Page 32 of Grissom
“Well, I didn’t!” Judy snapped. “You are? Really, Persia? No wine for you.”
“Finally!” China declared triumphantly. “That’s why you’re so quiet tonight.”
Which made Tuesday laugh, and damned if her plump breasts mashing against Grissom’s ribs didn’t turn him hard. It was good everyone’s attention was now focused on someone else. It gave him time to adjust the spike in his pants. Just that fast, his brain threw out a picture of Tuesday with her belly big and round with his child—their child—up on the flat screen inside his head. Was he crazy? Definitely. But the image of apossible future with her was incentive enough. His swimmers were powerful. He could knock her up in no time.
Shaking that crazy notion off, Grissom closed the short distance to Walker and Persia with Tuesday still under his arm. He stuck out his hand and declared, “Congrats, brother. I’m happy for you.”
“We’rehappy for both of you,” Tuesday corrected, her hand outstretched to Persia.
We’re. Grissom loved the way that dripped off Tuesday’s tongue.
“You should’ve been sitting down instead of standing at the sink,” she scolded Persia. “I could’ve sliced those apples. Are you feeling okay? Does your back hurt?”
Persia grinned as she squeezed Tuesday’s fingers. “I’m fine, really. I’m just three months along, but we figured tonight I could safely spill the beans.”
Grumbling like the over-attentive watchdog he was, Walker splayed his fingers over her barely-there belly. “No spilling beans, babe. Baby Bean needs to stay where he is for two more trimesters. At least.”
Chuckling, Persia leaned into Tuesday and said, “Morning sickness isn’t for the weak of heart. If I’d known how much vomiting I’d be doing, all day, every day, I would’ve—”
“It’s a boy!” Walker interrupted. “We’re having a boy!”
“A baby boy,” Tuesday whispered. The tremor of want inside those three words had Grissom pulling her in tighter. He knew how to make boys. What if—?
No. Impossible. No. Just no.
By then, Maverick and Harley were at the counter nibbling veggie sticks and fruit slices. Maverick pointed a carrot stick at his wife. “Don’t you have something to share with these women, also known as your sisters by other mothers?”
China turned into a red-faced teenager with G U I L T Y stamped across her forehead. Her shoulders lifted with an I-don’t-care, it’s-not-important shrug. Until she said, “Me, too, Persia. And Judy. And Tuesday. Only two months, but yeah—”
“You’re both prego and neither of you told me?” Judy shrieked. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
“No, babe, you’re prime rib, all the way,” Harley spouted, as if calling his wife a cut of beef was in any way romantic.
Tuesday giggled.
Judy told Harley to, “Shut up! These are my girlfriends, Harley. Do not objectify—!”
Just that fast, he was off the stool and kissing his wife, too. She melted into him the same way Persia had with Walker.
Grissom turned to Walker, grinning while the Mortimers mugged each other. “Sorry I’ve been an ass.”
“You’ve been through a ton of shit, I get it. I’m sorry we couldn’t find your boys sooner. That would’ve been a better way for you to come to, after the hit you took.”
“Yeah, about that, why was I drunk that night?” Grissom asked, needing to know.
Walker’s entire body flexed with a huge sigh. His chin sank into his petite wife’s shoulder, whose eyes were on Grissom when Walker finally answered, “You were always drunk between operations. Guess that’s how you coped with the disaster your life used to be. I’m not supposed to tell you what happened. None of us are. Doc Windhall would rather you figure it out yourself, but what the hell. The night you hit that FedEx truck, you were drunk as shit. You’d just been in a fight at Junior’s and were running from Metro PDs’ finest. They’d tasered your ass at the pub, but you were out of control and didn’t go down. Instead, you ran out the door, grabbed your bike, and hauled ass down the GW Parkway. That’s where you hit the delivery truck. Its taillights weren’t working, so no wonder. But, yeah.You piled into its rear end, and your bike slid under the rear bumper. Probably would’ve killed you if your bike had been a piece-of-shit import. One of the arresting officers knew Murphy so he contacted him. Once Murph arrived, he decided to put you someplace where you’d be medically treated, as well as protected from yourself. You agreed.”
Grissom grunted. “So that’s how I ended up at Shady… umm…” He could never recall the name of that asylum. “So I committed myself?”
“Shady Creek Asylum, and yes, with Murphy’s advice, you committed yourself,” Persia finished for him. “They handle high-risk trauma cases there, and Doctor Windhall is the best. Which is why you’re seeing a family counselor, instead of a warden. Doctor Windhall went to bat for you the night you arrived. So did Murphy and Alex. I have no idea what was in your system. You’ll have to ask Doc Windhall about that. But once he spoke with the arresting officers, they said they’d talk to some judge and get back to him. They never did. That alone should tell you what you mean to The TEAM.”
“They wanted to arrest Grissom?” Tuesday asked indignantly, one hand possessively gripping the nape of his neck, her fingernails dug in like tiny grappling hooks.
He leaned his head into hers, loving that she defended him. No one had ever done that.
Walker nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He tore up Junior’s Pub, assaulted two DC police officers, evaded arrest, and a shit ton of other offenses.”
“Well, that’s only because he’s been dealing with a shit ton of, well, shit,” she declared, with a cocky head swagger. Her other hand was now flat in the center of Grissom’s chest, as if telling him to keep quiet, that she was in charge and would fight this battle for him. Which was just plain crazy. Walker was former Navy, a damned SEAL, and more than capable of knockingTuesday on her ass. Yet, there she stood, her shoulders squared, and sassing back as if she could take him.
