CHAPTER TEN
Bishop Security
Somewhere outside Beaufort, South Carolina
December 2
When a shadow fell across his desk, Nathan Bishop looked up to see Miller “Tox” Buchanan eclipsing the overhead lighting. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.
Nathan set down Cam's leather journal. “Everything okay?”
“Got a sec?” Tox asked.
Nathan gestured to the suede and chrome chair opposite his desk, and Tox folded his six and a half feet into it with surprising grace.
“How's Emily?” Tox drummed out a rhythm on the arms of the chair.
Nathan checked his phone then replaced it face down on the desk. “Still a few weeks out.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “What's going on?”
“So, uh, we pulled the goalie,” Tox said.
“What does that mean?” Nathan asked.
“It's a hockey metaphor,” Tox explained.
“For…?” Nathan prodded.
“The female reproductive system.” Tox's face reddened.
“Ahh.” Nathan nodded his understanding.
“The goalie being birth control, the net being Calliope's uterus, the stick and the puck—”
Nathan cut him off, “Yeah. I got the picture. Congratulations, man. That's great. Jack and Charlie need some younger kids to corrupt.”
Tox half-laughed. “The thing is, nothing's happening.”
“What do you mean?”
“She's not pregnant yet.” Tox threw up his hands.
“Well, how long ago did you… ‘pull the goalie?’” Nathan borrowed Tox's metaphor.
“The honeymoon.” Tox bugged out his eyes, emphasizing the situation.
“That was two months ago,” Nathan stated.
“Exactly. You get it.”
“Tox, I realize I’m not the typical case when it comes to fertility, but from what little I know, two months sounds like nothing.” Nathan entered something on the search bar on his phone. “Says on WebDoctor that the average length of time is six months to a year.”
“A year!” Tox leapt to his feet.
“You’ve got to relax. It’ll happen when it happens,” Nathan soothed.
“You sound like Calliope.” Tox sank back down.
“Is she concerned?” Nathan asked.