Page 59 of Tossed into the Mob
“We’ll be fine. Ask me how I know?” I didn’t wait for a response. “Because I’ll have you with me, holding my hand.”
The next day Flint called us into the office. I ignored the pointed glances, but the atmosphere was less antagonistic than it had been when I was here previously.
“The files Brock obtained contained everything we needed,” Flint announced. “And his operation has been shut down. We’re in the process of going through the records and finding the missing babies and omegas.”
There was loud applause, not that I wanted or needed that. But maybe what I’d… whatwe’daccomplished helped ease people’s doubts about me.
“However, we didn’t apprehend him. He escaped onto the roof and got away in a helicopter.”
TWENTY-ONE
TREYTON
“The town has the world’s largest rubber duck.”
I was studying the “what to do” page of the place where we were spending our babymoon. It was a little early in Brock’s pregnancy because a babymoon was usually just before the birth, but we agreed there were no rules about these things, so babymoon it was.
“It’s huge.” I showed my mate the pic on the tablet.
“That’s impressive.”
Brock was in the passenger seat and stretched the seatbelt over his tiny bump. Every time I caught sight of his blossoming belly, I smiled and put a hand on the gentle curve. We’d both been waiting for Brock to start showing, and now that he was, we were ridiculously excited. I’d often found him in the bedroom, standing in front of the mirror admiring his belly. And I couldn’t resist wanting to touch my mate more than I usually did, which was already a lot.
“Does it mention why they built it and why it’s located on the coast?” Brock giggled at the pic of said duck being pelted by rain. “I usually think of rubber ducks being in a bath.”
Maybe being by the ocean gave the rubber ducky hope that he might escape one day, which was kinda sad. But the information on the town’s tourist site was vague and just mentioned a local retired artist taking years to create it.
We’d decided on our destination by closing our eyes and pointing at the map, not knowing about the rubber duck. The coastal town was within driving distance, so we booked the bed-and-breakfast and we were off.
We’d decided on a mission statement for our mated life, or one of them, and it was “Don’t put things off.” Our families chuckled and nodded their heads, assuming we’d come to our senses and get rid of our mission statement due to the messiness of life. Maybe we would, but for now, this was us.
We’d made some big life changes and one was Brock working for Flint full-time while I was back to being a midwife and dreaming about creating that mobile midwife service for pregnant omegas. I needed more experience, I’d decided, but spent a lot of free time creating spreadsheets detailing how much it would cost to create and maintain.
“It’ll be memorable, that’s for sure.” Brock leaned over and kissed me, and I almost said we should put off our trip and spend the next few days in bed.
“Go.” He giggled. “I know that look.”
I side-eyed him. “Oh yeah, and what’s that, mate of mine?”
“The put-cock-in-hole look.”
“Pfft. I don’t have a fucking expression.”
My mate put a hand on his belly and bent forward as he laughed. “Do you hear yourself? You don’t have afuckingexpression or you don’t have a fuckingexpression. Which is it?”
“Ummm, the first one I think.”
He gave me a thumbs-up but told me I was wrong and I did.
During the drive, we debated baby names but agreed to wait until our little one was born.
“We need to see the baby before naming them. What if the name doesn’t suit them?” Brock cackled as he read out names from a baby book. “Oswald. A baby has to have a very specific expression to be an Oswald.”
“Maybe with a twirly mustache and a monocle.”
We giggled, and I mentally crossed that name off our list.
Having taken the scenic route rather than the highway, I stopped at every small town so Brock could investigate their snack offerings because he was into his cravings trimester, which was how he described it.
