She wanted an unmedicated, natural labor, preferably in one of those birthing tubs with her new husband close by, dimmed lighting, and a playlist of her choosing echoing in a very quiet room. God, they had planned the best they could for that even taking birthing class after class just so that she could do what she wanted when it all finally started.
Instead, the baby wouldn’t budge.
Neither did her cervix.
Then, when little man’s heart rate dropped dangerously, the doctor made the call. She remembered very little about being prepped and taken in for the surgery. She did, however, vividly recall the first cry of her newborn when they pulled him from her body.
And how Bene cried.
Yeah, that was kind of perfect. Did the rest have to matter? Not when she had a healthy baby.
“God, he’s perfect, huh?” Marcus murmured.
Reaching down, he pulled the swaddle away from the baby’s chin to get a better look at his face. Marcus chuckled under his breath, and traced a single finger over the baby’s features.
“Looks like every other Guzzi boy,” he noted.
“That’s what literally everyone has told me.”
“I bet that was nostalgic for Ma.”
Vanna nodded. “Yeah, she didn’t want to let him go.”
“Did you pick a name?”
“We did. Marcus Gian Guzzi.”
Her baby wasn’t the first of his name, but she bet he would do the most amazing things with it. And wasn’t that what counted?
“Decided on the same, then?”
She smiled. “It seemed to fit.”
“Hey, man. Glad to see you finally made it back.”
Vanna handed over her baby to Marcus while Bene quietly closed the door behind him. He patted his brother’s shoulder on the way by, and gave his son a quick kiss on the top of his head before bringing the bag of greasy takeout straight to his wife. Once she had the bag in her hands, she tipped her head up for a kiss. Bene gave her exactly what she wanted, but then pressed another softer kiss to her forehead.
“You good?” he asked, murmuring the question.
“Yeah, so good.”
“Did you ask him yet?”
“Ask me what?” Marcus asked.
The two of them leaned sideways to get a good view at Marcus holding his nephew. Rarely did anyone see the man being soft and kind, but whenever he had a baby in his arms, he turned into a giant teddy bear. Even now, it was like no one existed but Marcus and the baby he held.
It was sweet, really.
“We were thinking,” Bene started, grinning, “that maybe you would like to be our son’s godfather. I mean, you’re the first of your gen, and he’s the first of his. He might need somebody who understands what that means, Marcus.”
Finally, the man looked away from the baby. “I thought—well, what about Beni?”
“I talked to Beni,” Bene replied. “He gets it.”
Marcus stared down at the baby. “Can’t really say no to that, could I?”
Bene chuckled. “Not really, no.”
“I wouldn’t, anyway.”
Yeah.
They had known that, too. It was just how this family worked.
No matter what, they were still family.
BENI & AUGUST: PART 4
27.
August
BY far, one of the best things about August Guzzi’s job for Manic Media was that they gave her free reign to do what she thought was best. When it came to her spreads in the magazine, and the articles that she poured hours of her life and love into, those reading it could trust it was one hundred percent her in those pages. There was nobody looking over her shoulder judging possible projects because her boss trusted her to know—better than anyone else—what her audience wanted to see.
At twenty-seven, August had finally reached a level of success where, when she handed over a completed project with her team, there were no questions from higher ups, no changes to make her articles easier to digest to certain groups of people, and that was that. It hadn’t always been easy, and there were the occasional bumps in the road when she took the job at Manic Media, but all in all ... she regretted nothing. She wouldn’t change anything.
Which was why, when a week ago, an artist from Los Angeles contacted someone on August’s team with a story about an up and coming rapper who stole their artwork for a recent album release, and even plastered it across merch, no one questioned her decision to chase the story. She didn’t even ask if she could chase the story, but rather, let her boss know what she planned to do.
Everything was a go.
Just like that.
Yes, she was told, get the artist’s go-ahead, do the interview, and then let us know where you want to go from there.
No questions asked.
Hayden Frankson, a digital artist just breaking onto the scene in LA, shifted in the chair across the table from August. Dragging his fingers through the dreds he kept tied back in a bandanna, he shook his head. “He’s going to bury me in legal—”
“Not necessarily,” August interjected fast.
Better to get the man off any topic that could possibly lead him to a decision where he backed out of this interview with her. Right now, that’s all it was. Just an interview to go over the story he had to tell, the proof he was able to provide about the rapper and the art he stole, and then possibly where they could go from there. Be it through legal action, something with Manic Media, or maybe even both if the guy liked the idea.
However, they would go nowhere—and she wouldn’t be able to help the man at all—if he decided the threat of backlash from media, the public, or otherwise might just be too much for him at the end of the day. Not that she couldn’t sympathize with his feelings in that regard. God knew she had been canceled in one way or another online because a group of trolls decided she had too big of a mouth with opinions they didn’t like.
Once was because someone decided to dox her even though nothing about her life was very private when she had been online—and so was her work—for years. If someone looked hard enough, they could find whatever they wanted about August.
Not that she encouraged it.
Yeah, her situation wasn’t exactly the same as Hayden’s, but the end result might be if they didn’t play their cards right.
The artist sitting across from her dragged in a quick, shaky breath. Around them, the coffee shop with chrome and green accents kept the hustle and bustle going but other than the large latte in front of her, she really wasn’t there to enjoy the scenery or atmosphere. She didn’t need the man to tell her how nervous he was even just sitting there. It was obvious in every dart of his gaze whenever the chime over the door rang to say someone new had come into the shop.
“Do you want to do this on another day?” August asked. “If so, I understand why, and we could catch up another—”
“I contacted a lawyer yesterday.”
“Did you?”
Hayden shrugged. “Yeah, I figured ... better to know what I was looking at on the legal side of shit, you know?”
“And?”
“He told me to defend my copyright. That it would make a precedent for other artists and in the industry in general. Said a bunch of other shit, too, but that’s all legal jargon I really didn’t understand. You know what a buddy of mine said about it all?”