Is it even a “worst case”? Am I that upset about it?
My emotions are hard to pick apart. Hard to pin down. What’s worse to me right now, I have no idea how Sulli is coping with this news. And I have no idea what Akara is thinking. Is he in denial like when he flirted with Sulli and said he didn’t? Has he been sling-shotted back into that ether, and will I have to pull him out?
9
AKARA KITSUWON
Sullivan Minnie Meadows. The competitive, ever-endearing Meadows girl who I spent the majority of my career protecting. The girl who wishes she were a mermaid. The girl who eats donuts like a cliché cop in a sitcom. The girl who’s hotter, inside and out, than every Disney princess combined (sorry not sorry, Ariel).
Sulli isn’t just a babe.
She’s my babe. Our babe, and now…she’s pregnant.
When that really sinks in, my first thought crashes into me:
I’m not going anywhere.
No inkling or microscope piece of me is willing to self-eject. I physically can’t give Sulli up. I physically can’t give Banks up. I know what it feels like to leave, and I’d never walk into that pain again. So to hang on or to let go isn’t even a question anymore.
I’m superglued to what I love. And I love them.
I just can’t let a dang thing happen to what we’ve built together. What we fought to keep solid. It has to stay intact. No matter what we face.
Even a baby.
Pressure tries to bear on me. Because I know this could change our well-oiled, fortified dynamic into something more fragile. Vulnerable. At risk of a fatal blow.
I wish I could snap my fingers and magically appear beside Sulli. (Yeah, magic doesn’t exist.) But the trek to her is like sprinting on nails, then sitting on nails.
Banks and I have climbed into a self-driving shuttle. No other people onboard. We pick seats in the middle. Doors slide shut, and the shuttle drives us away from the office building and to residential housing for athletes, coaches, and some security.
I check the time on my watch.
Screw this five-minute ride.
I’m impatient. Sue me.
Or don’t—I’m definitely squeezed on cash and running up a credit card bill. Lawsuits aren’t exactly in my budget plan this year.
Money.
Security.
Sulli’s safety.
A baby.
Our baby’s safety.
SFO.
The team.
More babies coming.
Baby Ripley.
Ugh, my brain is too full of responsibilities.
Banks places a hand on my jostling leg.
“Sorry,” I sigh out, then shake my head, my phone clenched in a fist. “We should text her.”
“And tell her what?” Banks asks. “Heard you were pregnant? Congrats? Heart emoji, thumbs-up emoji, hashtag proud dads?”
I almost laugh, but the sound catches against my dry throat. “I was thinking more along the lines of, we heard you’re pregnant. It’s okay. We’re on our way to you. Something like that.” I pause. “Plus, some heart emojis.”
Banks cracks a fleeting smile. “Wouldn’t it just be better to tell her face-to-face?”
“Probably.” I try to lean back against the seat, but my shoulders are stiff. Body rigid like I’m a teenager again, about to be called into a ring for a Muay Thai fight. “How long do you think she’s been dealing with this on her own?” I groan in realization. “She was nervous yesterday, shit.”
Banks barely slugs me for cursing. And he nods a couple times. “Her nerves weren’t about carrying the flag.”
I pry off my baseball cap, running a coarser hand through my black hair. “She felt like she couldn’t tell us. Like we’d be upset or angry?”
“No,” Banks shakes his head. “She was probably just scared. We have a lot goin’ on with security. She’s about to swim her fuckin’ heart out on an Olympic stage, and this is a wrench in our plans to keep her safe and her goal to win gold.”
I’ve always prided myself on knowing Sulli, on understanding what makes her tic and smile and frown, but sometimes I think Banks sees her in a completely different way than me. I like that he does because he helps put everything into clearer perspective.
“She’s pregnant,” I say that truth out loud. No cameras on the shuttle. No press. No driver. No other people. We’re alone to really process.
Banks yanks at the collar of his white tee, the word security printed across in black letters. It’s hot in the shuttle, and I reach up and fiddle with the vents. As cold air blows on us, he says, “It’s not as clear-cut who the dad could be like last time.”
I cringe. “Last time. How did this happen again?”
“When a dick goes inside a pussy—” He cuts himself off, laughing when I flash him a shut up, Banks look. “Careful what you ask for, Nine.”
That makes me smile. Until I think about our dicks going inside Sulli. “We were careful,” I say like it’s known. “You ever remember a condom tearing again?”
“No, but it coulda been a small hole.” He raises his shoulders. “She’s not on birth control, man. Accidents happen.”
I have a flashback of Ryke jumping down our throats for the first accident. I exhale a heavy breath. “Ryke is going to fudging murder us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”
How is Banks so dang chill about our girlfriend’s father? “I need to keep you safe, Mr. We Already Touched Her, Sir.”
I haven’t forgotten Banks’ death wish when he rubbed the salt in Ryke’s wound and basically admitted to being all over Sulli.
Banks laughs a little and adjusts his earpiece as comms crackle. It’s nice to hear him laugh. Especially since the incident. Hypervigilance and Banks can be an intense combo, but I know it’s necessary at times.
I pass my phone from left hand to right.
Right to left.
Left to right. And I exhale slowly. “I always thought if Sulli and I had a baby, it’d be planned.”
Banks smiles. “Welcome to the Accidental Pregnancy Club. Only perks of this membership are confusion and uncertainty about the possibility of being a father.”
I try to relax. “I don’t even want to revoke the membership. Not at the opportunity of sharing a child with her.”
“I know the feeling.”
It’s not something either of us will pass up.
Comms go off in my ear. “Temp guards Keagan and Frog to SFO…is this thing on?” Frog. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I listen to her. “…uh, yeah, I guess it’s working. Whatever. We’re in the gym with Luna and Sulli. Peace out, motherfuckers.”
Banks loses it. He laughs so hard, and I think his laughter is directed at my why me? face. Why did Frog have to come into my life? Why did I agree to make her a temp guard?
I grab my mic, about to respond, but it hits me. The gym is closest to the offices—where we just came from. “We’re going the wrong fracking way.”
“Fuck,” Banks curses and barrels up to the front of the shuttle, to-go container and smoothie in hand. I follow suit. We hit the stop button and launch ourselves out.
Screw waiting for another shuttle. We run.