“Fucking hell, Birdie, stop talking, turn that ass of yours around, and leave or else I’m going to have to get in the shower and jerk off.”
That gets her attention. “Okay, okay, I’m going, but don’t you complain when I serve you chicken instead of steak.” With that, she finally exits the bathroom, leaving me turned on and frustrated.
I stand under the shower for longer than normal, trying to get my thoughts in order. Between IVF, the stuff with Zenith, and the first shipment of coke due to arrive from Torres, I’ve got a lot going on. On top of that, King’s busting my balls over the fact Torres hasn’t given me a confirmed delivery date yet, causing tension between us that we’ve never experienced. I’ve had a headache for days, my body is tight as fuck, and I need my woman in ways I can’t fucking have her.
Placing both palms to the shower tiles, I drop my head, close my eyes, and exhale a long breath. I spend another few minutes here before flicking the shower off. When I join Birdie in the kitchen five minutes later, I find her deeply engrossed in reading something on her phone.
Snaking my arm around her waist from behind, I drop a kiss to her shoulder. “What are you reading?”
Reaching a hand up, she grips my neck and holds me in place while she turns her head to kiss me. Then facing me, she holds her phone up so I can see. “I just found this new study on IVF success rates.”
Fuck.
Birdie spends far too long googling shit as far as I’m concerned. She’s researched the hell out of how to maximise IVF, and we’re doing all the things she’s found as suggestions. We’re also following all our doctor’s recommendations. Beyond that, I don’t see the point in continuing to research this stuff. It only causes her unnecessary anxiety, and she already has enough of that.
Taking the phone from her, I say, “Angel, we already know everything we need to know. Don’t stress yourself out by reading more.”
“I’m not stressing myself out. I’m keeping up to date with current data.”
“No, you’re searching madly for hope when we don’t need that. We just need to follow the path we’re on. We’re already doing everything we can.”
“Don’t be an asshole tonight, Winter. I’m on a high and I don’t wanna ruin that.”
“I’m not being an asshole. I’m being practical. I don’t see the need to keep looking for more information all the time. It only stirs you up and makes you anxious over this shit.”
Annoyance flares in her eyes. “This shit?”
“Fuck,” I mutter, my patience fraying. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, I think you mean this baby-making journey we’re on. You know, to bring our child into this world. But I wouldn’t call it ‘this shit.’”
“Jesus Christ, do we need to argue over this? You’re blowing what I said out of proportion.”
“I don’t like what you said. So what if I’m looking for hope? I feel like I need it, and me spending time searching for information doesn’t hurt you.”
“Except it does”—my voice grows louder even though I’m trying like fuck to keep it even—“because I’m the one who cops your moods and deals with your anxiety.”
My phone rings, but I ignore it.
Birdie’s eyes widen, and she stares at me silently for a good few moments before finally stalking out of the kitchen.
My phone rings again; I ignore it again.
Fuck.
“Birdie!” I go after her.
She doesn’t stop, continuing to cut a path to our bedroom. “Don’t come after me, Winter. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“Too fucking bad, because we’re finishing this discussion.”
Coming to a halt, she spins and faces me, her face wild. “This discussion? This wasn’t a discussion; it was you telling me what you think of my moody, anxious ways. A discussion would have involved input from both of us with the goal of understanding each other. Maybe you could try understanding my desire to learn more about IVF rather than thinking I’m just desperately searching for hope. Then we could have a fucking discussion.”
She stalks the rest of the way to our bedroom and slams the door before I can enter.
My phone rings again, and I grab it out of my pocket and answer it with a harsh, “What?”
“Fuck,” Ransom says. “Sorry if this is a bad time, brother, but we’ve got a situation here, and I hate to say it, but you’re gonna want to come in for it.”
Stabbing my fingers through my hair, I say, “What is it?” This is the last fucking thing I need right now.
“Memphis and Thorn have been shot. I’m heading to them now with Striker, and I’ve got Hunt trying to figure out what the fuck’s going on. He thinks it might be worth us calling on Albert to see what he knows, but I figured I’d leave that decision up to you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Memphis and Thorn were watching the warehouse we think might be Zenith’s tonight. “Hunt’s right. I’ll go visit Albert while you get Memphis and Thorn to Doc. Call Vic, too. Give him a heads-up.”
“I don’t think it’s a wise move for you to go on your own.”
I ignore what he says. “I’ll meet you at the clubhouse after I talk to him.”
“Winter,” he starts, but I cut him off, not in the mood to hear it.
“Make sure Vic knows what he needs to do. I don’t want this shit coming back on us.”
Ending the call, I shove the phone in my pocket and open the bedroom door. Entering the room, I find Birdie’s locked herself in the bathroom while taking a shower.
“Birdie, open the door.”
“No, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Too fucking bad; I need to talk to you. I’ve gotta go take care of some stuff.”
“Well, go.”
“I’m not leaving until we talk.”
“Well, stay then.”
My patience is at breaking point. “I have to go, but there’s no fucking way I’m leaving until you open this door and let me in to say what I have to say.” When she doesn’t respond, I bang on the door. “Birdie! Open the goddam door!”
At this point, I’m ready to break the damn thing down, but she yanks the door open and demands, “What?”
She’s standing in front of me, wrapped in a towel with those beautiful eyes of hers that are stormy as hell right now, throwing attitude, and while I’m worked up over the shit we’ve got going on as well as the club turmoil, all I can think about is how fucking much I love her and need to protect her.
Gripping her waist, I back her up against the vanity. “You can fight with me and throw all the attitude my way you want; you can lock me out of the fucking house for all I care, and you can scream at me that you think I don’t understand you, but you need to know I love you more than I even fucking know, and all I want is your happiness. Don’t ever fucking forget that.”
Her breaths come hard and fast as she takes that in. “Where are you going?”
The fact she’s not responded to what I’ve said tells me she needs time to calm down, so I let it go, figuring she’ll have plenty of time for that while I’m out. Hopefully by the time I come home, she’ll have sorted through her thoughts. “Some club stuff’s just come up that I need to handle. I’ll be a few hours at least.”