Chapter Eleven
Josephine
After my doctor’s appointment, I walk around our dream house build-site feeling numb and a little pissed off. I’m supposed to eliminate stress, but my diagnosis is making me more anxious. Being concerned for the health of my babies is not something I can ignore.
High risk? Me? I’m healthy and do everything right. Assholes interfering in my life have created my mental health issues—not me. Part of me knows my anxiety would be nonexistent if Esteban wasn’t an issue. But he is, and I have to deal with a higher risk pregnancy because of fuckers like him.
The more I think about it, the angrier I get.
This is bullshit!
Punk must sense the hostility rolling off me and is trying to give me space as I work. He can’t completely disappear because his job is to watch over me. Occasionally, I catch him trailing behind me with his arms out in front of him, ready to catch me if I suddenly decide to take a tumble. The stress of this pregnancy isn’t only affecting Maceo and me, but him too.
If this is how things are going to play out, it’s going to be a long-ass pregnancy.
My crew keeps side-eyeing me. They know something’s up, but they don’t know what. It’s too early in my pregnancy to tell people. The more people who find out, the more likely they are to act like Punk is right now, and I don’t want anyone handling me with kid gloves. The time will come soon enough where I’ll need help as I waddle around the construction site.
The day creeps by slowly but finally, my crew breaks for lunch. My appetite is nonexistent this afternoon. I keep putting off my break, choosing to focus on my engineering duties for the day.
Cliff swings by to update me about the plumbing hitting a snag. All I do is sigh rather than swear up a storm, my usual response when projects get derailed. I make a suggestion on how to correct the issue and away he goes, slightly surprised I didn’t drop one F-bomb. My mind is too preoccupied with my troublesome diagnosis to waste my energy on construction setbacks.
Tony, my other bodyguard, approaches with a deep scowl etched on his rugged face. “You’ve been mild with your orders, Little Jo. Why has your Napoleon complex taken a backseat today?”
Tony, or Tank as he’s known in the club, is one of my dearest friends. We both were victims of my ex-boyfriend and we’ve bonded over the harrowing experience. Maceo and I made a deal not to tell any more people about our pregnancy, but Tony is observant.
I fidget, biting my thumb, completely blanking on how to act nonchalant. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Jo. Something’s up.”
“Everyone can tell something is going on,” Jared says behind me, making me nearly spring out of my steel-toed construction boots.
Punk backhands him in the chest. “Cut it out, Jared. Are you trying to scare the Doublemint Twins out?” Punk accuses, referring to the old Wrigley’s gum commercials. “Maceo will kill me if anything happens to Jo or the babies.”
Jared and Tony freeze, their mouths dropping open in shock.
“Dammit, Junior! You were ordered to keep your trap shut,” I shriek.
Punk’s hands fly over his mouth.
Jared spins me around, his eyes locked on my stomach. “You’re preggers?”
I bare my teeth. “I’m not preggers. I’m pregnant.”
“And already emotionally touchy,” Tony points out.
“Shut up, Tank. I’m not touchy. I’m pissed.” I then glare at my adoptive brother. “Pissed because it was supposed to remain a secret for a few more weeks. Seriously, Punk! Do you never think before opening your mouth?”
“My biggest flaw, I admit,” he says with red cheeks. “I’m sorry, Jo. Please don’t be mad. I promise to be good from here on out.”
“Ugh! Now I have to tell Maceo, and he’s going to want to tell someone or someone’s.” I slump on one of the many pallets littering the work zone. “Today is getting suckier by the second.”
Jared squats in front of me. “Hey, Jo, it’s okay. This is exciting news. I didn’t realize you guys had been trying.”
I sigh. “We weren’t. Correction—I wasn’t. Maceo has been trying to knock me up since the day he met me. He finally succeeded. And it's twins! Me carrying twins. And not any twins, we’re talking Maceo-size twins set out to destroy my vagina.”
Tony throws his head back, laughing. “If they’re Maceo size, maybe, but they may be your size.”
I sigh. “Poor kids. Doomed to carry a stepladder wherever they go. No. I think I’ll take Maceo-pussy-destroying size over short-crap-genetics size.”