Vik (Shot Callers 2)

When Vik finally spoke, it came out strained. “It’s uh…” He cleared his throat, then began to nod solemnly. “It’s perfect.”

Mina’s face transformed with her sunny smile. The exhale she released was long and noticeable. “Good.” Relief lined her features as she muttered weakly, “Good.” As if snapping out of her stupor, she shook her head and stated, “I have to go.” She was already walking toward the door before she turned back, stalled a moment, then said to Vik, “Stop stressing out. You’ve got this.” When he didn’t respond, her brow bunched, and her firm, “Okay?” sounded near threatening.

Vik made a face and shrugged, bored-like. “Okay.”

“Good.” Her smile returned with enthusiasm. “Get that money.”

The exact moment she closed the door behind her, Vik shook his head. “We’re not ready for this.” He reached into his pocket for his cellphone. “I’m gonna cancel.”

And my stomach twisted.

My sigh was purely internal, and as I approached my fiancé, who sometimes doubled as a big, fat baby, I placed my hand over his, stopping him from making the call. His eyes snapped to me, and his brow bunched in irritation, but I knew better.

Vik wasn’t angry at me.

He was angry at himself for being insecure. He hated that he was nervous. Those nerves made him cynical.

My fingers closed over his. My tone was butter-soft. “I have never met a man who put so much of himself into his work. I’ve been around business my whole life. First with my dad, then again with my brothers, and it was all very clinical. If it took off, it took off. If it bombed, the idea was abandoned. Start over, rinse, and repeat.” My gaze softened on him. “You, however, put your heart and soul into this project. Every detail has your personal touch. You cut a vein and bled your ideas onto paper.” My chest ached to see the doubt in his eyes. “That’s how I know you’re going to succeed. You haven’t given yourself the option to fail.”

Vik closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, then lifted his hands to rub the heels of his palms into his sockets, revealing just how much this was affecting him.

“You’ve worked so hard. You’re so close.” I stepped into him, and he focused on me as I placed my hand comfortingly at the side of his neck, looking into his blue eyes, beseeching, “Don’t give up now.”

“What if…?”

“No” was my instant reply.

“But….”

Jesus. This guy.

“No,” I reiterated bluntly. “You’re not going down that road, and neither am I. You aren’t the quitting kind, Vik. If today doesn’t work out, we’ll try again. If that time doesn’t work out, we’ll try once more. You know why? Because eventually, someone is bound to see what I see in you, and once they do, they’ll know you’re a success wrapped in a bad attitude.”

He snuffled out a soft laugh at my poor attempt to lighten the mood, and, like a miracle, I watched a small spark of determination alight in his eyes. My responding smile was soft. The longer I looked at him—really looked at him—the harder my chest squeezed.

God.

I loved this man.

I loved him so damn much.

He never hid his emotions from me, no matter how trifling they were. His pleasure was so readily shared. His doubt, his sadness, his pain, however, I wore as my own, a personal affront to the person I was.

And as he took in a deep breath, shifting his focus to my swollen belly, I watched his expression turn tender and warm. He’d done that a lot lately. What normally followed was Vik taking my hand and dragging me to the bedroom, undressing me, then laying me down and placing his body flush against my own as he spoke softly to the child growing inside me.

He talked about anything. Everything.

His day. Why he preferred two percent over whole milk. The state of the economy. How important it was to focus on your health, both physical and mental.

The longer he spoke, the more I became aware of what he was doing.

It was a “dear diary” of sorts. Letters to his former self. Things he wished he knew as a kid. Things he learned on his way to manhood.

I listened in soundlessly, feeling a little like an interloper, but the way he pressed into me spoke of the safety and refuge he felt by my side. Of all the doubts I had, there was no denying that when we embraced, our bodies entwined, we were home.

That was the takeaway.

Sometimes, home wasn’t a place. Sometimes, it was person.

And I found home within Vik’s loving arms.

To anyone else, Vik’s little talks to my belly might have seemed like incessant rambling. To me though, it was insight. And right now, he had that look. The same one he wore every time he needed a moment with his child.