicles filled the cul-de-sac at the Davises’. News vans and media had gathered since I’d instructed Jordyn to put out the Amber Alert earlier in the day. The closest parking space was five houses down, so I had to battle my way to the front door, issuing brief statements and asking the nosy reporters to circulate the boy’s photograph, informing them we would have a press conference if and when we felt it necessary.
Zoey pulled open the door, hustled me inside, and locked it. The house offered no relief. The chaos inside was worse than outside. Raised voices, crushing tension, tears, and a mountain of hostility greeted me in the living room. Where did all these people come from?
Jordyn made every attempt at refereeing the crowd from somewhere in the middle of the room, but her short stature meant she was lost in the bustle. At least a dozen people occupied the room. It might have been a decent-size space ordinarily, but with the excess numbers, the air conditioning wasn’t keeping up, making it stuffy and hot.
Some people I recognized. Others I didn’t. Apart from Jordyn and Zoey, the rest seemed to be family or friends.
I whistled sharply, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Enough!” I shouted. “Bring it down, or I’ll usher people out the door. We have a serious case on our hands, and I’m not wasting time and resources trying to wrangle a bunch of pissed-off family members who can’t seem to remember that we have a little boy missing.”
“Your problems would resolve themselves if you sent this idiot home.” Benedict Davis motioned to his oldest son, Flynn.
“Dad, knock it off.” Nixon put a hand to his brother’s chest as Flynn aimed a murderous glare at his father. “It’s my house, and Flynn stays. I want him here. I need him here. If you two can’t get along for five freaking minutes, maybe you and mom should leave.”
