Extended Epilogue
One month later
Justice
In the beginning, our track record was all losses as far as mornings go. We had so much stacked against us. The morning after our first night together, Brody had clan business to attend to. The next time, there was a flight to Scotland. Then there was the one where Brody had declared he had no desire to marry Erika while my own past became my biggest adversary.
We were our own worst enemies when it came to love. I was petrified of being placed second. And Brody, the L-word scared him more than the air force dropping a missile on top of his head.
Now, we’re in fear together.
My .380’s useless.
Brody’s arsenal also offers empty promises.
His beard? Ineffective too. There’s a sexy dusting across his jaw, though he reaches for his old friend subconsciously in an attempt to tug it.
I settle at the edge of the toilet with his beefy arms folded in front of me.
“What does it say, Brody?” I bark.
“It’s been fifteen seconds, Justice, feck!”
“No. If I’m pregnant,” I shred each letter apart and toss them at him, “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Then who’s gonna help ye with the bairn?”
Touché. With my elbows on my knees, I drop my head into my palms. “We have a flight to catch, Brody. In a couple of hours. We . . . if I see my dad and I’m pregnant, I’m gonna break. He’s gonna think I’m a hoe.”
Brody drops his head back in a maniacal laugh, assuming the role of bully because that’s how a killer copes. “Yer da will know ye were spreading that coochie wide.”
I growl, wagging a finger in his direction. “Remind me never to teach you anymore Hood Girl 101. Don’t teach me anymore Gaelic. We can just not understand each other. I don’t care. As a matter of . . .”
Dry air trickles into my throat as Brody unfolds his arms, letting his hands fall at his sides. “Oh, feck,” he mutters, staring at the peepee stick on the counter—the friggen torture device.
“No, Brody.”
“Aye, Justice.” He paws my cheeks, helping me from the toilet.
“I need to wash my hands.” I sob. “I’m not read—wait! Friggen liar!” I pop his shoulder, noticing the Clear Blue test on the countertop. “You’re a liar. I’m not pregnant. It’s negative. Do you like these peepee hands, huh?”
By now, Brody’s chuckling. A burly elbow rests against the wall as he takes my swats. Shaking my head, I return to the sink to wash up. I glower at his reflection in the mirror while lathering my hands.
“I’m not afraid of yer dirty hands, Justice. All the pussy licking I’ve done.”
“Whatevs,” I retort, plucking the plush towel from the rack. Brody steps toward his sink, his laughter ending in a contented sigh.
“I’m happy.”
“Happy ye didn’t get tied down by a wee wean?”
“You know what I mean, Brody.” I glance up at him with warm brown eyes. “It’s our one-month anniversary. You’re meeting my parents this evening. We’re going to the Red Sox—”
“Nae, lass. I draw the line there.”
Bliss spreads over every inch of my body. “You’re insane, Brody. Your loyalty to the Dodgers is—”
“If my Dodgers play those fecking Red Sox, okay. Until then, count me out.”