“You’re already so big!” Carrie was crying happily as she kissed her son and turned back to my stomach, “How far along are you?”
“I’m twelve weeks, and trust me, I had the smallest of bumps until Thursday morning, and then all of a sudden this was here.”
“Twelve weeks! Oh my goodness, congratulations! Jeremy Allen Taylor, get your butt over here and congratulate them.”
“Mom,” Jeremy huffed a laugh and pulled Aubrey closer to his side, “already beat you to it. You guys are a little behind on the news.”
That, of course, got me a couple glares and Brandon a smack on the back of his head, but soon we were all sitting down arguing over whether I was having a girl or boy. Brandon shifted Liam back onto my lap and excused himself when he got a phone call. When he came back five minutes later with a nervous expression, I was worried about who that had been, but tried to keep shut until he was ready to tell me. It didn’t help that he continued to check his phone every few minutes, and my patience soon ran out.
Hugging Liam close to me, I leaned into Brandon and waited until he looked directly at me before speaking low, “Was that Scarecrow?”
“What?”
“On the phone. Was that him?”
His eyes softened and he kissed my temple, “No. I told Crow on Sunday to delete my number and that I was done with the Underground.”
“You did?” I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my face.
“Of course. I know I messed up, I’m not about to do it again. Him calling would just be a temptation that I don’t need.”
I took a deep, relieving breath and thanked God again for giving me a man like Brandon. “Well then who called, you look nervous.”
He opened his mouth, shut it, and quirked the corner of his mouth up, “Is it okay if we talk about it later?”
Maybe my thanks had come too soon. “Uh, should I be worried?”
Brandon checked his phone again and searched my face, “No, I don’t think so.”
My heart dropped, “Babe that doesn’t exactly help!” I hissed between clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. Don’t be worried, it’ll be fine.” He leaned forward to kiss me, but when the doorbell rang he paused and blew out a deep breath. Mumbling something, he put a hand on my shoulder and said he would get the door.
“Are you expecting someone baby girl?”
“No Dad…we aren’t.” I turned to look at the door, but Brandon had stepped outside, the door barely cracked and all I could see was his back blocking whoever was out there. Standing up, I repositioned Liam on my hip and turned just as Brandon stepped back into the house, followed by a fit older man with salt and pepper hair and a stern, weathered face. All the air left my body with a loud whoosh and my hand covered my mouth.
Brandon watched me with worried eyes before stepping around the chair to stand by my side and grasp my hand. “Harper?”
What was he doing here? How did he even know where I was? The stiff-postured man holding a faded olive-drab colored seabag in his right hand stared at me silently, and I seemed to only be able to do the same. I vaguely registered Brandon taking Liam and passing him off to a family member behind us so he could pull me close to his body.
“Sweetheart, please say something.” When my voice continued to fail me, he leaned closer and spoke in my ear, “If you don’t want him here, just tell me.”
Brandon knew about this, I realized. This is who called him, why he was so nervous. Why wouldn’t he tell me? I mentally thought about the way I looked, trying to figure out if anything was unacceptable. My make-up was light, but probably still a drastic change, and thank God I’d taken my Monroe piercing out when Liam continued to grab at, or head butt it. Was my tank top too revealing? What is he thinking and why isn’t he saying anything?
“Brandon,” Dad cleared his throat and stepped up to my other side, “who is that?”
“Th-that –” I paused for a moment to collect myself, determined to not start crying. With my hormones all over the place already, it’s safe to say I was having a difficult time, “That’s Sir. That’s my father.”
The room fell quiet for about three whole seconds. “And may I ask what makes you think you’re welcome here?”
My jaw dropped and Dad audibly inhaled. You just didn’t talk to Sir that way.
“Please forgive my wife.” Dad started and shifted a fraction closer to me, “I’m Robert Grayson, that is my wife Claire,” he gestured over to Bree, “my daughter Breanna and her fiancé Konrad.”
Sir nodded and cleared his throat, “The ones that called and e-mailed.” He stated. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Harper.”